Daniel
*Note: This is a continuation of: 

The walk back to town wasn't too terribly bad. Alma only slipped on a patch of wet leaves once, so she counted that as a win in her book. The real tragedy was how Dog had gotten his tree branch stuck between a boulder and the trunk of an old dogwood. He whined pitifully, but eventually gave up on his treasure to sprint off ahead of Rhett and Alma as if he were scouting out the path. How gracious of him. 

They made it back in time for them to catch the last rays of sunset casting its dim glow over the holler. The temperature was plummeting, but their brisk pace had kept Alma from minding the cold too terribly much. Plus, she was happy to be soaking in more time with Rhett. So happy, in fact, that she was reluctant to say goodbye. She knew full well that she'd offered to make him some warm cider and the thought certainly had not left her mind, but that meant they'd have to go back to familiar territory. Frankly, Alma wasn't ready to be stifled by normalcy yet. 

Thankfully, Alma's ears caught the first notes of *Something*. A new plan was hatched. 

"Wait! Do you hear that?" Alma stopped walking right in the middle of the road. With the way the leaves had been crunching under her boots, she hadn't quite been able to pinpoint what she'd picked up. In the quiet, though, she caught the picking of a guitar. Fast and spirited and joyful. It was coming from over the crest of that hill. 

Alma turned back to Rhett wearing a bright grin. "I think there's a band pickin' up at the Ol' Davis Barn!" When she turned to listen again, she swore she could hear a fiddle joining in.

_
_ "Oh, Rhett! There must be," She chirped as she spun round a third time and excitedly grabbed hold of the cuff of his flannel jacket. Eager as she was, she wasn't brazen enough to go for his hand. "Whaddya say to us goin' and seein' the band, huh? Be nice to see the barn as its meant to be! Plus, Mama mentioned she dropped off a couple crates of 'shine a few days ago. I'd wager there's still some left if we're lucky!"
Jean
``` CONTENT WARNING: ALCOHOLISM.```

Rhett would've kept wrestling with Dog as long as Alma kept on laughing, but true to her tendencies towards organization, she beckoned the pair out of their squabble. He looked up to her, breathless, to make sure her expression hadn't soured towards truly annoyed, but good humor kept her in motion. 

"Awright, Dog. You win this time, but just 'cause your mama called a truce." He narrowed his eyes down at the Bloodhound with a lighthearted threat of competition before catching up to Alma on the path. 

They passed the time talking, Rhett telling funny stories about Spider, and asking Alma's advice on what should join Maeve's novel on his bookshelf. He was slowly but surely reading through it, and he had a lot of vocabulary to run by Alma. The way she easily corrected him and graciously offered alternate explanations to his synthesis of the written word was embarrassing at times, but wholly appreciated. He found himself wishing he'd had a teacher like her back in school; maybe he would have been a smarter man for it. No– he *Knew* He'd have been a smarter man. His teachers then had seen him struggle, winced at his slow progress, and encouraged him to work with his hands instead of his mind. 

The outlines of buildings at the town's edge were a happy sight. While the dark sometimes just meant an absence of sun, you never knew when it would reveal something sinister. Rhett's recent series of hauntings connected to his failure at the coal mine had so far taken place mostly in his own home, but whatever had followed him back from S&C sometimes grew confident and accompanied him outside of his walls. 
_ _

The threat of it had nearly caused him to reschedule today's events with Alma, but living in fear was no way to live. He took confidence that the sun would protect them, and it had so far. Besides, he had confided in her about the suspected haint: told her about what'd happened at the lumberyard with him and Dallas, and about all the times he and Spider woke up to the smell of smoke in the shack. She knew he had a bad shadow and still kept him close by. 

He was looking forward to that continued closeness and a cup of cider, but before he could settle into the plan, it seemed that Alma caught the scent of something on the breeze. Live music! The idea was grand, and seeing the Barn outside of its typical station *Would* Be lovely. She'd sold him, until she mentioned shine, and Rhett hoped she wouldn't catch how he'd stiffened. 

Him and liquor had a pretty unfriendly relationship. He'd been 18 when prohibition began, and at the time he was glad for it. What booze had done to his ma, his pa: he knew it'd played a role in how they'd fractured away, bit by bit. His aunts always clucked about the evils of alcohol, and he'd agreed up until one night in Baltimore when Constance pressed a glass of bourbon to his lips. The smell burned his nose, but he'd never told her no before, and so he drank. 

Rhett had never felt such relief. Parts of him went silent that he hadn't known were even speaking up. Instead of roving far and wide outside of himself, his attention focused inward, a quieting finger pressed to the lips of his overactive empathy. There was stillness. There was peace. From ages 20 through 25, he had a drink every night, but it never stopped at one. He drank to remember why he stayed with Connie. He drank to forget what he'd done for her. He drank to find himself, but the drink got him gone, further and further from the places he even knew to be searching. He drank for being lost.
_ _

Rhett got used to the glass of his tired eyes, and the shake of his hands when the sun went down. His priorities included keeping his flask full and finding a fix within hours of dropping anchor in a new town. 

Getting clean in Cleveland, working at the machine shop, was the closest to death he'd ever felt. Wracked by tremors, headaches that near split him in half, and hallucinations from the sudden withdrawal, there were so many times he scrambled back to the bottle. He was lucky he had folks there looking out for him: strangers who somehow saw the good in his bloodshot eyes, and stayed with him at night when his urges overtook him. They kept him distracted while someone else unlaced his boots as he stopped to shift the deadbolt on the door. It had been almost two years since he'd left that shared house, and still he felt like crying when he thought about how he hadn't said goodbye to the people there who'd saved his life.

