Please. The only way you lose is if Kate stuffs the ballot box with votes for the Mountie.

[ It's her turn to sigh dramatically, and to throw in an eyeroll along with it. ]

You know... red coat, hat? General air of wholesome helpfulness?

[ She shifts against the counting, nudging her hip against it as she turns to look at Jopson. ]

Guy with the wolf? He's a Mountie. Canadian police.

Yeah, he's pretty easy on the eyes. Honestly, I get it. If I were eighteen and... you know, a totally different girl... I'd be into him, too.

[ But much more interesting than Kate's crush is Jopson's reaction, and Wynonna observes the way he glances down with her eyebrows hiking up toward her hairline. Oh, shit. ]

You never know. [ She sidles a little closer, cheerfully insinuating. ] Maybe he thinks you're handsome, too.

[ It's the first time she's seen him anything but wholly self-possessed and she blinks right back at him, bewildered by the staggered words and his suddenly squirrely aura. ]

Relax, Tommy, it's fine.

[ It's whatever, to her, but she realizes belatedly – it takes a second to filter through the mental image of the extremely attractive couple those two would make – that it probably isn't to him. Victorian, right. She keeps her voice airy and just a little sly. ]

Besides, he might not right now, unless he's into broken noses.

[ Look, they have a certain appeal. And no, she's not thinking about how Dolls' nose is slightly crooked in a way that suggests he caught the wrong end of a fight one time. Noooooope. ]

[ It's nice to hear him laugh, and to see him relax a little, and when he calls her a friend she feels a little blooming warmth in her chest, shy and pleased.

She's never had many friends. It's been forever since she's stayed in any place long enough to make some, and she's never really wanted to. But she finds herself wanting to be his friend, to at least try, a whole lot.

He goes to find a can of fruit, and she shifts off the counter to head to the table, bringing her jacket with her. There's something heavy in the pocket that thunks against the back of the chair she slings it over; when she retrieves it, it turns out to be a flask of the terrible pine moonshine she and March had made.

She sets it on the table – who knows, they might need it – and pulls out the chair to take a seat. ]

Sorry for the jumpscare. It's not really like that anymore, when I'm from. I mean, it is, sometimes, when people want to just keep shit to themselves, and there are still assholes out there who'll give people a hard time about it, but it's not weird or anything.

[ She smiles at him, crooked and a little shy, all her edges for the moment tucked away. ]

I like being your friend. And since we are friends...

[ That slyness is back in the way she waggles her eyebrows at him. ]

...what do you like? May as well think about it here. What the hell else are we gonna do, aside from be cold and bored?

God, I hear that.

[ She slouches back against the chair, face scrunching up as she thinks of Champ. All swagger and good looks and nothing underneath. ]

Good for decoration and not much else.

[ It's her turn to cast her glance down at the tabletop, as her own voice filters into her memory. I think I'm better traveling solo. For now.

One passionate encounter doesn't make a relationship. But it's not only Doc she's thinking of when she says: ]

No.

[ She's been here for months, now; longer than she'd been at home before she got pulled into this place. Wynonna looks back up at him, eyebrows canting up. ]

You?

[ Her mouth quirks; she leans forward to unscrew the cap of the flask, pushing it towards him in invitation. May as well have a little something while they're waiting for their tea, right? ]

Kate had me pegged. I can't resist a bad boy.

[ But even as she says it, she relents; he's been honest with her and he doesn't deserve a flippant answer in return. But she doesn't really know how to answer his question... the real question. Surely someone here has caught your eye.

Irritatingly, March isn't the only one that statement brings to mind. She shifts her glance away, toward the stove and the kettle heating on it; her turn to be awkward, to test out her words one at a time before she sets them out into the air. ]

There are some nice faces, yeah. Nice... lots of things.

Yeah I know, [ she says, to the look on his face when he tastes the liquor. It's crap, but hopefully that Fiddleford guy will finish up an actual still sooner rather than later.

That look is familiar. He might as well be Waverly leaning over the diner table, saying hold on, whose truck are you borrowing?

It's fine, Wynonna, just play it cool. ]

Faces. Eyes. Voices...

[ Just normal stuff people notice to a normal amount.

She nods to the flask. ]

Careful with that stuff, by the way. I drank about a gallon and woke up the next morning half-dressed with Holland March on his floor.

... I'm not really sure if that's a warning or a recommendation, but either way, it's strong.

[ She shakes her head at him. ]

No. I mean... plenty of other stuff, though.

[ Wynonna waggles her eyebrows at him, exaggerating for effect. ]

So I guess... yeah, he's one person here who's caught my eye. So to speak.

[ I don't know if I'd classify it as wonderful, is what she was going to say before he keeps going and she blinks at him. ]

Edward?

[ There are like eight Edwards running around Milton, but the only one that she knows knows Tommy is – ]

–Little??

[ What the fuck is that weird swoop in her stomach. ]

He's been staying here with you?

[ They're both just surprised at each other for a second, before she blinks, gives herself a shake like a dog coming in out of the rain. ]

Are you, like...

[ Her mouth opens again, but it takes a second before she can figure out what to ask. How to ask? ]

Are these, like, the fun kind of sleepovers, or...? I don't mean braiding each others' hair, I mean are you guys...

[ It's her turn to offer a mute appeal. Please, Tommy, help her out. ]

Say another word and I'll break your nose again, friend or not.

[ She points at him, warning, even as something loosens and tightens in her gut. Obliquely, she notes that it's nice to hear him laugh, even nicer to hear the way his words relax, like she's through some secret passageway and finally found the real Thomas Jopson, one who's more likely to tease her than to call her miss.

Leaning across the table, she swipes the flask out of his hands and takes a swallow, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she scrunches up her face at him. ]

No. No.

[ Her no doesn't seem to have quite the same ring of authenticity as his had, and that only annoys her more, as does the flush of warmth on her face that's not going anywhere and which the alcohol definitely isn't helping. She scowls, more at herself than at him laughing at her. ]

It's not like that.

[ She's pretty sure it's not like that. ]