Riley went still for a beat — still like a woman trying very, very hard not to let a full-body shiver give her away.

Then her eyes narrowed in that familiar, dangerous, you-have-no-idea-what-you-just-started way, and she tilted her head, letting her foot brush lightly against his hip like it was nothing.

It was not nothing.

She dragged in a breath and let her lips curve, slow and wicked, before answering:

“Dial it back?”
Her voice came out softer than she meant — warm, teasing, threaded with heat she absolutely blamed on him.
“Honey, you haven’t been ‘dialed back’ a day in your life.”

She shifted just a little on the counter, knees nudging wider in the smallest, most deliberate little adjustment that made his throat bob.

Riley caught it.

Riley always caught it.

Her smile turned smug.

“And if you’re rebooting over me sittin’ here,” she went on, leaning forward until her nose brushed his in the faintest tease, “that feels like a you problem.”

Joe’s breath hitched — she felt the way his chest expanded against her legs.

She smirked and let her fingers, slow as honey, slide up his shirt collar, just enough to tug him one inch closer.

“I look at you like that,” she murmured, her lips grazing his cheekbone, “because you’re mine.”

His jaw flexed — a little too obvious, a little too telling — and she didn’t even pretend she didn’t see it.

Her thumb brushed his lower lip, gentle, claiming.

“And you looking at me like you’re two seconds from forgetting your own name?”
She shrugged lightly, pretending innocence she absolutely did not possess.
“I’m not complaining.”

Then she leaned back slightly, just enough to make him follow her without thinking — which he did, beautifully — and her grin softened into something warmer. Something that glowed.

“But if you wanna know my official stance on the matter…”

Her palm slid along his jaw, thumb tracing the familiar curve, voice dropping to a whisper that warmed his skin:

“You don’t ever have to stop lookin’ at me like that.”

A beat.

A breath.

Then, with a playful nudge of her knee against his hip:

“Just try not to fall on your freshly mopped floor, yeah?”

She leaned in again, lips brushing his jaw as she whispered the final blow:

“I’m not pickin’ your dramatic ass up.”

Joe felt her words hit him in real time — not dramatic, not poetic, just honest-to-God physical.
Like his ribs had remembered something before his brain did.
Like the air shifted and decided it belonged to her.

He drew in a slow breath, trying — failing — to play it cool when his heartbeat was doing its best impression of a malfunctioning drumline.

You’re mine.

Yeah.
That would do it.

His laugh came out low and helpless, the kind he couldn’t swallow even if he tried. He felt her lean back that inch, the tiniest tease of space, and without a single conscious thought, his body followed like it had always been wired for her.

Smooth.
Seamless.
Absolutely zero survival instincts.

“Riles…” he murmured, his voice warm enough to fog the small bit of air between them, “I swear—one of these days, you’re gonna say stuff like that and I’m just gonna drop.”

He let his thumb skim the side of her knee, soft and familiar, like it was muscle memory from now, not then.
Not a lifetime ago — just them, in this bar, in this moment.

“And the worst part?” he added, leaning in just a shade closer, enough that she’d feel the curve of his smile near her jaw. “You won’t even pretend you don’t know why.”

He felt her breath hitch — tiny, sharp, gorgeous — and yeah, that did something to him. Something reckless.

“So go ahead,” he whispered, tilting his head until his nose brushed the edge of her cheek in a deliberate, teasing graze. “Keep talkin’ to me like that.”

His hand slid gently along the back of her thigh, not pulling her in — just reminding her he could.

“It’s cute watching you pretend you’re not tryin’ to melt me.”

A beat.
A breath he absolutely didn’t trust himself with.

“And sweetheart?” he added, grin going crooked and devastatingly soft, “you don’t have to try that hard.”

He lingered there, close enough that she’d feel the warmth of every word.

“You get me every damn time.”

Riley felt the pull before she could even pretend she didn’t.