These were things he had not told Alma. She knew the broad outlines of his time away from town, but it terrified him to share the ugliest parts of himself with her. The only reason the shame of his past stayed buried like it did was that Rhett *Knew* He was good. Constance had been a crutch, easily within reach of a young boy who was desperate for an identity. It had taken him losing himself completely to finally forge one all his own, separate from the image of her. In that way, he supposed he could thank her, but there was far more to blame her for. 

Rhett had fought his way back to Briar Ridge, and back to a second chance despite his first love. As a reward, Alma had shown up at his door with redemption on offer. What a fool he would be to tell her the sins of his younger self and make her regret giving him all that she had. 
_ _

It was hard to say how long he'd been silent after Alma's mention of a drink. However great the pause, it was embarrassing, and Rhett reddened. Declining was not an option, especially in the wake of Alma's excitement. He managed a smile, hoping it was convincing, and gave a curt nod. The smile broke into a laugh as Alma caught his sleeve in her fingers. 

"I don't think the 'Ol Davis Barn is ready for Alma Cooper tonight, *Shoooot*!" He conceded, allowing himself to be led inside. 

The scene was vibrant, and despite the hovering anxiety of facing an old addiction, Rhett was glad they'd come. Though scenes of werewolves brawling broadcast like ghostly exposures onto the setting before him, seeing the barn so full of joy was pure and good. He'd paused in the doorway to take it all in, the flicker of the lanterns casting a honey-sweet, amber glow over the festivities. Alma's dark eyes were practically quicksilver as they surveyed the celebration, and Rhett was quickly infected by her enthusiasm. He did not pull back his cuff from her grip, choosing instead to release his autonomy to her and wherever she may decide to lead him next. 
_ _
Daniel
Now anybody who'd steeped themselves in the traditions and families of Briar Ridge knew exactly what the Coopers did. Mayor Cooper ran on a platform of economic independence through the sale of moonshine back when the riots were still being published in the daily papers. He'd been determined to keep John Barleycorn alive and well in the rises and valleys of the holler they called home. Ol' Billy Cooper wasn't the type to go and win an election and sit on his laurels, neither. He did the growin' and his wife, Miriam, ran the stills. William was able to be awake in the daylight hours to do his mayorly business and the Cooper women took over in the evening. 

Alma included. She knew her way around a still, too, when push came to shove. It was only during summer break that Alma could afford to adjust to a nocturnal schedule. She'd inevitably get bored though and start readin' a book in that old shed on the edge of their property. Her batches never came out as smooth or sweet as her Mama's did. So, Mrs. Cooper typically took up the nightshift with her flask and her shotgun. While her Mama stoked the fires, Alma scheduled their runs, counted inventory, and balanced the books. 

At least, that's how it all happened before a full moon meant safe houses instead of profit. 

With the last ten or so years of her life steeped in moonshine, Alma rarely bothered with the Ol' Davis Barn. If she ever cared for a drink, she'd just walk across their property or have friends over for dinner or host a BBQ. What's more, Alma wasn't usually the type for social gatherings of its magnitude. But, nowadays, Alma was a stranger in her own home. And she didn't know when the last time was that she'd allowed herself to unwind and just have *Fun*. It had to be back in... June? Back when she'd had that picnic before hell broke loose?

Alma could bear a night of shouting over raucous music for the burn of shine and easy laughter for the first time in almost half a year. Especially if it meant that laughter might come from Rhett. 

The second the old barn doors creaked open, Alma reluctantly let go of Rhett's sleeve. As much as she wanted to slide her grasp down to his palm, that wasn't something friends did. Besides, she was keenly aware of the way gossip could fly in a town of their size. There'd inevitably be whispers about the two of them coming to a place like this together without her holding onto him, but she wagered their joint efforts on The Cage could be leveraged for a believable cover story. She could play this politically. She could keep this under control for as long as it took to get the job done. 

Still, she couldn't hide the brightness of her smile as they stepped into the warm, smokey barn. Nor could she help herself from tossing him a look over her shoulder to make sure he was still following before she led them to a table in one of the darker lit corners. In a past life, their table had once been the top of a barrel. From where she perched on her stool, she could get a good view of the band plucking and stringing and stomping away. A dance floor had already been cleared in the middle of the barn. A few drunken patrons were already claiming the space for their own, hootin' and hollerin' and wavin' their hats in time with the music. Alma giggled in delight and had to tear her attention away from them to look up at Rhett. 

Maybe it was the long hours they were spending in the barn already to build the cage or maybe it was just the joy she felt at the prospect of having a night of fun, but she was *Comfortable*. Comfortable enough to cross the barrier of the table to half talk, half shout in Rhett's ear.

"Would you mind grabbin' me a shot of shine, please? Cooper, naturally." Alma made it a point to keep her eyes downcast so she couldn't fret over how close they'd just been, comp

Letely unaware of the inner turmoil he was facing or of the potential anxiety a request like that might cause for him. No, instead she pulled back and started peeling off the layers of her scarf and jacket till she was back in her plain brown dress. It was ugly and prudish compared to the rolled up sleeves and shorter skirts of the women who'd dressed like they wanted to be seen. Alma tried not to be self conscious about it - the shine would fix that soon enough. Still, she smoothed her skirts and crossed her legs the dainty way she'd once seen Maeve do. She couldn't help but think it was a poor imitation of the grace her friend wielded, but *She was trying*.
Jean
Rhett wasn't sure how far to fall into the comfortable encompassing sounds of the Ol Davis Barn. Here were his friends, neighbors, and even a few distant cousins peppered in among the crowd, making noise and enjoying each other. The comfort was undeniable, but it existed astride an enemy. His attention shot sideways to the bar. He eased himself with a mental bandage: he wasn't who he used to be. He wouldn't let his vices take hold of him this time. Alma wouldn't let it happen either. 

