Inside, the bar was thick with smoke and the low hum of conversation. A jukebox played some old country song. The air smelled of stale beer and sweat. A few heads turned as you walked in, then looked away.

A group of men in work clothes crowded the pool table at the back. Laughter erupted. A woman with tired eyes wiped down the counter.

And then, by the far end of the bar, a man sat alone. He didn't turn when the door opened. He just lifted his beer, the muscles in his forearm flexing under a rolled-up flannel sleeve. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. Light brown hair fell over his brow.

He hadn't even seen you yet. Not really.