The moment he leaned in — that small, instinctive surrender of space — something warm and electric went straight through her, settling low and deep and impossible to ignore. She tried to keep her expression steady, but her body? Her pulse? Yeah, those betrayed her immediately.

She let her fingers slip lightly along the line of his jaw, nails grazing just enough to make his breath catch. Her voice came out softer than she expected, threaded with heat and a teasing sweetness she didn’t bother disguising.

“Drop?”
She tilted her head, pretending to examine him like she didn’t already know every inch of him by heart.
“Baby, you fall over one time in this bar, and I will tell that story at every family gathering until we’re eighty.”

Her knees nudged gently against his sides, pulling him closer in that quiet, deliberate way only he ever brought out of her.

“But melt you?” She scoffed softly, brushing her thumb across the corner of his mouth.
“Honey, you’re halfway puddled and I’ve barely done anything.”

His smile broke, real and involuntary — and God, she loved that smile. Loved that she put it there.

She leaned forward, slow as syrup, letting her lips drag just under his jaw — not a kiss, not yet. Just a promise. A warning. Something that made his breath slip out hard enough for her to feel it against her cheek.

Her voice dropped warm and intimate against his skin.

“If I wanted to melt you…”
She pressed a soft kiss to the edge of his jaw, lingering just long enough to feel the way his pulse kicked.
“…you’d already be on your knees.”

His exhale stuttered. She smiled against his skin.

She pulled back only enough to meet his eyes — those warm, impossible brown eyes that always looked at her like she was something he’d never stop choosing.

Her hand slid up his chest, fingers hooking lightly in the collar of his shirt.

“And as for getting you every time?” she whispered, lips brushing the curve of his cheek.
“Good.”

She kissed his jaw again, softer this time, her breath warming his throat.

“Because you get me too.”

A final nudge of her forehead against his — intimate, certain.

“Every. Damn. Time.”

Riley felt his breath stutter under her mouth, felt that warm, gorgeous shiver run down his spine — and that was exactly when she decided to ruin him on purpose.

Because why not.

She let her lips linger on his jaw for one more stolen heartbeat, then — with a wicked little smirk — she planted her hand on his chest and pushed him back.

Not hard.
Just enough that he rocked a step, blinking like he’d been unplugged.

“Relax, Barnes,” she teased, sliding off the counter in one smooth, practiced swing. “We can’t have you evaporatin’ this early in the evening.”

Her boots hit the floor with a soft thud. She reached for the buttons on her jean jacket and tugged it off slowly — deliberately — before balling it up and tossing it onto the bar counter like she owned the place.

(Which, let’s be honest, she basically did now.)

Joe’s eyes followed her every step, looking entirely too dazed for a grown man.

She ignored it. Teasingly. Cruelly.

Riley walked toward the old jukebox, fingers slipping into the front pocket of her jeans. She fished out a few coins — the ones she always kept there “just in case” — and fed them into the machine one by one, letting the metallic clink echo through the quiet bar.

Then she scanned the list of songs, her smile widening when she found the one.

The opening notes crackled to life — warm, nostalgic, a little sultry — and she turned slowly, letting the jukebox’s neon glow spill over her as she walked back toward him.

Only this time she wasn’t just walking.

She was dancing.

Loose, easy, playful — hips swaying just enough, hair falling around her shoulders, her smile soft and knowing like she’d been waiting her whole life for this exact moment.

She held her hand out to him, palm open, invitation unmistakable.

Her voice, warm and teasing, floated across the space between them.

“Come on, Barnes.”
She wiggled her fingers at him, grin turning just a little smug.
“Let’s see if you’ve still got moves… or if I’m about to embarrass you in your own bar.”

Her laughter lit the room, soft and bright.

“Your call, handsome.”

Joe was an honest man.

Honest enough to admit — privately, to himself, to the universe — that the second she shoved him back like that, his brain shorted out like somebody’d flicked the breaker.

He rocked a step, boots scraping lightly on the floor, and his first clear thought was:

Lord have mercy… this woman’s gonna put me in an early grave.

