A barstool screeched against the floor. Gideon rose. Not fast. Not flashy. Steady. Quiet.
“Maybe it’s time we dial it back,” he said, voice low. “She had it under control right up until you opened your mouth.”
Chad turned, sizing him up. “And who the hell are you s’posed to be?”
Gideon didn’t flinch. “Someone smart enough to stay out of her way.”
For a split-second, nothing moved.
Then Chad blinked. Wavered.
And stepped back.
The bar exhaled.The pressure broke. Voices returned in murmurs. Glass clinked. Life resumed.
But as Arden turned, he was watching her.
Gideon’s gaze hadn’t drifted once.
“You handled that well,” he said quietly. No grin. No teasing. Pure fact.
She let out a breath, low and controlled. Tossed a rag over her shoulder. “Don’t get impressed too fast. It’s just a Tuesday.”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t look away.
Arden narrowed her eyes as she dropped broken glass into a bin. “What? You waiting for the part where I hand out gold stars?”
He tilted his glass with the barest movement. “No. Just admiring the execution.”
There was something in his tone: quiet, but deliberate.
She shrugged it off. “Not my first bar fight. Won’t be my last.”
His gaze held. “You don’t strike me as someone who lets her guard down.”
She paused briefly.
Then, coolly: “Maybe I just know where the boundaries are.”
“And who’s allowed to cross them,” he added, voice low.
The space between dared her.
Her chest tightened, not at the flirtation, but the precision. “I don’t believe in blurred lines.”
“Neither do I.”
The air between them stretched, taut and electric.
Then—
“Arden! Table four!”
Dot’s bark cracked through the moment.
She exhaled. Relief and frustration in one breath.
One last glance. Gideon hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked. That unnerved her more than anything else tonight.