With his head turned and Alma suddenly leaning close to speak, their faces almost collided as he started to turn to her, the scant distance between them unaccounted for. This triggered an instant full-face blush, blood running hot down his neck and up to his ears to match. He prayed the lantern light was dim enough for Alma not to notice his color. As soon as she'd reared up, she was sat back down, freeing herself from layers of warm clothes. She seemed possessed by the atmosphere which inspired him to relax. He watched her for too long, which didn't help ease the redness in his face. 

The way she'd held his shirt sleeve was still fresh in his mind, now paired with the recent feeling of their cheeks almost brushing. It felt familiar, the tease of closeness. He remembered when he'd first been courting Connie, and how she would find excuses to put a hand on his knee or his chest. (Boy, she'd sure started off sweet.) Perhaps too hopeful of a comparison, he likened Alma's subtle gestures to the same kind of flirting. He was flattered to consider the possibility, but its sheer impossibility soon inspired him to push the thoughts aside. 
_ _

"A shot a shine, comin' right up." Rhett promised, leaving the table with a nervous rap of his knuckles on its top. He worked through the crowd up to the bar. When the server at the counter glanced back at his path and saw who he'd arrived with, she smiled knowingly and disappeared to the shelves below, coming up with a small mason jar filled with clear liquid along with two small glasses. 

"Tell Miss Cooper this last batch was a thing of beauty." The server winked, and Rhett nodded, his mouth dry, barely managing a smile. He took the glasses in one hand and the jar in the other, worming back to his and Alma's table. Standing as he unscrewed the lid and placed it down, he slowly shifted his weight from foot to foot, vaguely in time with the music. He slid a glass towards Alma and filled it before pouring one himself. 

"The barkeep sends her compliments." He smiled, a little easier this time, though the smell of the liquor had his heart pounding. The more anxious he became, the quicker he wanted to get the shot past his lips, just to know its effects: to know what it'd do to him. He met Alma's eyes, in awe of the way her hair fought to free itself from her bun. Rhett was rooting for it– he admired her wild hair, especially when it tumbled loose and free over her shoulders. 

He raised his glass to her. 

"To good, honest gun slingin'." The shine barely burned on the way down, and Rhett had to agree with the bartender. He closed his eyes reflexively, tracing the liquid's path down his throat to his gut. He swore he felt warmer already. That wasn't so bad, now was it?
_ _
Daniel
If there was one thing Alma was good at, it was focusing. And she was focusing with all her might on everything but Rhett. She couldn't acknowledge how close they'd just been, so her hands searched for *Anything* To serve as a distraction. Folding her scarf. Draping her jacket over the back of her chair. Adjusting her skirts. Smoothing her hair into something respectable without tearing it down completely. She'd been so focused on keeping her mind elsewhere that it took the movement of Rhett's knuckles knocking against the table for her to look up. She only just barely caught Rhett's face as he left the table. 

*Red.* She blinked, her hands frozen in place. Her eyes darted down to his neck and *Confirmed* What she thought she'd only imagined. Was Rhett... Blushing? 

Over what? 

Alma spun in her seat. Maybe one of the girls with their painted lips and gentle curls had caught his eye? But the only ones nearby were off on the dancefloor, seemingly far too enraptured by their partners to have shot Rhett a look. What about the bartender? Maybe the server? With how loud the music was, she couldn't catch any of the server and Rhett's conversation, but she did catch the way she winked at him. 

*Oh.*

That had to be it. Suddenly, she found that she didn't care quite so much how she looked. Her chest felt oddly... Heavy. *It was stupid of her.* There was no need for her to feel envious. She and Rhett were just friends. God knew she was repeating that sentence often enough for it to be burned into her memory. But why did she always do this to herself? It was so painfully rare that she met somebody who truly captured her attention. She could probably count the times it had happened on the fingers of one hand. Her mama was always eager to remind Alma that she was too damn picky, but Alma didn't think it was that at all. She just... Took time. More time than most were ever willing to wait. She didn't do well with random suitors. They did nothing but make her worry about how she could politely tell them that she wasn't interested without hearing about it for the next hour from her Mama.

But, when she got to know somebody? Really get to know somebody? 

*Shit.* 

Alma needed to leave before Rhett— But he was already walking back! Alma prayed the dark shadows hid the panic scrawled across her face. She pretended to get distracted by her, uh, boot! It was suddenly and tragically too loose for her taste. Her fingers shook as undid the ~~perfectly fine~~ bow and tightened the laces. By the time she was looking back up at him, a strained smile was painted on her lips instead. 

*"The barkeep sends her compliments."* 

Rhett was smiling at her. Her heart skipped a beat. *Traitor.* She swallowed hard and told herself not to ruin Rhett's good mood with her foolishness. "Oh, really? I'll have to let Mama know!" She dove for the alcohol - perhaps a little *Too quickly* - but (thankfully) slowed herself when she realized Rhett was toasting. She tried not to look at the way the shine inside her cup quivered as she raised her hand too.

"To gun slingin'," She just barely choked out. The shot went down far smoother than she remembered. "Mm!" Her eyes wide for just a moment and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "The barkeep was right! Mama really did outdo herself with this one!" That seemed to shake the jitters right out of her as she licked her lips. "Mama must've used that batch of honey she got from Mr.—

"Oh, sorry!" Alma shook herself out of her train of thought as quick as it came. "We ain't here for me to think about business. I shouldn't be— I— Sorry." Alma's hands were everywhere as she tried to regain control of herself. She finally settled on putting the shot glass down and sitting on her hands so she would stop *Fidgeting*. 