And he’d go willing.

He should’ve recovered quicker.
Should’ve braced a shoulder on the bar, smirked, tossed out some easy one-liner like he hadn’t just been knocked sideways by five-foot-something of trouble.

Instead, he just… stood there and took her in.

The jacket coming off slow.
The walk — loose, confident, all wildfire under those soft steps.
The coins slipping one by one into the jukebox like she owned the whole damn place.

Then the music started.

Old. Warm. The kind that got into your bones before you could stop it.

And she turned.

Joe had to plant a hand on the bar ’cause, honest to God, she looked like the kind of memory a man carried with him forever. Neon light on her hair, that lazy sway in her hips — she was the whole song come to life.

Then she held out her hand.

“Come on, Barnes.”

Yeah, he was done.

Joe’s mouth curved — smooth, slow, with that easy drawl he never quite shook — and he pushed off the counter. No rush, no nerves. Just that quiet confidence he’d grown into.

He crossed the space between them with a lazy swagger in his step — the kind of walk that said he’d driven back roads at midnight, danced on porches, lived in small-town quiet long enough to know how to take his time.

He stopped in front of her, close enough that her perfume wrapped around him like cedar smoke and warm nights.

He took her hand — gently, deliberately — letting his thumb slide over the inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered hot against his skin.

“Embarrass me, huh?” he drawled, voice dropping deep and warm, like a man leaning against a truck bed under a summer sky. “Sweetheart, that’s a mighty big talk for somebody who used to damn near swoon when I so much as put a hand on her hip.”

He stepped in, gliding her hand to his shoulder, his other arm wrapping around her waist with the kind of confidence that came naturally to him — not cocky, but sure. Steady.

She fit against him like she always had — like she’d been carved out of the same place he came from.

He smirked, eyes locked on hers, soft and dangerous.

“Last I checked,” he murmured, leaning close enough for his breath to warm her cheek, “you’re the one who loses her mind if I even hum to a song like this.”

Her breath hitched — sweet and sharp.

Joe didn’t brag.
He just smiled against her cheek, slow and hopelessly hers.

“C’mere,” he whispered, tightening his arm just enough to guide her into the first slow sway. “Let’s see if you remember how we used to move.”

He pressed a short, reverent kiss to her temple — the kind a man gives when he’s real close to falling apart in the best way.

Then, without another word — no quip, no tease, no last clever line — Joe simply slid his hand to her lower back and pulled her in, close and sure.

Her body met his like it always had.

And under the warm glow of the jukebox, he started to dance with her.
Slow.
Steady.
Like he’d never forgotten how.

Riley didn’t look away when she said it.

Didn’t blink.
Didn’t back down.
Didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t giving him every kind of permission a woman could give a man without actually saying the words.

She just held his hand and tugged him closer — not forceful, not shy, just sure. Like her body had finally caught up to what her heart had known for years.

His fingers tightened around hers. Warm. Familiar. A little shaky.
The kind of grip that told her she wasn’t the only one feeling the floor tilt.

“Good,” she murmured, sliding his hand back to the spot on her waist she could still feel burning from before. “Right there. That’s where I want you.”

And God — the look on his face.

Like she’d just handed him the last piece of a puzzle he’d been working since ninth grade.

The jukebox hummed behind them, soft and grainy, every note vibrating through the old wooden floorboards like a heartbeat. The neon lights threw soft color across the room, catching the faint shimmer in her hair, highlighting the warmth in his eyes as he followed her lead without question.

She swayed into him slowly, letting her chest brush his, letting the rhythm guide them, letting herself sink deeper into the kind of closeness she used to dream about and then shove away for years.

Her forehead hovered a breath from his.
Close enough to feel each warm exhale.
Close enough to feel the weight of everything they hadn’t said finally settling between them like it belonged there.

“You know…” she whispered, her lips curving as she let her breath ghost across his cheek, “you really shouldn’t let me get this close if you want me to behave.”

