Finally, he pulls up to Boots & Bourbon, and mystomach does a little flip. I’ve been here before, but only at night, when the neon sign buzzes against the dark, when laughter spills into the street, when the place feels like a heartbeat for the whole town.
In daylight, it’s a different creature entirely.
The neon letters, faded by the sun, hang lazily above the door, their edges chipped from the weather and the passage of time. The wooden siding is rough and sun-bleached, each plank bearing a history you can’t wipe away. The wide front windows catch the morning light, glowing amber against the dark interior.
I tug off the helmet, my hair falling in messy waves, catching sunlight’s gold. My sandals, surprisingly, stayed on the whole ride.
Why in the fuck did I wear sandals?
Swinging my legs off the bike, my sandals crunch on gravel as I steady myself, legs shaky from the ride, or maybe because of him.
I can’t tell anymore.
The fall breeze is chilly, carrying the faintest hints of pine from the hills. Aromas of old wood, stale whiskey, and cigarette smoke intertwine and permeate the moment we step near Boots & Bourbon; they seep into the building’s bones, becoming part of it.
My throat tightens. This is exactly why I came. Places like this, gritty, alive, imperfect, are the ones that stick and mean something.
I turn, about to speak, and catch Reed watching me.
He hasn’t moved from his motorcycle, his hand resting on the handlebar while the other tugs off his gloves. His eyes follow me, unblinking, as if he’s memorizing my every reaction.
The weight of his gaze pins me in place.
I force a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s even better in the daylight.”
His jaw tightens, the faintest movement as if there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t trust himself to. Finally, he nods once, his voice low and rough. “Yeah. It is.”
The quiet stretches between us, feeling heavy but not uncomfortable, thick with something I can’t quite name. My chest tightens with it—his silence, my noise, the way I keep trying to close the distance between us.
He slips the keys from his pocket, the jingle sharp in the stillness. He pushes the heavy door open, the wood groaning in protest.
The air inside is cool, shadowy, thick with layered scents of whiskey, wood polish, and faint cigarette smoke sinking into the beams. Sunlight streams through the wide front windows, catching dust that floats lazily, casting golden streaks across the tables and bar top.
I step inside and stop, my sandals squeaking softly on the wood floor.
It feels so different without the crowd. Without Catalina shrieking greetings, without Maverick’s booming laugh, without Carter scowling at anyone who looks at her. The silence is heavy but not empty. It’s… sacred. Boots & Bourbon in daylight feels like stepping into the bones of a story.
My chest swells, and before I can stop myself, words tumble out.
“Oh my God, Reed. This, this is everything. Look at the light on the bottles. That bar back? Gorgeous.”
I spin slowly in a circle, taking it all in: the scuffed pool table, the old jukebox tucked in the corner, the mismatched stools that somehow complement each other. “This is exactly what I was talking about. This place breathes. Iswear I could create ten different content series just standing right here.”
Behind me, he says nothing.
I glance back, and he’s leaning against the bar with his arms crossed, just watching. His eyes track me like he’s trying to figure me out.
Moving to the bar, I press both palms flat against the wood. “Here? Mixology clips. We could do quick cocktails with stories behind them; local names, ranch references. People eat that up.”
I look up, grinning at him, my heart pounding in my chest. “Reed, you have no idea how much gold you’re sitting on here.”
His mouth curves; small, fleeting, but genuine. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
reed
. . .
My fingers are cool beneath the oak bar top as I work, polishing glasses, resetting stools, falling into a rhythm I’ve known for years. My scars itch with every stretch, but I keep my sleeves pulled down, hiding the worst of them.