To punctuate Alma's panic, the band had switched gears to somethin' the gathering crowd was right riled up about. The tables surrounding Rhett and Alma were abandoned as a song Alma'd never heard started up. The fiddler went stampin' their boot hard and fast against the wooden pallets in a near frantic beat that whipped the dancers into a tizzy. Skirts went spinning as dust started to get kicked up. 

And it was little surprise to Alma that some pretty little red haired lady plucked up the courage to ask Rhett for a dance. She tapped his shoulder to try and catch his attention over the music and her freckles in combination with her pretty red lipstick made her smile somethin' to behold. *Oh.* Again, Alma pretended to get distracted. Her boot trick already wasted, she just looked down at her hands and waited. 

Because that's what friends did.
Jean
It didn't help Rhett's squirming internal conflict that the shine went down so *Damn* Smooth. It didn't help that he already wanted another. It didn't help that the first shot was shaking hands with the warmth in his belly like an old friend. He set his glass down. He studied it and its emptiness. 

Alma's delighted surprise perked him up and his face lit in a grin as she licked her lips. He was glad she had confidence in her family's product. She went on to discuss the process, and he hung on her words. She rarely talked about life at the still. When she stopped herself, he grew puzzled, now noticing how her nervous movements paired with the self-conscious metering of her speech. 

*If we ain't here for that, what are we here for, Alma?* He wanted to ask, that dastardly liquor already affecting his confidence! His mouth opened to form some semblance of the question when the tap came at his shoulder. 

Rhett was taken aback by the question, as if entirely staggered by the fact that another woman besides Alma Cooper walked the face of this earth. The girl who approached him was pretty. Real pretty, in fact. But was she smart as a whip, too, and brave as an angry bull? Was she kinder than a summer breeze, patient as a saint? Could she bake a mean blackberry pie? Lipstick and freckles couldn't tell a man all he needed to know. 
_ _

"That's mighty kind, ma'am." He muttered to the young woman, barely meeting her eyes. He shuffled just so, almost imperceptibly, closer to Alma, "But, I'm sure you'll find a partner somewhere's else." There was no blush at his neck. There was barely even a smile. Mildly offended, the girl turned heel and left, a close clutch of her friends pretended not to have been watching as Rhett glanced forward along her path of retreat. 

He took a moment to steady himself, wondering what he'd see in Alma's face when he spun around. He turned, and losing his confidence to look at her at the last moment, brought his attention instead to their empty glasses. He cleared his throat quietly as he poured, unhinging his jaw to say the first thing that came to mind. 

"Do ya like to dance, Alma?" *Fuck.* Even though it wasn't an invitation explicitly, it still felt too forward. Anyhow, it was out and lingering in the air, and Rhett had to claim it. 
"I mean. When you hear music, you know. Does it make you wanna... Move?" This time he sheepishly glanced at his company, bringing the shine up to sip at it. Was that clarification really any better? Rhett could feel his face getting hot again.
_ _
Daniel
With how furiously the band was playing and how the dancers were carrying on, Alma couldn't quite catch Rhett's words. Just a few clips of words like *Kind, partner,* And *Else*. It was enough for Alma to lift her head and strain to hear what they were saying, but there was nothing else to catch. The girl was leaving and Rhett was staring after her. When he turned around, he didn't look her in the eye. His expression was unreadable and her mind raced to fill in the gaps. 

Relief had crashed over her stronger than she wished it would. The shine hadn't hit her system quite yet, so there was no neat way for her to blame it on something external. Her mind scraped and scratched at any reasoning it could come up with, even if it didn't entirely hold water. She ultimately landed on Rhett's denial only being a reflection of his polite upbringing. He wasn't going to leave Alma alone. He was a gentleman. There'd been plenty of nights where Alma had looked up to realize it was dark out, and Rhett would always offer to see her safely back home. Didn't matter if it was rainin' or freezin' cold. He'd walk with her every step of the way, helping her pass the time with quiet conversation and gentle laughter. Now that the walk was no longer a mile or so but just a few minutes to his aunts' front door, Alma would sometimes find herself reluctant to head inside. But she knew Bonnie and Linda were undoubtedly listening in on their conversations, so she took care to always bid him a chaste 'good night'. 

That's all Rhett was doing now. Keeping an eye on her even in a space where all she saw was familiar faces. Even if he'd wanted to say yes. 

Alma needed another shot.

Rhett seemed to already have that in mind. She murmured a quiet thank you for his pouring and took care not to down this one in a single go - though the temptation was certainly there. When Rhett asked her if she like to dance, she tragically had a bit of shine go down the wrong pipe. She coughed and quickly turned away from him, trying to hide the fact that it was *Her turn to blush.* It was certainly not the moonshine this time either. Panic flooded her chest again and her eyes swept quick over to the dancers. Was he... Really inviting her to dance? *Her? He wanted her???— Oh.*

The clarification he followed up with soothed her fears some, but her heart still pounded at the mere prospect. Mainly because, "I-I don't really, no." Not the stutter again! *Shit!* "I-I mean, it makes me wanna move, sure, a-and it looks fun! But I... Actually cain't dance." Alma kept her eyes glued to her cup as she made that confession. Her cheeks were burning hot. She'd already removed her outer layers, but the air felt suffocatingly hot. "I, um, I tried! Or, rather, my Papa tried to teach me when I was littler. He's always been good at stuff like that. He's actually really good at dancin' and played the guitar for my Mama all the time back before the war... But I just never really got the hang of it." 

