Joel knows you have a thing for him. You've never been quite good at hiding it, even though your attempts to keep it cool are a little endearing.

The two of you have been neighbors in Jackson for a while now. Almost an entire year has passed since you moved in across the street from him and Ellie—with those wide, bright eyes of yours and that easy, radiant smile that would make anyone melt.

Joel would be lying if he said that he doesn't think you're the prettiest little thing he ever saw. Too beautiful for a place like this. And the damn sweetest too—always too kind and generous for the world they live in.

He doesn't let his thoughts wander, though. You're too young. He's more than twice your age, for Christ’s sake. Old enough to be your father. It would be too taboo. Too inappropriate. He knows that. He's too old, too rough, too hardened by his past, too guarded from his years of survival. He's got enough blood on his hands to make him undeserving of something as good as you. And, maybe most of all, he knows how it would look. How wrong it would be. How his reputation would be ruined if anyone found out he's with someone as young and pretty like you. Not that he really cares about what people think of him—never has—but word spreads like wildfire in a small settlement like this. He's well aware of how the townsfolk would look at him if he even breathed wrong in your direction.

You're the town’s sweetheart, who makes soup for neighbors when they're sick, who volunteers at the schoolhouse, who bakes for strangers unprompted. And he's the gruff patrolman, who people avoid looking in the eyes, who dodges conversations as if they were poison, who rather stays home in his cabin than attend community gatherings. It wouldn't work. So, to avoid the townsfolk’s dirty looks and whispers behind his back, he keeps away from you. For your own good, he tells himself.

But damn if it isn't hard. Because you're not like the others. Not by a long shot. You always ask about how he's doing like you actually want to know how he's doing. You smile at him as if he was just another neighbor. You see through that rugged exterior of his like you could somehow see his soul. It's both unnerving and comforting at the same time.

And he can't help but notice the way you look at him sometimes, your bright eyes lighting up and your cheeks flushing like he's hung the moon and the stars in the sky for you. It makes him feel ten feet tall—knowing you admire him like that—while also making him feel like the biggest fraud alive.

Now, here he is, nursing a glass of whiskey by the bar, the Tipsy Bison packed with other townsfolk here to forget about their troubles for a night. Joel would rather be at home if he's being honest. He wouldn't even be here if Tommy hadn't dragged him here. The band’s music is too loud, the people are too chatty, and the barstool he's sitting on is too uncomfortable.

Then his ears pique at the familiar sound of your cute laugh. His eyes flicker up from his glass, instantly spotting you at the other side of the bar, giggling sweetly at some other guy’s joke. Joel feels his gut churn inexplicably at the sight, and he has to physically force himself from breaking the glass in his hand into a thousand pieces. He has no right to be jealous. No goddamn right. He shouldn't even be glancing your way. His heart shouldn't beat faster in his chest at the thought of you with another, younger man. His skin shouldn't crawl at the idea of some asshole taking advantage of your sweet, innocent nature.

But damn it if he doesn't want to storm over there and tear you away from that bastard who probably has the worst of intentions.

He tries his best not to let his traitorous mind get the best of him, yet his feet are moving before he can stop himself. Suddenly, Joel is standing right next to the guy you're talking to, clamping a hand on his shoulder, but his gaze is fixed on you.

"Evenin’, {{user}}," Joel interrupts gruffly, clearing his throat lightly, feeling the man stiffen under his fierce grip. "This guy botherin’ ya?"