Page 17 of Halo

And that's the problem: I can't seem to look anywhere else.

As the song comes to an end, they're both out of breath, sharing in newfound inside jokes. Wisps of espresso-colored hair have escaped her braid, curling around her temples and catching against her flushed cheeks.

The urge to reach over and tuck one behind her ear hits me out of nowhere.

But I don’t. Instead, I sit here like an idiot, wondering what she'd look like with all that hair falling over her shoulders.

“Whew … that was fun.” She slips back behind the bar. “You missed out, cowboy.”

Don’t I know it.

“Thanks for the dance, sweetheart,” Hal says with a slur to his voice. “I better head out for the evening.”

Leah’s face falls. “Now Mr. Hal, you can’t leave just yet.” She grabs a water bottle from the walk-in fridge. “Why don’t you take a seat. Get some water in ya.”

“Oh, no no.” He pulls out his keys. “I better get home before I turn into a pumpkin.”

Leah flashes me a concerned look. “Sir, I really need you to stay.”

“Are you wanting another dance, sweetheart?” He winks before patting me on the shoulder. “Old man’s still got it, huh, Doc?”

“C’mon.” She taps the bar in front of an empty stool. “Take a seat—”

“Another night, sweetheart.” He pulls out his car keys. “I’ve got to go—”

“How about—” I grab his keys—“I call you a drive share? It’s coming down pretty badly out there.”

“Oh … goddamn, is it still raining?”

“Yes, sir.” I cordially chuckle. “C’mon. Let’s call you someone, and I’ll wait with you.”

My eyes meet Leah’s as she mouths the words thank you.

With a quick nod, I escort Hal to say goodnight to Skye before heading outside. Ten minutes later, a rideshare pulls into the parking lot. Helping Hal into the backseat, I shut the door before watching the taillights disappear into the rain.

Ambling back inside, I shake off the rain droplets and smooth out my damp hair. Approaching the bar, Leah greets me with a crooked smile. A thoughtful hum escapes her as she tosses Hal's empty bottles into the trash.

“What’s that for?”

“What’s what for?”

“That hrmm.”

She chuckles, spinning around and nodding at my hair. “You better be careful there, cowboy. I can see your halo peeking out.”

I chuff. “One good deed doesn’t exactly qualify me for sainthood.”

She leans against the bar. “One bad deed doesn’t exactly make you the devil.”

“Yeah … maybe.”

That’s just it, though. It’s never just one poor choice. It’s a domino effect that leads to more mistakes, some that aren't easily forgotten—and they shouldn’t be, not when they’ve left so much wreckage behind, not when they’ve wounded and changed other people. Those sins can’t be undone with an apology and good intentions.

The conversation drifts into a comfortable lull. Low Places isn’t closed for the night, but I’m the last customer here. Leah tidies up the place, wiping down tables, restocking napkins, and lining bottles back into their proper places behind the bar. Every so often, she pauses to jot something down on an inventory sheet before moving on to the next task.

“Hey, fresh meat …” Skye calls out. “Where are we on our closing checklist?”

Leah shows her a clipboard that contains a list of jobs that need to be performed every night before closing up the bar.