Her earlier goal of holding onto this shot was forgotten and she knocked it back the same as the first. It gave her the courage to dare a glance at Rhett to gauge his reaction. It had been *Her* Idea, after all, to come to the barn and see the band. It was silly of her to offer something like that and *Not* Be able to join the dance floor, wasn't it? 

"B-But, I mean, i-if you like to dance, then," She hesitated. The shots were starting to kick in. She needed to choose her wording carefully. "Then don't let me stop you from havin' fun. I promise I'm alright just listenin' to the band! I want you to have fun."
Jean
Rhett was eager to get a second shot of shine back, but he followed Alma's lead in sipping, going a bit wide-eyed as one sip of hers landed wrong. He looked away while she coughed, an involuntarily impish smile crossing over him. Wasn't this obvious, what they were doing? Wasn't it obvious how they already danced, stepping on each others' toes in their attempts at grace? It was funny to him, but maybe that was just the moonshine laughing. 

His mood had turned completely. From apprehensive to weightless, Rhett didn't want to keep it a secret how *Good* He felt and how pleased he was in present company. 

"*Cain't dance?*" He parroted suddenly, shaking his head in good-humored disbelief, "There's no person on earth that ain't know how to dance. God builds it inta each one of us, whether we like it or not. 'Least, that's what Gramma Alice always told me." The sudden diatribe caught him off guard, but so had Alma's admission. The thought of someone wanting to dance but feeling held back from it just made him sad, and had apparently inspired him to preach.

She looked at him after she tipped back her drink and he stilled to catch her eye, hesitating for a comedic pause before he followed suit, making it clear that he took permission from her to shoot down the rest of his drink. He winced, coughed, and let his eyes fall. He began to spin the glass slowly on the table top, his rough hands oddly delicate as they maneuvered it in circles. 

"I do like to dance," He returned carefully, trying desperately to keep a grin from overtaking his features, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult as he imagined his hand at Alma's waist, "I dunno. I'd feel awful silly out there without ya." He shrugged, his pale eyelashes fanned bashfully downward. 
_ _

"Say, what was that barkeep tryin' ta do to us, givin' us this whole jar?" Rhett reached for it, now just a little over half full, and nudged it fractionally towards the woman across the table, "Wha'dya say, Alma Cooper? Reckon she was hopin' ta see you out on those pallets?" 
_ _
Daniel
*"Cain't dance?"* 

Alma stiffened up for a moment as if she half expected him to tease her about it, but all she found instead was a rough kind of encouragement she wasn't entirely ready for. In Alma's experience, Rhett was always ready to see the other side of somethin'. He wasn't wishy washy per se, but it was rare that he got good and passionate. Alma felt strangely like she'd just been let in on a secret, even if it was somethin' as silly and simple as the ability to dance. Maybe that's why Alma looked up at him as if he'd hung a new star in the sky just for her. 

When he seemed to take her cue to finish his own shot, Alma laughed. It was quick and quiet and she hid it behind the back of her hand like it was a secret, too. Like she wasn't quite sure if she was permitted to feel as good as she did when he smiled at her like that. 

Even scarier, still, was how ready she was to tell him 'yes'. She'd embarrass herself in front of the whole town if it kept him smilin'. She'd blame it on the moonshine she was reachin' for, but her fingers found the warmth of Rhett's knuckles instead of cold glass. She yanked her hand back quick and tucked a quick 'sorry' behind an awkward giggle, but the damage was already done. Her cheeks were gettin' bright and red again. She went to fold her hands into her lap as if that might keep them from betraying her, but Rhett was nudging the jar towards her. Alma cautiously took hold of it - taking the utmost care *Not* To touch him again - and shakily poured them a third round of shots.

_ _ 
"W-Well, I suppose I... Wouldn't want you to feel silly," Alma eked out, her voice just barely able to be heard over the music as the frantic song came to an end. The dancers were cheering and applauding and drowning out what little courage Alma had summoned. Her mouth opened up like she wanted to say something more, but she swallowed it back down. Her eyes darted up to Rhett's and lingered. Inhibitions lowered thanks to the glass pressed between her fingers, her gaze ran the course she only ever dared when he was looking away. Starting from his brows to trace the line of his nose down to the gentle bend of his lips and the cut of his jaw. She knew she should look away even as the tables around them were slowly filled back up with breathless dancers, but his happiness held her captive. 

"I reckon she don't remember the last time I got out on them pallets, then," She retorted when she finally broke herself from her trance. "I just about broke a girl's nose. It must'a been... Oh, five or so years ago? I was just barely drunk n' stupid enough to say yes to a perfect stranger. He tried to spin me n' I just kept goin'! Right into the poor couple beside us." She laughed at the memory and hid her face as if the old embarrassment was rushing back. "My elbow hit her nose n' it was *So red*, Rhett. I thought I'd really gone'n broke it! So, either she's new, or she's had too much'a my Mama's 'shine." She kept laughing right through that last sentence - *Oh, laughing like that meant she was tipsy, wasn't she?* - and raised the glass to her lips. 

"Now, I s'ppose I wouldn't mind tryin' again so's long as I've got someone who kin catch me proper. I'd just really prefer not to get kicked out of this place!"
Jean
How that giggle of Alma's rivaled even the meanest fiddle player in the valley. She pulled away from his hand around the shine jar and he couldn't take his eyes off of her, her face all scrunched in embarrassment and laughter. Was that a blush he saw spreading? He finally looked away as she poured them their third round, taking a moment inward to worry over the amount of alcohol in his system. Again, he pushed his worries down. He was with Alma. She wouldn't let harm come his way, from his own hand or otherwise. 