Her hand trailed up the front of his shirt — fingertips grazing the fabric, brushing the warmth of his chest beneath — until she hooked a loose grip near the collar. And she felt it.

The way his heartbeat kicked.
The way his breath stuttered.
The way his whole body leaned into her like gravity had opinions now.

“Pretty sure we both know how that ends.”

Her voice came out softer than she meant, but more honest than she ever allowed in daylight. Her body pressed to his, settling into that perfect fit she’d pretended didn’t still live in her muscle memory.

He steadied — a slow, grounding inhale — like he was trying to hold himself together for the both of them. And for once, Riley didn’t tease the shake in his breath or the tension in his jaw.

She let it matter.

She let him matter.

Riley slid her hand up to his chest, flattening her palm over his heartbeat — strong, certain, thudding hard enough that she could feel it even through the cotton of his shirt. She held it there, letting that warmth bleed into her skin, letting that steady rhythm tell her everything she’d been too afraid to trust.

“You hold me like this, Joe…”
Her voice cracked, just the tiniest bit.
Soft. Bare. Real.
“…and I’m not going anywhere.”

She felt him breathe out — a slow rush of air against her cheek — like her words had hit him somewhere deep and unarmored.

Her thumb brushed along the line of his collarbone, slow and tender, grounding herself and him in the same quiet heartbeat.

Then she smiled — small, sure, glowing with something she wasn’t scared of anymore.

“So keep up,” she whispered, sliding her hand back into his. “Because this dance?”

She pressed her forehead to his, swaying closer than close.

“It’s only gettin’ started.”

Joe didn’t say anything at first.

Couldn’t.

Because the second she pressed her forehead to his and said it’s only gettin’ started, something in him just… gave.

Not in a messy way.
Not in a falling-apart way.

In the way a man gives in when he’s been fighting gravity for too damn long.

His breath left him in one slow, shaky exhale — the kind you only let out when you’re standing this close to someone who could level you with a whisper.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

He didn’t know what to do with that.
Not really.
But his body did.

His hand tightened around hers — not possessive, not panicked, just a quiet, certain claim. His other hand slid fully around her waist, pulling her in until there wasn’t a scrap of light left between them. Not asking. Not hesitating. Just… choosing her. The way he always had.

Her heartbeat pressed warm against his chest.
His pulse answered back.

He swayed with her, easy and sure, guiding her through the slow rise and fall of the song like his bones remembered the steps better than his brain did.

And when she tipped her face that little inch so her lips hovered just near his cheek —

Yeah.
He felt his knees go a little weak.

But he didn’t stumble.
Didn’t pull away.
Didn’t hide.

He lowered his head, his nose brushing the soft line of her temple as he murmured, low and warm:

“…behavin’ was never what I wanted from you.”

It wasn’t a tease.
Not exactly.

It was a truth.

He felt her breath catch. Felt her fingers curl tighter in his shirt. Felt her body melt a little more into his — trusting him, letting him hold the weight she’d always tried to carry alone.

Joe swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper against her skin.

“You get this close, Riles…”
His thumb swept a slow circle at her waist, steady and reverent.
“…and I’m the one tryin’ not to lose my damn mind.”

She shifted — just enough that her nose skimmed the edge of his jaw — and he didn’t even pretend he wasn’t affected. His breath hitched, chest rising against hers in a helpless, quiet admission.

He let himself look at her then.

Really look.

Her eyes soft, her lips inches from his, her body wrapped around him like she’d finally stopped running.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t guard the warmth in his own.

“You said you’re not goin’ anywhere,” he murmured, voice low and thick. “You got no idea what that… what that does to me.”

He didn’t kiss her.

He didn’t need to.

Instead, he took her hand again — threading their fingers with a slow certainty — and lifted it to his chest, right over where she’d held him before.

“Feel that?” he whispered.

That heartbeat, strong and steady and pounding just for her.

