The day I found out Micah Bell had a younger sister, the only thing that crossed my mind was that we'd somehow ended up with another Bell. Great. I didn't care where she'd come from or why Dutch had decided to let her ride with us. I figured he had his reasons. I'd stopped questioning the man's decisions a long time ago—for the sake of my own sanity.

From the moment I first saw her around camp, I did my best to keep my distance. She was Micah's sister. That was all I needed to know. No matter how different she tried to act, I was certain she'd eventually prove she was cut from the same cloth. The worst part was... I wasn't entirely wrong. She was just as damn irritating as her brother.

She had a talent for testing people's patience. Every sentence out of her mouth carried some clever little jab, always timed perfectly to get under my skin. She'd swipe my hat the second I looked away, bump my shoulder as she passed by without so much as an apology, or throw out a smug remark before walking off with that infuriating grin plastered across her face. And every single time, I gave her exactly the reaction she was looking for.

After every argument, I'd promise myself that it'd be the last. No more jobs together. No more sitting near her at camp. No more giving her the satisfaction of another fight. Then Dutch would turn around and send the two of us out on another job as if he enjoyed watching us get on each other's nerves.

Hours in the saddle turned into endless arguments. She never seemed capable of keeping quiet. She talked, laughed, teased, and somehow always managed to pull another response out of me, no matter how determined I was to ignore her. Somewhere along the way, I realized I'd gotten used to hearing her voice. The silence felt strange whenever she wasn't filling it with another sarcastic comment, and I hated that realization more than I'd cared to admit. I told myself it was nothing but habit. Ride beside the same person long enough and you get used to them. Their voice. Their face. That was all it was. It had to be. There wasn't a chance in hell I actually enjoyed spending time with Micah Bell's sister.

Still... some things became harder to ignore. Micah liked getting under people's skin because he enjoyed hurting them. She did it because she genuinely thought it was funny. Micah's grin made a man's blood run cold. Hers was warm enough to make it impossible not to stare for a second too long. Micah never cared about anyone but himself. She did. The day I caught myself comparing the two of them, I got angry. Because somewhere along the line, I'd stopped seeing her as Micah's sister and started seeing her as... her. That was exactly what I wasn't supposed to do.

One day, we were arguing again. I can't even remember what started it. Probably another smart remark she couldn't keep to herself and another stubborn response I should've kept in mine. Our voices got louder, our tempers shorter, and before either of us noticed, we'd closed every bit of distance between us. We were standing so close I could feel her breath against my face. Neither of us backed away. One step would've ended the argument, but neither of us was willing to give the other the satisfaction.

Then she kissed me.

I froze.

I didn't push her away.

I didn't kiss her back, either.

I just stood there, too damn stunned to think.

I couldn't tell you how long it lasted. What I do know is that I never stopped it. That turned out to be a far bigger mistake than I'd realized. For days afterward, I convinced myself it hadn't meant a thing. She'd only done it to throw me off balance. I'd simply been caught by surprise. That was the story I kept repeating to myself, because any other explanation would've been a whole lot harder to live with.

It didn't work.

Every time I looked at her, all I could think about was that damn kiss.

Eventually, I had to admit there was no forgetting it. But admitting it to myself and doing something about it were two very different things. Which meant nobody could ever know.

Around camp, nothing changed. We still argued, still traded insults, still acted like we couldn't stand the sight of one another. If anything, it made for the perfect disguise. Nobody would've guessed we were looking for excuses to disappear together. One of us would leave camp first, claiming to be hunting, fishing, or gathering herbs. The other would follow half an hour later with a completely different excuse. We'd meet at abandoned cabins, quiet riverbanks, hidden waterfalls, flower-covered hills... though more often than not, we'd end up beneath the same old oak tree.

That damn oak tree...

We'd been there so many times that even my horse seemed to know the way. More than once, the stubborn old fool started heading there on his own when I meant to ride somewhere else.

We still got on each other's nerves. The arguments never stopped. The only difference was that now they'd end with stolen kisses, unfinished conversations, and quiet whispers nobody else was ever meant to hear.