Rhett had to lean forward across the table a bit to hear her, watching her lips to make sure he caught all of what she was saying. Was she agreeing to a dance? A hypothetical dance? He grinned, and was still grinning when she pinned him with her gaze. She was looking at him— *Really* Looking— and he liked it. Paired with her coy grazing of his knuckles, surely she was mounting these simple touches and intimate moments on purpose. Surely this was her inviting him closer! Despite the disbelief that addled him still, the fact that Alma Cooper might be returning his crush on her sent his heart into his throat. *Admitting* To himself that he had a crush on Alma Cooper was alone enough to hitch his breathing, but there it was. 

As Alma told her story, it was his turn to look at her, her bright, smart eyes widening and crinkling with the turns of the tale. He could still feel the ghost of her hand brush his.

Rhett whistled low as she devolved to laughter, both sounds almost completely lost to the din of the barn, "What I'd'a done ta see all that." He shook his head, finally looking down to his refilled glass as Alma took up her own again. It was Rhett's turn to choke on his moonshine, though he managed to recover before he made a spectacle. Could *He* Be the one to catch her proper? Such a bold line both intimidated and excited him— but why be intimidated when he had a belly full of liquor? He *Could* Be the one to catch her, god damnit! 
_ _

After a brief break, the band was back up, the dancers fanning themselves and whooping as they flooded the floor again. Seeing their kicking heels and clasped hands, Rhett Sterling was a man possessed. This time, he led the charge of knocking back the third shot, hoping to catch Alma's eye before the shine passed his lips. He set the glass down with more force than he meant to, and turned to watch the band a moment as he gathered courage for his next move. When he was bolstered, he turned sharply and fixed his peevish sights on Alma, holding out his hand to her in the next beat. A true, breathless smile looked good on the man: his sleep-deprived eyes shining anew. 

"If they kick us out, we'll just go dance out in the dirt. How's about it, Alma?" If she was giggling like a girl now, he was more than eager to see her out with the crowd, skirts spinning and hair unraveling. 

Though he was loathe to think of Constance at a time like this, he couldn't help it. The thoughts were harmless enough, given the venue. After all— she'd been the one to see about him learning to dance proper, elevating him from kitchen clogging lessons with Aunt Bonnie. 

Oh, the clubs he and Connie'd been to up and down the east. Some they'd only seen from the outside, dressed too simply to be allowed entry. As long as they could hear the music from beyond the door, they'd still dance 'til they got tired or needed another drink. Rhett was sure he'd forgotten most of the moves he'd picked up out there beyond the ridge during those blurry, drunken nights in Chicago, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, but he sure as hell still knew enough to catch Alma proper. 
_ _
Daniel
Alma should have paced herself. Their last meal out in the woods hadn't exactly been a feast and, although Alma knew her way around liquor, she wasn't exactly built for drinkin'. So, when Rhett caught her eye and took a third shot, she hesitated. Just for a beat. She knew she could easily handle three on a normal day. Surely a third wouldn't do her any harm? She knocked it back shortly after him, giggling as she felt him slam his cup down on the wooden table, but the giggle caught in her throat when he fixed his gaze on her. There was an intensity in them that had her confused until she realized he was extending a hand to her. Her eyes darted between his smile and his hand as her shine-soaked mind strove to process just what was happening. 

*This isn't something friends would do,* That cruel, sober ghost of Alma whispered, making her pulse pound in her ears. As the moonshine wrestled with her common sense, Rhett's lips were wrapping themselves around her name so eagerly that her fingertips went gliding unbidden across the callouses of his palm.

"Okay, Rhett," Was all she could manage as she allowed herself to be led towards that packed dancefloor.

Their hands had touched before. Alma had helped him up off the ground. Rhett had guided her over a fallen log just earlier that day. This was nothing special or new. Every dancer there was holding each other's hand. This action should have been nothing - meant nothing! But it meant everything. It meant he didn't care if she stepped on his toes in public. It meant he didn't mind her ugly, tree bark brown dress that hid every inch of skin it could. It meant he wanted to dance with Alma. And only the Lord Himself knew how Alma would do anything and everything in her power to give Rhett what he wanted so long as it meant he'd smile like that.

_ _ 
*This isn't something friends would do,* The voice hissed again, but she ignored it as her boots hit the wooden pallets. A flash of skirts soared through her peripheries and she tried to create distance from them in a moment of panicked sobriety, which meant stepping closer to Rhett than she'd intended. The moonshine had only given her the courage to get out on the dancefloor; now she had to figure out how to move. She ducked her head down nervously and placed her hand on Rhett's shoulder the way her Papa had shown her all those years ago, but her feet might as well have been lead. When she did dare to take a step, her foot would knock uselessly against Rhett's boot. Thus began a quiet string of 'I'm sorry's as Alma forced herself to keep her eyes trained on the second button on Rhett's shirt. It didn't help that she was keenly aware of the pressure of Rhett's touch on her waist or the way her fingers had involuntarily tightened on his hand as if it was the only thing keeping her from drowning in embarrassment. 

Truth be told, it was. 

However, that third shot started to kick in sometime after the song's first chorus. The 'I'm sorry's began to be replaced with shy giggles and, although she didn't quite figure out how to not step on his toes, she stopped shrinking against him every time another set of dancers drew near. She even tripped over her own feet, but she held so tightly onto him that her head bumped into his chest instead of someone else. It caught her by surprise so much that she threw back her head and laughed. *Oh, she was drunk.* The circles Rhett was leading her into started to feel *Fun.* It didn't matter if she couldn't spin like the other girls, did it? Not so long as Rhett's hand stayed on her waist and her eyes caught his, right? 