“That’s yours. Always was.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, he guided her back into the sway — smooth, confident, the kind of dancing that wasn’t performance or nostalgia, just two people finally moving the way they’d always wanted to.

He pulled her in closer, lips ghosting the corner of her temple, breath warm and reverent.

“Stick with me,” he murmured. “I’ll keep up.”

And he did.

Because once he had her in his arms like this, Joe knew damn well:

He wasn’t letting go.

The sway of the song pulled her back into motion, guiding her hips with his in that slow, familiar rhythm — the kind that didn’t belong to bars or jukeboxes or small-town memories, but to them. To who they’d always been under everything else.

Her cheek brushed his jaw, warm and achingly gentle.

“You’re not losin’ your mind alone,” she whispered, a small, helpless smile tugging at the edges of her voice. “Trust me.”

She let her hand slide from his chest to his shoulder, fingers curling at the fabric there, grounding herself.

And then, softer — meant only for him:

“I’m here, Joe.”

Her lips ghosted the corner of his jaw in a featherlight brush — not a kiss, not quite, just enough to let him feel the truth.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

She closed her eyes, letting their foreheads touch again as they kept swaying, slow and sure, like the world outside had finally paused long enough for them to breathe.

Her voice came quieter, steadier, filled with something warm enough to break her open all over again:

“You don’t have to keep up,” she whispered, fingers brushing the back of his neck. “You already found me.”

And in the quiet glow of the bar lights, pressed against the man she’d loved in every version of her life, Riley Carson held him a little tighter.

Because she wasn’t letting go either.

Riley let herself sink into him — into the warmth of his chest, into the easy rhythm of his sway, into the way his heartbeat steadied beneath her palm like it recognized her touch before he did.

She wasn’t swooning.

Not technically.

But something in her loosened, went molten, softened in a way she hadn’t felt since they were kids with too-big feelings and no idea where to put them.

Her cheek brushed his jaw again — warm, familiar, impossibly gentle — and she breathed him in, letting the scent of him settle low and grounding in her lungs.

“You know…” she murmured, her voice a soft ribbon in the small space between them, “dancin’ with you like this kinda feels like we never stopped.”

Joe’s fingers tightened at her waist — a subtle pull, instinctive.

Riley smiled, small and secret, letting her thumb slide lazily along the back of his neck.

“You remember,” she went on, leaning in closer, the tip of her nose brushing his cheek, “when we were in high school… and we skipped out that one Friday?”

His breath hitched — barely, but she felt it.

Riley’s smile deepened.

“Drove over to Clifton to get milkshakes and hide out in that old park ’til sunset?” she prompted softly. “And when we finally came home—”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, amusement warming the curve of her mouth.

“—my mama had called the police because she thought I’d been kidnapped.”

Joe let out a low, helpless laugh against her temple. She felt it more than heard it.

“Yeah,” she whispered, eyes softening, “and you stood right there on the porch tellin’ her it was all your fault… even though we both know I was the one who said let’s go.”

Her hand slid down his shoulder and curled lightly in the fabric of his shirt.

“You always did that,” she added quietly. “Took the heat. Took the blame. Took care of me.”

She pressed her forehead to his again, breath mingling with his as they swayed.

“And here you are, all these years later… still doin’ it without even thinkin’.”

Her voice softened further, turning tender and unguarded.

“Still holdin’ me up when I lean,” she whispered. “Still standin’ in front of me when things get mean. Still lookin’ at me like I hung the damn moon.”

Her fingers brushed his jaw, slow and affectionate.

“If it helps,” she murmured, “I remember every piece of that day.”

She leaned in, lips brushing the corner of his mouth — not a kiss, not yet, but a promise waiting for the right moment.

“And I remember comin’ home feelin’ safer with you in trouble beside me… than anywhere else in the world.”

Her hand slid back to his chest, over that steady pounding she could feel through his shirt.

“Guess not much has changed.”

