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T he scent of lemon oil and old whiskey lingered in the air as Billie Ann wiped down the tables, humming along to the song crackling from the battered jukebox in the corner.

It was an old tune, the kind that tugged at memories.

Her voice followed the melody, quiet and unpolished, but real.

She wasn’t singing to impress. She was singing because it made her feel good.

She didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t feel the shift in the air behind her until she turned, cloth in hand, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Jesus, Rafe!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He stood just inside the bar, arms crossed over his chest, a look in his eyes that made her feel like the only thing in the room worth looking at.

“Sorry,” he said with a low chuckle. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her cheeks flushed. “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough,” he said, voice warm and rough. “You’ve got a hell of a voice, Billie Ann.”

She laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s just something I do when no one’s around. Helps me not think.”

“Well, you might want to reconsider keeping it to yourself,” he said, stepping closer. “That was... something.”

Before she could think of something clever to say, the song changed. Another slow one. Bluesy. Intimate.

He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

Her heart skipped. “Are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.” his reply was said in a husky tone that had her heart skipping beats.

There was a slight hesitation on her part, but then her hand slipped into his, and she let herself be pulled gently into his space.

He was warm and solid. He smelled like cedar, leather, and something wild she didn’t have a name for. One of his hands rested at her lower back, the other clasping hers. They began to sway, slow and easy, like they’d done this before.

“You don’t strike me as the dancing type,” she murmured, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“I’m not,” he said, his gaze steady on hers. “But I couldn’t pass this up.”

Her stomach flipped. She looked away, focusing on the feel of his hand, the way their bodies moved together like a lazy river finding its current.

“I didn’t think I’d end up back here,” she said softly, looking around as they swayed together.

“You don’t sound too broken up about it,” he replied, his thumb brushing along her back.

“I’m not.” She replied, then whispered. “I wouldn’t have met you.”

There was a pause—comfortable, but charged. She could feel his eyes on her, and it made her skin tingle.

“One way or another, we would have met.” His voice was deep and solid. “Fate has a way of working things out.”

“Fate?” she echoed, her voice tight with uncertainty.

She tilted her head up to look at him. God, he was handsome with his messy dark hair that begged for her fingers to tangle in it, gorgeous blue eyes that seemed to see through every defense she had, and that maddening, sexy smirk that somehow set her on fire and calmed her all at once.

“I don’t believe in fate,” she added, the words sharper than she meant them to be. “You’re here because Mac asked you to come. That’s not fate. That’s an assignment.”

Her tone had more bite than she intended, but she didn’t pull it back. She was scared, plain and simple. What if this was all in her head? What if this man, this stranger, was just spinning some Shifter fairytale to get close to her?

And yet... she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him from the second he’d stepped into her life. Her body reacted to him like it had been waiting for his touch. Her heart, which she hadn’t trusted in a long time, beat just a little differently when he was near.

Rafe’s smirk faded slowly, replaced by something deeper. His hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing just beneath her cheekbone with a gentleness that contradicted the wild power she sensed in him.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, eyes locked on hers. “Mac did ask me to come. But I stayed because the moment I saw you, something inside me told me that you were mine. That’s not orders. That’s not a job.”

She swallowed hard, his words stirring something in her she couldn’t name...hope, maybe. Or dread. Or both tangled together.

“But I’m not a Shifter,” she whispered. “I’m not your kind.”

“I don’t give a damn what you are, Billie Ann.

You keep telling me what you aren’t, but I know what you are.

A special woman whom I’m falling hard for.

” Rafe said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that made her shiver.

“Shifter. Human. Witch. Alien. You could come from the damn moon, Billie Ann, and I’d still want you. Everything in me says you’re mine.”

She stared at him, breath caught somewhere in her chest. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. No one had ever looked at her as if she were both a mystery and a miracle.

“I don’t know if I can believe in fate,” she murmured. “But I believe you believe this.”

“That’s enough for now,” he said, stepping closer, his forehead resting gently against hers. “We don’t have to name it. We don’t have to rush it. But don’t pretend you don’t feel this too. I see it in your eyes.”

She closed those very eyes, letting herself breathe in his cedar scent and warmth, which were wild and comforting at the same time.

Her voice was barely a whisper when she finally looked at him again. “I do feel something for you, Rafe.”

She wasn’t the kind of woman who said things like that easily, especially to a man she’d only just met, but something about Rafe made her want to lay it all bare.

Maybe it was his eyes, steady and unflinching.

Maybe it was the way he listened without judgment.

Or maybe it was just that deep-down, bone-deep pull toward him she couldn’t explain or deny.

She glanced away, her cheeks flushing with color.

“Davey used to tell me all these stories about Shifters and their Mates. Said it was this… instant connection. A knowing. I always thought it was just him, drunk and sentimental, talking out his butt.” She let out a soft, self-conscious laugh.

“But he believed it. And I guess… part of me wanted to also because who wouldn’t want a love like that? ”

Rafe stayed silent, letting her talk, his hand warm and still against her cheek. She leaned into it, needing his touch.

“I mean, I knew some of it was true. I’ve seen things in this town that would make most people question everything.

But this—us—” Her voice cracked, and she drew in a shaky breath.

“I’ve been burned before, Rafe. Bad. Used and lied to.

I don’t have it in me to fall for another illusion. It scares me.”

His thumb brushed along her cheekbone, his gaze never wavering.

“Good,” he murmured, voice rough with sincerity.

She blinked, confused. “What?”

“That means it matters.” He smiled softly. “If it didn’t scare you, it wouldn’t be real. You’re not crazy for feeling something so fast, Billie Ann. You’re brave for not running from it. And I would never hurt you. Never lie to you. Not now, not ever.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

“You don’t have to,” Rafe said, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll figure it out together. I’m not going anywhere.”

A long silence settled between them, comfortable and charged all at once. Then, Rafe leaned in, his forehead resting against hers.

“You’re strong, Billie Ann. You don’t even know how strong you are. And whether or not you believe in fate… I do. I believe in this, in us.”

She closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her like sunlight breaking through clouds. Maybe, just maybe… she could believe too.

And then, without another word, he pulled her in close again. They swayed to music neither of them could hear anymore, and Billie Ann let herself believe, just a little, that maybe fate didn’t need her permission to do its work.