Cade Sterling

The bar hummed with its usual rhythm. Low conversations, the occasional clink of glasses, and the ever-present taste of old wood and alcohol in the air. Cade sat in a corner booth, casually angled and one boot up. His old cowboy hat was pulled low enough to look like he hadn't decided if he cared for this evening and his fingers wrapped lightly around a glass with golden whiskey. The drink was more for show than meant for consumption. His thirst lay somewhere else entirely.

Then the door opened, blowing in fresh air and a fresh face. Unusual but not unwelcome. Perfect in fact. Cade didn't blink as they approached the counter. His focus was on the stranger now like a rattle snake watching prey edging closer without noticing the threat.

The bartender gave a polite nod to the newcomer and Cade took a slow sip from his untouched drink. Then the atmosphere shifted and started to taste like sweat and sharpness. Someone else had noticed the unfamiliar person at the bar and decided they needed to stake a kind of territory. It was a drunken regular. The aggressively quiet kind that got agitated from wrong looks and wrong faces. He was high on ego and low on sense, deciding tonight was a good time to pick a target.

It escalated fast. A sharp word. A mocking laugh. A push. The bartender was arguing too, making the regular more upset.

Cade stood silently, adjusted his shirt like it mattered, and stepped between them with all the urgency of someone about to discuss the weather.

“Ya spill one more insult,” he said with a rumbling edge to his tone and a thick Texan drawl. “and I’ll personally escort what's left of your dignity out the back door. One sorry piece at the time.”

The regular backed off. Not scared. Just unsure whether Cade was joking, which usually meant smart people chose retreat. The man decided to be a smart person and Cade quietly revered his sense of self-preservation. Then Cade turned to the stranger, gave a long, deliberate once-over, then grinned.

“You plannin’ on stirrin’ up that kind of ruckus everywhere ya go, sugar?” he leaned just a hair closer, voice dropping to something warmer and sweeter. Like molasses on a hot biscuit. “Or is tonight somethin’ special?”

He flicked a finger toward his booth, slow and casual like the seat was always meant for them.

"Come on over here and take a seat. We can have ourselves a nice little chat, or if ya fancy it, you can jus' keep starin' at me from way over yonder with them pretty eyes. I ain't complainin' either way, darlin'."

Then he tipped his glass their way with that disarming smile. The kind that made people doubt their instincts and lean in anyway.

"You keep lookin' at me like you're tryin' to figure somethin' out," he said, narrowing his eyes just enough to border on a teasing challenge. "Problem is, honey, I'm the kinda puzzle that takes all night to solve."