Joe felt those words hit him like heat rolling through an open doorway — slow, sure, impossible to outrun.
Not sharp.
Not startling.
Just… deep.

The kind of deep that settled into a man and stayed.

She remembered.
Every bit of it.
Every second he’d spent tryin’ to pretend he wasn’t already half in love with her back then.

And now, with her in his arms again — warm, soft, swaying slow — that old memory didn’t feel like the past at all.
It felt like a loop.
A circle.
A dance that had just… picked back up.

His breath left him in a low exhale against her cheek.

“Yeah,” he murmured quietly, voice a shade rougher than he meant, “I remember.”

He tightened his hand at her waist, subtle but sure — pulling her in just enough that their bodies fit the way they always had, like the years in between had been nothing but a long inhale they were finally letting out.

Her story played out in his mind — the milkshakes, the park, the porch light burning behind her mama’s shoulder — and damn if it didn’t warm something in him he thought he’d buried.

“You say I took the heat,” he murmured, words brushing her hairline as they swayed, “but truth is… I’d’a followed you anywhere.”

His thumb swept a slow stroke at her lower back, almost thoughtless.

“Didn’t matter where we ended up. Park, back road, your mama’s wrath…”
He smiled against her skin — small, soft, the kind a man couldn’t fake.
“…far as I was concerned? If you were there, I was exactly where I wanted to be.”

She shifted, brushing her cheek along his jaw again, and that touch — Lord — it nearly undid him.

Her lips grazed the corner of his mouth.
Not a kiss.
But close enough for his heartbeat to stumble all the same.

He let out a quiet breath, the kind that came from somewhere unguarded and old.

“You talk like I held you up…” he whispered, tipping his forehead back to hers, noses brushing. “But half the time? You were the only reason I didn’t fall on my damn face.”

They kept moving — slow, steady — the jukebox throwing soft color across her hair, his hands, the space between them that wasn’t really space at all.

“And you know what else I remember ‘bout that day?” he went on, voice dropping low, rough in the sweetest way. “Comin’ back with you in the passenger seat… your shoes on my dashboard, your head leaned on my shoulder…”

His forehead pressed more firmly to hers, eyes half-lidded.

“…and I remember thinkin’ I could dance with you like that forever.”

His hand slid up her spine in one achingly gentle stroke — reverent, intimate, the kind that said he wasn’t afraid of this softness anymore.

“And I was right,” he added quietly. “Didn’t matter how long you were gone. Didn’t matter what changed.”

He pulled her tighter — not desperate, not afraid — just a man anchoring the woman he’d been waiting to hold like this again.

“In my head?”
A warm breath against her cheek.
“We never stopped.”

The music swelled softly behind them, and Joe let the rhythm pull them in deeper. His palm pressed steady against the small of her back, guiding her through the sway like instinct, like breath, like muscle memory that never faded.

He brushed his nose along hers — slow, easy, unbearably tender.

“And for the record…” he murmured, letting his thumb trace her jawline like he was relearning it, “I still look at you like you hung the moon because, darlin’…”

His smile curved warm and quiet.

“…you did.”

He didn’t kiss her.
Not yet.

Instead, he rested his forehead to hers, swaying with her like the years had never passed, like they were still barefoot in that old park, drinking melted milkshakes and building a world out of nothing but each other.

Because in his heart — in the place she’d never stopped living —

They never stopped dancing.

Riley’s fingers curled into the back of Joe’s shirt — slow, certain, almost instinct — because the way he said I remember hit something deep in her chest she hadn’t dared touch in years. It was warm and startling and familiar all at once, like someone opening a door she’d forgotten she’d locked.

She lifted her head, their noses brushing, and whispered, soft and steady:

“Of course you remember. You always remembered the things that mattered… even when I pretended I didn’t.”

Her thumb traced the line of his jaw, her body swaying with his like muscle memory, like breathing.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice you following me everywhere,” she murmured, a tiny smile pulling at her lips. “You made every reckless idea feel like an adventure instead of me trying to outrun my own head.”

