“You say thank you. You wear the boots. And you stop acting surprised when people here treat you like you matter.” She stands and holds out her hand. “Come on. One more stop. Then I’ll take you back before you melt into a puddle.”
I take her hand, let her pull me to my feet, and tuck the box under my arm like something I’m not ready to set down.
The Sundown Saloon sits at the end of the main street—low building, weathered wood, neon sign that's off during the day but probably glows red at night. The door's locked but Maeve cups her hands and peers through the window, gestures for me to do the same.
Inside I can see a bar, tables scattered around, a small stage in the corner. String lights across the ceiling waiting to glow.
"That's where Rhea sings," Maeve says. "Place gets packed Friday nights. Standing room only, good beer, live music. Basically where the entire town ends up whether they plan to or not."
"Finn mentioned something about it being mandatory."
"It's not mandatory. It's just—where you go. What you do. Finn loves it. Gets drunk enough to be fun but not enough to bea problem, dances like nobody's watching even though everyone is, flirts with anything that moves." She grins. "Holt shows up, sits in the back corner, drinks exactly one beer, and judges everyone silently while making sure nobody does anything too stupid."
"That sounds exactly like Holt."
"Right? You're learning his patterns already." She pulls back from the window. "Okay. Tour complete. You've officially seen Coyote Bend. Welcome home, Scout. Population two thousand nosy people who already know your business."
We walk back and I'm not even pretending I'm not a sweaty disaster anymore. The sundress was definitely a mistake but I'm too tired to care. My feet hurt, my face is probably sunburned, and I'm carrying a box of boots that makes my chest feel too full.
By the time we reach the shop, I just want industrial fans and cold water and maybe to lie on the concrete floor until my body temperature returns to something human.
The bay doors are open, music blasting—something twangy and old—and I can see both Finn and Holt working. Finn's under a truck, legs sticking out, singing along badly. Holt's at his workbench, bent over something complicated, and he hasn't noticed me yet.
"Scout!" Finn rolls out from under the truck, grinning. "Look at you! All dressed up! Hot date?"
My face goes nuclear. "No. I was exploring. With Maeve. This is just—I wanted to wear something that wasn't covered in grease and shame."
"In a sundress?" He's sitting up now, wiping his hands. "That's very committed to the exploration aesthetic. Very 'I got my shit together' energy."
"I wanted to feel like a person instead of a shop gremlin!"
Maeve's trying not to laugh. Finn's delighted.
And Holt—
Holt's across the garage at his workbench, and he's not working anymore. He's standing there, wrench forgotten in his hand, completely still, and he's looking at me.
Not the quick glances I've caught before. Not the careful way he doesn't look too long. This is different.
His gaze lands on my sandals. Moves up slowly. Takes in the sundress—pale yellow cotton sticking to my skin, little white flowers, fabric that moves when I breathe. My legs bare from mid-thigh down. My waist where the fabric cinches. My collarbone. My neck where my hair's falling loose for the first time since I got here. He's drinking me in, taking in every detail, and he's not trying to hide it anymore.
When his eyes finally reach my face, something shifts in his expression. Goes warmer. Hungrier. There's heat there—actual heat that has nothing to do with the temperature, everything to do with the way he's looking at me like he's just realized I'm not just his tenant or his employee. Like he's seeing me as a woman. As someone he wants.
His jaw tightens, probably trying to remind himself of boundaries and professionalism and all the reasons he shouldn't be looking at me like that. But he doesn't look away.
My skin goes hot.
My breath catches.
I'm suddenly hyperaware of my body—how the dress clings, how I'm sweating, how I probably look like a disaster but he's looking at me like I'm the best thing he's seen all day. All week. Maybe longer.
The air between us gets heavy. Charged. Electric. I feel it in my stomach, in the way my pulse kicks up, in the sudden awareness of the space separating us and how much I want to close it.
Then he blinks. Shutters. The heat in his gaze banks and he turns back to his work without saying a single word.
But I saw it. Felt it. And my body's still responding—heart racing, skin too warm, breath unsteady.
"Well," Finn says, voice absolutely loaded with amusement. "On that note. Did you need something, Scout, or were you just stopping by to give Holt a medical emergency?"
