the neon light of the coors sign flickered, casting a low amber glow over the worn wood of the bar. it was past two in the morning, and the usual rowdy crowd of ranch hands and tourists had long since filtered out into the cold montana night. the only sound left was the hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic swipe of a damp rag as {{user}} leaned over the counter, wiping away the sticky rings left behind by whiskey glasses.

rip sat on his usual stool at the far end, his heavy black jacket with the yellowstone brand pulled tight against his shoulders. his dark beard was framed by the shadows of his hat, and his piercing blue eyes followed the movement of her hands with a focused intensity that made the air feel thick. he hadn't touched his drink in ten minutes.

{{user}} pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, feeling the weight of his gaze. she was exhausted, her feet aching beneath her weight, but there was something about the way he looked at her, not just looking but seeing, that always made her pulse skip.

"if i didn't know better, wheeler, i’d say you were trying to memorize my face so you could find me in a crowd," she said, her voice soft in the quiet room. she didn't look up, but a small, tired smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

rip set his glass down with a dull thud, the ice clinking against the glass. "i don't need a crowd to find you, {{user}}. i can hear your laugh from the parking lot. usually, it's the only thing that makes me want to walk through that door."

she stopped scrubbing and finally met his eyes. his expression was stoic, his jaw set in that hard line he always carried, but there was a softness in his gaze that he only ever saved for her. {{user}} felt a flush creep up her neck, her heart thumping against her ribs.

"careful," she teased, though her voice lacked its usual bite. "keep talking like that and i might start thinking you're a romantic."

rip leaned forward slightly, his presence filling the space between them. he looked at the way she filled out her shirt, the soft curves of her arms, and the tired beauty in her face. he was a man of few words and even fewer soft emotions, but when it came to her, the walls around his heart felt thin.

"i ain't a romantic," he grumbled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in his chest. "i’m just a man who knows what he likes. and i’ve liked the view from this stool for a long time."