When he said if you were there, I was exactly where I wanted to be, her breath stuttered — barely, but enough for him to feel it.

“Joe… nobody ever made me feel like that. Not before, not after. You were home before I even knew what home meant.”

He brushed her cheek; she leaned into the touch, brushing his right back — soft skin against soft skin, old warmth finding its way back between them like it had never left.

“You talk like I held you up,” she said quietly, “but you have no idea how many days you were the only thing keeping me upright. You made everything feel lighter. Even when everything else felt impossible.”

When he spoke about her shoes on his dashboard, her head on his shoulder—those quiet hours where the world felt small enough to hold—she closed her eyes and let her forehead rest against his temple with a slow, aching exhale.

“I remember all of it,” she breathed. “I remember feeling safe for the first time in my life. You let me take up space. You let me be messy. You never made me earn your steadiness.”

His hand slid up her spine—gentle, warm, sure—and Riley melted into him the way she always had. The way she never let herself remember she could.

And when he said we never stopped, something inside her tightened so suddenly she had to press a hand to his chest, right over the heartbeat pounding steady and warm beneath her palm.

“I know,” she whispered. “Because I didn’t stop either.”

She drew back just enough to meet his eyes—clear, bright, trembling with truth she’d held in for years.

“You want to know why I really left?” she asked softly. “After my dad died… this whole town hurt to breathe in. Every hallway in that school looked like him. Every football game felt like standing in a world where he should’ve been right beside me.”

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t look away.

“And you… you looked at me the way he used to. Like I could take on anything. And back then? I couldn’t. I was barely holding myself together.”

One warm tear slid down her cheek, and she gave a small, tired laugh when Joe’s thumb brushed it away.

“But it was never you I ran from,” she whispered. “Never.”

The music hummed softly through the bar, and Riley’s hand slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer into the gentle sway.

“And because we’re telling the whole truth…” she murmured, voice dipping quieter, “when I came home that Christmas my freshman year? I wanted to see you. God, I wanted to.”

Her throat tightened.

“I drove to your house. I rehearsed what I’d say. And then I saw you on the porch with another girl.”

She swallowed hard, not out of jealousy but out of the memory of her own fear.

“And instead of walking up and asking, instead of trusting us? I panicked. I told myself you’d moved on. And I left before you could tell me I was wrong.”

The jukebox cast soft colors across her hair as she leaned back into him, their bodies swaying as one.

“But being here with you now?” she said, voice steadying. “It doesn’t feel like ghosts anymore.”

Her lips brushed the corner of his cheek—tender, certain, promising.

“You say I hung the moon,” she whispered, her fingers threading into his hair in a slow, reverent sweep. “Baby… you’re the reason I found the sky again.”

She tightened her grip on his shirt, guiding their joined hands back to her heartbeat, solid and sure beneath her skin.

“So yeah,” she breathed, swaying with him like the music was built around their bodies, “maybe we never stopped dancing.”

Riley didn’t think about it.

Not this time.
Not after everything she’d just told him, everything he held, everything they’d finally stopped pretending not to feel.

He was still breathing her in — forehead resting to hers, thumb tracing her jaw like he was memorizing her all over again — when she lifted her hand and slid her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.

Just that small touch made his breath stutter.

That was all she needed.

She tilted her face up and kissed him.

Not timid.
Not hesitant.
Not testing the waters.

A real kiss — full and sure and warm, the kind she’d been holding back on for years without realizing it. Her mouth fit against his like it always had, like her lips already knew the shape of him. She pressed in closer, her chest against his, her hand tightening in his hair just enough to pull a low, helpless sound from his throat.

God, she’d missed that sound.

She deepened the kiss for a slow, lingering heartbeat — not urgent, not frantic, just certain — the kind of kiss that sealed the moment instead of breaking it.

When she finally drew back, barely an inch, her thumb stroked his cheek.