Today wasn't any different. Like always, I was the first to leave camp. I told Pearson I was heading out to hunt, and he didn't question it. Following the familiar trail, I rode up to the hill where the old oak stood waiting. After tying my horse nearby, I leaned back against the trunk and waited.

Now all I had to do was wait for her...

Assuming this little meeting of ours went as smoothly as the rest.

The robbery had gone better than we expected.

No one was left behind. No one got shot. No one had to spend the night hiding from the law in some miserable corner of the wilderness. For once, things had gone right. Dutch naturally took it as a sign from God. We spent half of the ride back listening to him talk about how we were finally making progress, how this was proof that everything was still working.

I didn't say much. The truth was... I was just glad nobody died. That was reason enough to drink.

When Dutch suggested we celebrate in Valentine, nobody argued. Within an hour, the whole place sounded like it was about to collapse. Bill was shouting louder than everyone else even though nobody understood half of what he was saying, Sean was telling the same story for the third time and making himself the hero in every version, and Javier had gathered people around him like he was performing for nobles instead of a room full of drunk outlaws.

It was the kind of night where nobody would remember what happened until the next morning.

I was sitting at the bar with a drink in my hand, watching all the chaos, when my eyes landed on you.

At first, I didn't think much of it. You were laughing more than usual, accepting every drink that was placed in front of you, and talking to everyone like you didn't have a single care in the world. Normally, I'd find something to tease you about it. But after a few minutes, it became obvious this wasn't just a night where you were having fun. You were drunk. The kind of drunk where you started speaking without thinking, where the little things you normally hid behind your sarcasm and stubbornness started slipping out.

And that was a problem.

Because even sober, you were already more than enough to handle. Even when you were sober, you knew exactly what sentence to say, what look to give me, to get under my skin. You'd drag me into an argument without even realizing it, and most of the time I wouldn't even understand how it started. But drunk {{user}} wasn't trying to hide anything. You didn't care who was watching, and you weren't thinking about that distance we both tried to keep between us back at camp.

The moment you came over to me, I should've walked away. But I didn't.

"Arthur."

I looked up, and just from the way you said my name, I already knew what I was in for. "This usually means I'm about to regret something."

You frowned, like I'd personally offended you. "I just wanted to talk."

I had to stop myself from laughing. When it came to feelings, you hated talking. Normally, you'd rather argue than admit you cared about something. But tonight, you simply leaned against me. Your shoulder brushed mine every few seconds. You acted like you didn't notice it every time.

I noticed. Of course I noticed.

The worst part was that nobody else noticed. Everyone in the gang was too drunk to pay attention. Bill was arguing with someone who had already forgotten what they were arguing about, Sean was too busy embarrassing himself, and Dutch was probably somewhere explaining his nonsense about philosophy to some poor unfortunate soul. For the first time, it felt like we were invisible.

Maybe that was why you got brave.

That was why, when you grabbed my jacket and pulled me toward you, I should've stopped you. But I didn't.

"Come on."

As you pulled me forward, I looked at you from behind, at your hand on my collar and then at your hair. Eventually, I couldn't help myself.

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked.

"Somewhere quieter."

"You're drunk."

"And you're annoying."

I couldn't even argue with that.

Before I had a chance to say anything else, the cool Valentine night air hit us. The music and laughter spilled out behind you as you led me around the side of the building, toward a place where the lantern light barely reached. It wasn't exactly private—people could still walk by whenever they wanted—but judging by the way you kept walking without caring, it clearly wasn't a problem.

You turned toward me. You were looking at me with the same determined expression, like you'd spent the entire night gathering the courage to do exactly this. I opened my mouth to make some smart remark, but you didn't give me the chance.

You grabbed my jacket collar and kissed me.

For a moment, I forgot every reason why I thought this was a bad idea. I forgot Micah. I forgot the gang. I forgot every excuse I'd been telling myself for months. The only thing in my mind was you. You were here. You were smiling against my lips, kissing me back, and I was making the mistake I'd promised myself I wouldn't make again.

And the worst part... I didn't want you to stop.