The ranch lay under a soft veil of starlight. Snow reflected it back, making everything glow a faint blue. Our breath hung in the air. It felt intimate.
He led me toward the new barn.
The metal sides threw long shadows. Inside, the space was open and clean, smelling like fresh lumber, hay, and the faint tang of steel. Moonlight slid through the high windows, striping the floor.
Austin stepped into the middle of the barn and held out a hand.
“Dance with me,” he said.
I laughed, startled. “There’s no music.”
He shrugged. “We’ll use our imaginations. You’re good at that.”
I slipped my hand into his. Warm, calloused fingers curled around mine. He drew me in, one hand settling at my waist, the other holding my hand lightly.
“We’re going to look ridiculous,” I warned.
“No one’s watching,” he said.
We started to sway. Not really to any particular rhythm, but our bodies found one anyway. Slow and easy. Hand in hand, arm in arm.
Snow fell gently outside. The wind whispered under the eaves. Our boots creaked on the boards.
My head fit under his chin like it had always belonged there.
“I used to imagine this,” I confessed quietly. “Before. When the barn was still on paper. I’d stand and picture… moments. And sometimes…” I hesitated.
“Sometimes?” he prompted.
“Sometimes I’d picture this,” I said. “The two of us. In the barn we built. Dancing to music no one else could hear.”
His chest rose and fell under my cheek. “Me too,” he said.
“You did not,” I accused, amused.
“I didn’t call it dancing,” he admitted. “More like… that thing where you move your feet and hope you don’t step on her toes.”
I smiled into his shirt.
We turned slowly in that wide, open space. For once, my brain wasn’t running a mile a minute. I was just… here. In this moment. In this barn. In his arms.
“Do you still have nightmares?” I asked, after a while.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Less here. A lot less when you’re snoring down the hall.”
“I don’t snore,” I protested.
“You do,” he said. “It’s cute. Sounds like a congested kitten.”
I gasped. “You are absolutely never allowed to repeat that to another living soul.”
“Copy that,” he said, his voice amused against my hair.
We fell quiet again.
“Hey, Milly?” he said eventually.
“Yeah?”
