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“Looks like Jane’s got her sunshine again,” another regular chimes in, a tease wrapped in envy.
I wipe down the counter with more force than necessary, my heart drumming a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Their words are a mix of jest and jibe, but I shove them aside, focusing on the man who commands the space just by existing in it.
“Seems you’ve been missed,” I say, the attempt at lightness betrayed by the tremor in my voice.
“Missed the place,” Texas replies, his voice rolling deep and smooth, “and some more than others.”
Our gazes lock and it’s like we’re the only two people in the world. I feel exposed under his scrutiny, the walls I’ve built crumbling without consent.
My breath catches, lost in the intensity of his stare. Around us, the bar continues its dance of clinking glasses and low chuckles, oblivious to the connection that sizzles silently between Texas and me. But within this bubble of shared space, the rest of the world fades to a distant hum, inconsequential and far away.
“Looks like your hero’s come back, Jane,” Ricky drawls, his voice slithering through the charged atmosphere. He leans against the bar, mockery dripping from every syllable.
“Missed us, Tex?” Snake chimes in, his laughter jagged as broken glass. “Or just her?”
I watch Texas’s jaw clench, the cords in his neck standing out like twisted steel. His silence is a fortress, but his eyes never stray from mine.
“Boys,” Texas says, the single word carrying a weight that stills the room.
There’s a promise in his tone, one that doesn’t need voicing. It says here is a line you do not cross.
“Aw, come on, don’t be like that,” Ricky continues, pushing off from the bar to stand too close. “We’re all friends here.” His smirk suggests anything but friendship.
“Friends,” Texas echoes, and it sounds like a curse coming from him.
The easy charm that usually plays about his lips is absent now, replaced by an edge as sharp as a knife’s blade.
“Ricky, why don’t you go find someone else to annoy?” I suggest, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tremor that threatens to betray my composure.
“Ah, there’s that fire,” Snake observes. “Careful, Tex. She might singe you with that temper.”
“Let them talk,” Texas says quietly, almost to himself.
His gaze never wavers from mine, promising safety in the midst of the brewing storm.
“Your white knight, huh?” Ricky sneers, nudging Snake with an elbow. “Doesn’t look so tough to me.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Texas replies, the slow drawl of his voice belying the tension that coils in his frame.
I catch the subtle shift in his posture, the readiness that belies his calm exterior.
“Enough, Ricky,” I say, my fingers tightening on the edge of the bar. “Just leave it.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he mocks, but his eyes dart to Texas, gauging, measuring.
The moment feels drawn out, a prelude to a clash, with the other barflies sensing the undercurrents swirling between us.
“Stay away from her,” Texas finally says, his voice low enough that only the three of us can hear.
“Or what?” Ricky challenges, though there’s uncertainty flickering in his eyes now.
“Or you’ll find out,” Texas answers simply.
And that’s all it takes. The tension snaps, leaving an uneasy peace hanging in its wake. Ricky and Snake retreat, their laughter hollow, lacking conviction.
My pulse slows, the fast pacing of my heart settling into a steady rhythm once more. As I meet Texas’s gaze again, I understand that this man is both haven and hurricane, and I am irrevocably drawn to the eye of his storm.
“Thank you.” There’s a softness there, reserved just for me, and it’s in this moment that I understand the depth of his commitment.
