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“Destiny, huh?” I echo. “Sounds like a heavy load to carry.”
“Only if you let it be,” he counters, his voice low and rich.
The night wears on, thick with anticipation and unspoken promises. My pulse races with each passing moment, each stolen glance shared between us.
I’m drawn closer to him, like planets caught in each other’s orbit. But the truth is, I’m already too close to the flame. And deep down, I’m not sure I want to escape the heat.
The jukebox croons a slow, melancholic tune. The notes are thick with nostalgia, pulling at the edges of memories I keep locked away. I wipe down the counter, the rag in my hand moving in time with the music, my motions a quiet echo to the song’s rhythm.
“Ever danced to this one, Jane?” Texas asks, his voice a low hum that vibrates under my skin.
“Can’t say that I have,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the polished wood beneath my fingers. “Dancing isn’t really my thing.”
“Shame,” he muses, taking a slow sip from his bottle. “Seems like you’d be good at it.”
I glance up, meeting his intense gaze, and something flutters in my chest. His blue eyes hold mine, and there’s a question in them that goes beyond dancing. It’s an invitation, one I’m not sure I’m ready to accept.
“Maybe another time,” I say, but my words are a half-hearted deflection.
“Maybe tonight,” he counters, pushing the empty bottle toward me for a refill.
I busy myself with grabbing a bottle of beer and with a steady hand place it on the bar. But my pulse thrums, insistent, betraying my calm exterior. The air between us is charged, every word, every look, adding fuel to a fire I thought long extinguished.
“Jane,” he starts again, his tone softer now, “what’s holding you back?”
“Life,” I answer simply because it’s the truth.
Life, with its responsibilities and tragedies, has taught me to build walls. But as I steal another look at him, I can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—he could scale them.
“Life’s too short for what-ifs,” he says, echoing my thoughts.
“Too long for mistakes,” I shoot back, the corner of my mouth lifting in a wry smile.
“Guess we’re at an impasse then.”
“Looks like it,” I concede, feeling the playful challenge in his words.
But as the night draws on, the bar begins to empty, leaving behind a silence that speaks volumes.
“Closing time,” I announce, more to myself than to him.
“Need a hand?” Texas offers, standing up and tossing a few bills onto the counter.
“Got it covered.”
“Alright then,” he says, sliding off the stool. He pauses, a small smile playing on his lips. “This was nice, Jane. Real nice.”
“Was it?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat.
“Definitely.”
“Goodnight, Tex,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Goodnight, Jane.” He tips an imaginary hat, then turns toward the door, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the dim light.
I watch him go, each step he takes stirring up dust motes in the air like tiny specters of doubt. And just before he reaches the threshold, he stops, looks back over his shoulder, and with a grin that could melt steel, he adds, “See you tomorrow?”
My breath catches, tangled up in the possibility of that word—tomorrow. It hangs there, suspended in the stillness, a single word laden with the weight of everything unsaid.
