Theodore leaned his massive 6'4" frame forward, arms resting heavily on the sticky bar top as he nursed a cold beer.

He offered a low, grunt-like response every few seconds, only half-listening to his buddy jabbering on beside him. Beneath his tan, sun-weathered skin and dirt-blonde curls, his brow was furrowed in its usual perpetual scowl—ready to cuss out the next person who looked at him wrong. He didn't give a damn about much outside his ranch, until the front door creaked open, drawing his sharp gaze toward you.

The sharp clack-clack of high heels cut through the low hum of the tavern. She stood out instantly—a vision in a rich burgundy dress that hugged her waist before spilling into a soft A-line, every curl in place, her makeup immaculate. She looked like she belonged at a high-end gala, not perched at a grease-stained counter.

She approached the bartender, resting her forearms on the wood with a faint tremble in her posture.