And I was in serious trouble.
"Wyatt!" Beth waved, grinning like she knew exactly what she was doing bringing Sophie here looking like that.
I pushed off the bar and walked over, tipping my hat because some things were automatic, bred into you by a Texas mother who didn't tolerate rudeness. "Ladies."
Sophie's eyes lingered on me—the hat, the boots, the rolled sleeves, the whole package—and something flickered in her expression. Heat. Recognition. Want that she didn't bother hiding.
"You clean up nice, Dane," she said, voice just rough enough to notice, to file away for later.
"You look ..." I stopped, shook my head because words weren't going to cut it, not even close. "Yeah. You look incredible."
Her cheeks flushed pink, and I wanted to make her do that again. Immediately. Repeatedly. For the rest of the night.
The night kicked off fast.
We grabbed drinks—whiskey neat for me, something fruity and frozen for the girls that came in glasses too big to be practical—and found a spot near the edge of the dance floor where we could watch the band warm up, testing the sound system and tuning guitars.
I was in a good mood. Better than I'd been in months. Maybe years. Chattier than usual, cracking jokes, telling stories about Valentine that made them laugh until Beth snorted her drink and Natasha had to wipe tears from her eyes.
"Wait," Beth said, still laughing. "You actually rode a mechanical bull drunk?"
"I was sixteen and stupid," I said. "And technically I wasn't drunk, just ... optimistic about my abilities. And I lasted eight seconds, which is all that mattered. Got the buckle to prove it."
Sophie laughed, the sound hitting me square in the chest like something physical. "You were always showing off."
"Only for you."
The words slipped out before I could stop them, honest and unfiltered and true in a way that made the air shift.
She met my eyes, something softening in her expression. "I know."
The air between us shifted. Tightened. Charged with something we were both pretending not to notice yet.
The band started playing—a fast two-step that got people moving immediately, boots hitting the floor in rhythm, the whole room coming alive.
"Come on," Sophie said, grabbing my hand. "Let's see if you remember how."
I let her pull me onto the floor, her hand warm in mine, and the second we started moving, it all came back.
Muscle memory. Rhythm. The way her body followed mine without thinking, like we'd done this a thousand times before even though we hadn't, like we'd been dancing together our whole lives instead of just tonight.
We hadn't danced together since we were kids at the county fair, stumbling through steps we barely knew, laughing at how bad we were.
This was different. This was us knowing exactly what we were doing and choosing to do it together.
She was good. Really good. Keeping up with me, matching my pace, anticipating my moves, laughing when I spun her out and pulled her back in, her body fitting against mine like it belonged there.
"You've been practicing," I said, slightly breathless.
"Austin has honky-tonks, too," she shot back, grinning, eyes bright with challenge.
The song ended, and another started—slower this time. A waltz. George Strait. Something about carrying love with you wherever you go.
I hesitated for half a second, then pulled her closer.
Her hand settled on my shoulder. Mine found the small of her back, warm through the fabric of her shirt, feeling her breathing. We moved together, slower now, the space between us shrinking until I could feel her heartbeat against my chest, could count the rhythm of it.
"This okay?" I asked quietly, giving her an out if she needed it.
