Later that night, after a few casual rounds of pool and easy laughter that spilled like warm whiskey, the bar began to settle. The jukebox switched from gritty rock to something slower—something tender, filled with the kind of ache that invites people to lean in rather than drift apart.
Sage leaned casually against the pool table, fingers wrapped around her glass, her eyes flicking to the couple now swaying near the center of the room. The music tugged at something soft inside her.
She didn’t flinch when Silas stepped up beside her.
He didn’t need to ask. They had danced before. She knew how well he moved—how naturally their bodies fit together. Still, when he offered his hand with that small, boyish tilt of his head, there was a warmth in the gesture. An unspoken, “Let’s go there again