*If this was what it meant to not be friends, then it was everything she wanted.*
Jean
The moonshine made time skip and jump. Seconds were lost to the clumsy processing of a tipsy mind. Rhett's time away from the bottle made for a weakened tolerance, and he balanced on the knife edge that separated self-embarrassment from charmingly goofy. As Alma pressed to him, his faculties were inhibited enough to understand it as a pure desire for closeness, not an attempt to escape the crowd of whirling bodies around them. He blinked and their hands were each at their traditional stations: clasped in each others', her other at his shoulder, his other at her waist. 

Grinning, he watched the top of her head as she ducked down, his smile only faltering as a flash of doubt convinced him she was trying not to be seen with him. Her quiet apologies convinced him, though, that her shyness was brought about purely by her dancing. He relaxed, still casting a glance around the room to collect intelligence on any gazes thrown their way, but the two of them were well-camouflaged; faceless, nameless. They were two rattling leaves on a summer maple in the good company of a lush canopy. Here they could shed their collected identities: Rhett and Alma, the runaway and the mayor's daughter, the handyman and the school teacher. They disintegrated into the music. They shook in the breeze, green and lovely. 

His face sore from laughing, Rhett still maintained his smile every time Alma kicked his boot. He bent closer to hear her giggles over the strings and stomping, the flyaways from her bun tickling the side of his face. As she tripped– *Really* Tripped– he reflexively tightened his grip at her waist, sliding his palm to the flat of her back, as though the greater surface area would keep her stable. First, he tried to hide the laugh that threatened to tear through him, not wanting Alma to feel he was mocking her. As soon as he saw her rear back in her drunken humor, he mirrored her. 
_ _

"You're doin' great, you know that?" He praised, eyes gleaming, He rearranged his grip on her hand and peeled his opposite palm from her back to remove hers from his shoulder. Holding both her hands, their fingers woven, he pulled back from her, then towards her, leading her in a more raucous obedience to the rhythm of the band. 

"You're ready ta spin, okay? I'm gonna spin you," Rhett nodded encouragingly, seriously, his expression leaving little room for her to refuse, "I'll let go of my left," He wiggled his fingers on that hand against hers, "Raise my right, and you'll circle under my arm. I'll do the rest. Got it?" She had it, he was sure. 

As promised, he released her right hand from his left, his fingers loosely trailing her palm as though he was reluctant to let her go. Raising his right arm, he guided her in the spin, her skirts flaring to match the company of dancers around them. He watched her like a magic thing: like the first snowflake of winter; a ripple expanding in a still lake. Time oozed and settled over the moment, just honey on the back of a spoon. Rhett would be there, sturdy, to catch her at the end of her rotation. 

He tugged her to him once she fully turned, meant to be a simple leading pull, but possessing enough force to lightly and joyfully crash them together. Rhett's hand found her waist, the small of her back, quickly– as though he'd missed her while she was just a few feet away. Breathlessly and in awe, he panted out a few exuberant puffs of laughter, eager to gauge his partner's reaction. Hell– she might rear back and smack him, but he selfishly didn't care. The moment held him captive. 
_ _
Daniel
The dancefloor was downright raucous, but Alma still found Rhett's breathless laughter and encouragement winding their way through her shine-addled brain till they were all she could focus on. So much so that she stepped on his toes again and had to bite back an apology that would have been unintelligible between her fits of tipsy giggles. He said she was doin' great, and she was gonna *Believe it*. So much so that his warning about spinning her only halfway stopped her heart. But she was too far gone to catch up. His hands were shifting again and he was saying some kind of instructions and then she was *Off*! She had enough sense about herself to tuck her free arm tight against her chest as her deep brown skirts went flying. Her eyes screwed shut; she couldn't bear to see mascara-blackened tears fallin' down a perfect, pale face again. 

But, instead, she only crashing she did was right back into Rhett's embrace.

Alma tore her eyes open again and realized there wasn't a bleeding nose in sight! Just the warmth of Rhett's smile as he rumbled with laughter, which she was now keenly aware of thanks to the way her hand had splayed against his chest to soften her impact. She didn't have the good sense to move it, though. As relief and joy and drunkenness and everything good and bright crashed over her, she found herself laughing so hard that she pressed her forehead against Rhett's shoulder till she was able to breathe properly again. Then, her brown eyes got brave enough to look up at him, big and pleading. 

"Kin we please do that again?" 

✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲

By the time Alma and Rhett had downed the last of the jar of shine, the moon had climbed high into the sky. At some point in all of the spinnin' and toe-steppin', Alma's hair had become a lost cause. She tore it down from its hold with a sigh of relief as a wave of cool, fall air washed away the scent of sweat and sweet hay. The relief only lasted so long, though, as Alma felt a shudder run down her back. 

"It was so hot in there that I near forgot how cold it was!" She exclaimed and clumsily fumbled with her scarf. The knitted yarn buried the tipsy giggles that peeled out of her as she swayed a little too far left. Thankfully, that was right into Rhett's shoulder, which only served to make her giggle more. She would've said sorry for it if she hadn't already said that damn word over a hundred times in the past few hours. Instead, she just wrinkled her eyes at him and took the opportunity to slip her arm around his. The door for physical contact had been ripped open on that dancefloor, and she was loathe to let it shut now. She could agonize over her foolishness in the throes of a hangover, but she had every intention of enjoying his touch while she could hide behind the excuse of intoxication. 

"Kin I ask you a favor, good sir?" Her voice lilted into a gentle tease. "Think you might could walk me home? It ain't too terribly far, I promise! And it's on the way to yours!" Her eyebrows wiggled as she leaned into the act. *Home* For them now was on the same acre of property. She couldn't think of a time he *Hadn't* Seen her home safely, but she knew that hearing him say the word 'yes' would feel just as good as him spinning her on that dancefloor.