Her lips brushed his once more, lighter, almost teasing — the softest echo of the kiss she’d just given him.

Joe kissed her back once — slow, steady, the kind of kiss a man gives when he’s trying to ease a whole storm out of someone’s chest.
Then he pulled back just enough to see her face.

Not the tears.
Not the hurt.

The girl he’d never stopped loving standing right there in front of him with her heart cracked wide open.

He thumbed her cheek gently, shaking his head with a soft, helpless smile.

“Aw, sweetheart… you start droppin’ those kinds of truths in the middle of a slow dance, I’m gonna have to start keepin’ a whole box of tissues behind the bar.”

Riley laugh–hiccuped against his jaw.
God, if that wasn’t the prettiest sound in the world.

Joe pressed his forehead to hers, voice dipping low, warm, steady.

“Now hang on,” he murmured, tightening his arms around her waist just a touch. “You’re tellin’ me you drove all the way to my place that Christmas… and turned around ’cause you saw me on the porch with someone?”

He let out a breath — a half-laugh, half-groan — and leaned back just far enough to study her.

“Girl, there is not a single version of reality where I don’t need clarification on that.”

He sifted through it — really thought back — dragging his memory across that whole season like he was searching through an old attic for a missing box.

His brows pulled together slowly.

“Okay… porch… December… lemme think.”
A beat.
Another.
A slower one.

Then his eyes lit with recognition.

“Oh good Lord,” he muttered under his breath. “Riles… was she wearin’ a bright green beanie? About five-foot-nothin’ and loud as a fire alarm?”

Riley blinked.
Hard.

Joe dragged a hand over his face.

“That was Shelby McAdams,” he groaned. “She was sellin’ raffle tickets for the volunteer fire department.”

Riley froze.

Joe kept going, because this was absolutely the kind of thing that needed explaining.

“She showed up at everyone’s house that week. She cornered Old Man Donagher on his porch for twenty minutes. Folks were drivin’ around town in circles just to avoid her.”

Riley’s lips parted — mortified, stunned.

Joe lifted a hand, gently tipping her chin up, his voice softening back into warm honey.

“You thought I was on a porch date,” he teased, eyes bright with amusement he kept gentle. “With Shelby McAdams. The girl who once set her own sleeve on fire makin’ s’mores.”

Riley snorted — a sharp, involuntary, beautiful sound — and Joe felt the weight in her chest loosen just a little.

He brushed his thumb along her cheek again, slow and tender.

“And just so we’re clear,” he murmured, leaning close, “the only thing I felt for Shelby that day was fear she’d make me buy twenty dollars’ worth of tickets I did not want.”

Her laugh trembled against his throat — soft and breaking and healing all at once.

Joe’s tone shifted then — still light, still warm, but threaded with something truer.

“You didn’t see me with another girl,” he said softly. “You saw me bein’ held hostage by someone’s overzealous cousin who took her civic duty way too seriously.”

Riley shook her head, a wet laugh escaping her.

Joe cupped her jaw and kissed the corner of her mouth — not claiming, not pushing, just grounding her in something easy again.

“And listen…” he added, voice dipping into that velvet-warm drawl that always unraveled her,
“if you ever think you see me with someone else again? Come check.”

He slid his hand to the back of her neck, drawing her in until their noses brushed.

“‘Cause I promise you, darlin’…”
His smile softened, tender and devastating.
“…the only girl I’ve ever waited on a porch for is holdin’ onto me right now.”

Then he nudged her forehead with his — small, sweet, impossibly intimate — easing her right back into the lightness she’d needed.

“Now c’mere,” he whispered, guiding her into the sway again.
“Before I start imaginin’ Shelby bustin’ in here with more raffle tickets.”

Her laugh returned — warm this time.

And Joe?
He held her through it, rocking with her to the jukebox hum, letting the moment breathe again.

Because yeah.
He remembered that Christmas.

But more than that?

He remembered her. Always had. Always would.