Sophia returned home late that afternoon, and it wasn't until she closed the door behind her and collapsed against it that she realized she was shaking. She held her hands in front of her, watching the slight vibration.

When it came to the opposite sex she'd always been the follower, not the leader. But Shane made it so stinking easy to lead, and it wasn't his anxiety or shyness making it that way. The opposite, in fact. The brashness. The bluntness. The way he spoke and it sometimes felt like he bit her instead.

Sophia got along with most people, but that was due to politeness. Politeness that both sides acknowledged in order to avoid friction. Politeness that only faded after becoming friends, and no longer feeling the need to maintain that friction-less façade. And Shane skipped all that – he disregarded those steps on the staircase of social niceties, which led Sophia to disregard them as well. He was the first person she'd felt herself around since moving to the valley, and perhaps even long before that. She was polite with Gus, Marnie, Emily, and Robin, but Shane? He'd forced that politeness out of her.

It was exhilarating, having that freedom with a relative stranger.

The following Friday she went back to the saloon. She told herself it was because after a sixty hour week of farm labor she deserved a few drinks, but she knew, not too far down, that she wanted to see him again.

"Sophia!" Emily smiled. "What can I get your pretty face tonight?"

She'd walked in with the intention of ordering two beers. Strutting to his table and claiming the seat beside him before a word left either of their mouths. Saying, "Refuse my beer again and I'll dump it on you."

But: "Just a pint," she chirped. "Anything dark."

Bawk, bawk, you fucking chicken.

"You like a bit of heat?" asked Emily, either not seeing or choosing to ignore the way Sophia had winced at herself. "You could try our new lager with hints of chili pepper. Sounds weird, I know, but it's actually quite lovely – nice smoky aftertaste, little bit of tingle."

"I like heat," said Sophia. "Sounds great."

It didn't take her long to find him: slumped at his usual table, his back to the bar, holding a beer with both hands and staring into it depths. He never brought anything to read or do, and she wondered what he could possibly spend so many hours thinking about. Didn't he get bored?

A strange feeling entered her chest the longer she watched, noticing the way people avoided him. It wasn't the fact they avoided him that made her feel strange – it was that they didn't even make a conscious decision to. Like he was some spill on the floor to be stepped around so they didn't get their shoes sticky. Like they didn't even see him.

Turn around, she willed him. Turn around and see that I'm here.

"Here you go," said Emily, returning with the lager. "Let me know how you like it."

Despite the full house the barmaid didn't look particularly busy – it was late and most of the crowd was already settled in, so Sophia said, "Hey, Em?"

"Yeah?"

"Just – maybe this is none of my business, but I was curious – does Shane ever sit with anyone?"

"He sat with you, last week." She smiled when Sophia turned pink. "Yeah, I saw that." Then her smile turned sad. "But other than that? No."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Is it because he tells people to get lost?"

"I see you've had the patented welcome treatment."

"Possibly."

Emily looked thoughtful. "You know, I'd sit with him if I weren't on the clock. He's always been okay to Gus and I – probably just used to us, since he's here so often." A pause. "Do you believe in energy, Sophia? Auras?"

Energy and auras? That was her sister's domain, not hers. Amy was always reading vibrations and waves, assigning colors to people – Sophia, she said, had a compassionate aura. One the color of turquoise, except for when she was deeply happy and it turned pink. While Sophia believed in reading the moods of people, or the atmosphere of the room, she'd never thought much of assigning them shades of the rainbow.

"Depends," she said. "What color do you think my aura is?"

Emily spent a considerable length of time gazing at Sophia from head to toe, then closed her eyes. "A lovely sky blue. No, actually...make that a very light teal."

"Turquoise?"

"Yes, that's it!"

Huh.

"Okay, today I believe in them," said Sophia. "Why do you ask?"

"Because Shane's aura is muddy, all different shades of brown and gray. Typically that indicates someone carrying a lot of negative energy. People say he's mean and a jerk, but I've never really gotten that impression, not deep down. He has lots of negative energy, but I don't think it's mean energy. Does that make sense?"

"Strangely it does."

"Personally, I think he's lonely."

Sophia remembered the words he'd hissed at her last time: I don't come here for the company, okay?

"He's in here a lot?"

Emily glanced around, but everyone nearby was absorbed by their own conversation. She lowered her voice. "Strictly speaking I shouldn't be saying this, but it's not exactly a secret…yeah. He's in here a lot. Almost every night." She looked at Sophia curiously. "May I ask why the interest?"

"No interest," she said quickly. "Just making conversation."

"Well in the interest of making conversation, did you know that people with turquoise auras are said to be natural healers?"

She looked into her glass, the implication not lost on her.

"This may not be my place to say so…but I did see you with him at the dance."

"You did?" Marnie's warning about village gossip flashed through her head.

"Yes. And frankly, this town is a pond and you two are both fish out of water. I'm just saying, I've heard worse ideas."

Sophia bit her lip and stared at Shane, cursing him for always having his back turned.

"Tempted to try again?" Emily held up a second glass as if asking if she should fill it.

"No," she lied, facing the bar again. What was that she'd been thinking at the house – that Shane had made it easy to lead?

"Hey Em!" came a shout. "Another round over here!" It was the owner of the bait and tackle shop, waving his hand around the cheerful group at his table.

"Coming up!" Emily called, then turned back to Sophia. "I've got to get back to work, but remember what I said." She made fish lips. "Doesn't hurt to have a friend."

Why did things have to change so quickly? Last week she'd marched over to him without any qualms, or at least none beside the expectation that she might be insulted. And that she could handle. But now their hands had been on one another and something had shifted. She supposed she should have seen it coming; her confidence always was a fickle thing, the boldness she felt one moment fleeing just as quickly the next.

But then, miraculously, the bell tinkled above the door and they turned at the same exact time, his eyes catching hers. For a moment they only stared, but then Sophia raised her hand a few inches off the table, giving him a slight wave.

He turned back around.

What the fuck?

She wondered if she'd even done it. Maybe, just maybe, she'd only imagined waving. If not, it'd be her own fault anyway, that stupid thing she said: If you want we can walk away after and pretend it never happened. He hadn't argued at the time, and it appeared that's exactly what he wanted to do – pretend it never happened. She'd ended the dance so awkwardly, too, saying thank you after the song was done, bumbling some excuse about needing to check on her dog. He'd shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded, and that was it. She'd left.

That wasn't a bad idea now, in fact. The pub was crowded and she was suddenly grumpy; try as she might to carry on his legacy at the farm, she'd never be the loud, genial friend to half a village like Grandpa had been. When not playing that silly game of shower the villagers with gifts, this wasn't her scene, not at all. Not even in Shane's alone-in-a-crowd sense.

Sighing, she grabbed her bag and chugged her beer, not even noticing the tingly aftertaste.