Jean
They spun, they drank, they laughed. They *Sweat*; boy was it *Warm!* 

The grace of winter air felt like angels' breath. The world was a blur, save for Alma. The past and present were swirled into a cocktail of unsteady footsteps but a steady grasp on one another as Rhett and Alma left the barn behind. Who could believe that booze was evil if it gave you such peace? Such freedom? 

"Shoot, it ain't cold." Rhett laughed, his bluff betrayed by chattering teeth, "We just ain't drank enough shine." But they had. Surely, they had. 

As aware as Rhett'd been of every placement of Alma's hand on his shoulder, his chest, and in his own hand that night, he was most struck by the way she took his arm now. There was no pretense of reaching for a drink; there was nowhere to hide the gesture behind the ritual of dancing. This touch was purely and simply the desire for closeness. He squeezed her arm against his side as a little way to tell her how much it meant, his eyes wrinkling to mirror hers. No wolf could scare him right now, no haint could stop his heart. He had everything he needed and more. 

"Good sir?" He quirked, "I think you got me confused with someone, ma'am. I'll walk you home, though–" He spoiled his own incoming joke by laughing prematurely, "I'll walk you home better'n any sorry sumbitch you ever did see." His face reddened. He knew he was being drunk and silly, but he couldn't help it, "I'm sorry," He apologized, quietly clearing his throat. Jokes like that would've earned him an eye roll and a shove from Connie. 
_ _

"A course I will, Alma." He told her softly, watching the snow pack down under the toes of their boots.
"I'm real glad you're there in the big house, now," He said. He'd taken to calling his aunts' house "The big house," Since he'd moved into the shack, "Makes me happy to know you're just across the yard. Aunt Bonnie 'n Linda've been over the moon about ya bein' there. And I– well..." An unexpected lump of emotion caught his voice, and he nervously laughed it down, followed by a sharp sniffle, "It's just been nice, is all." 

They were covering ground quickly, even through their drunken steps. Their tracks in the snow must've looked like a chased rabbit, zigging and zagging to throw off whatever was after it. The only thing Rhett felt like running from was the imminent future of being alone in the shack, cold and quiet aside from Spider's purring and echoes of Alma's laugh following him into sleep. Rhett could see the distant glow of a lantern in the kitchen window of the big house. Though his aunts were sure asleep by this hour, they'd kept a flame lit for Alma to find her way. 
_ _
Daniel
"You are such a doggone liar, Rhett." 

Alma snickered to herself and, if she was upset with him and his *Obviously* Chattering teeth, she sure as Hell didn't show it. If anythin', she just siddled up closer to him in a weak attempt to block out to cold however she could. Now, Alma was not a particularly... Blessed woman. Not only had she been stuck with her father's height, but her mother hadn't thought to pass down her strong legs or wide hips, either. Boys at school used to tease her for bein' a boy and it'd really work her up. As an adult, she still had the bad habit of burying herself under layers and layers of cloth. But layers were layers, and they'd help keep at least the right-most side of Rhett protected from the freezing winds. 

Her giggles only faded when he said sorry outta nowhere. She cocked an eyebrow at him and looked up into his eyes as if he'd just claimed he'd spotted a five-legged deer. "What on earth are you apologizin' for?" She chastised, but it was as gentle and lovin' as a school teacher scoldin' a student for having completed an extra page of homework. Then, the dots seemed to click in her mind. "You know you ain't gotta apologize to me none for cussin, right? It's okay. Believe it or not, I kin cuss to! Ready!... ***Shucks!***" That sent her into another fit of drunken laughter and she veered hard to the left, dragging him a few steps with her until they sorted each other out into an arguably straight line ( by drunken standards, at least ).

_ _
His quiet agreement earned him a happy hum of acknowledgement and then she went quiet to listen to him properly. One of the things she appreciated most about Rhett was how low and quiet he always seemed to speak. It felt to her like she really had to focus to hear every word, and that only made his words more valuable to her. But, my, how even her ears turned hot with a blush as he brought up her livin' in "The big house". She was probably just a little too drunk and was misinterpreting his words for something more, right? She had to be. 

"It has been nice, hasn't it? Bonnie n' Linda really have shown me nothin' but kindness. All of you have. I'm just so grateful y'all were willin' to put me up like this. Plus, it's been nice not havin' to walk so far to bring you your cookies n' pies. Havin' you so close has just been—..." She cut herself off too, and ultimately settled on the same safe, conclusion as he had. "It's been *Real* Nice."

_ _ 
Seeing the glow of the lantern in the window made Alma wish they'd walked a little slower. Of course, Bonnie and Linda were looking after her even at this hour. They really were all starting to feel dangerously like family. She would have to wake up early and cook them something special tomorrow as a thank you present. But, for now, she found herself wrangling with the same emotions she'd felt when they first arrived in town: she didn't want the night to be over. Only, this time, she wasn't sober enough to stop herself. 

"Now, I know you're probably all kinds of eager to be rid of me, but don't you go thinkin just cause' I'm drunk that I went and forgot that cider I promised yo—" The wind chose just that moment to pick up. It was one of those biting winds that reassured anyone foolish enough to stand in its path that winter would soon have this region in a chokehold. It picked up Alma's skirt's and whipped up some snow right against Alma's exposed shins. She let out a little shriek and clung to Rhett like her life depended on it. "That. Is. It! Let's get inside, quick!" 

She meant to go for his sleeve again. Really, truly, she did! But... She didn't. Her hand slipped right into his and she went running for his door just as quick as her feet could carry her!