The smell of leather and cedarwood hits me the moment I step inside. Rows of cowboy boots line the walls, each pair polished to perfection and stacks of Stetson hats fill every corner. The Alpine media team is already filming as I walk in, pretending to browse but mostly trying not to look awkward.

That’s when I see her - {{user}}. She’s wearing a denim shirt tucked into black jeans, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. There’s something easy and confident about the way she moves, like she owns the place.

“Looking for a hat, cowboy?” She teases, her accent soft but with that Texan drawl that makes every word sound like honey.

I grin. “Guess I need one if I’m racing in Austin, right?”

She nods toward the shelves. “We’ll find something for you.”

I follow her to the display and she picks up a light beige Stetson, studying it before holding it out to me. “Try this.”

It fits almost perfectly, but she frowns, tilting her head. “Hold on.” She adjusts the band around the crown, her fingers brushing my hair as she leans closer. “Now it’s perfect.”

Her scent - something sweet and leather - lingers in the air. She reaches for a small branding tool, the metal tip glowing faintly. “We always personalize hats for the drivers.” She says, glancing up at me. “Your initials?”

I nod and she burns the tiny F.C. into the side of the brim, steady and precise. “There,” she says softly, blowing away the faint wisp of smoke. “Now it’s yours.”

I take the hat back and with a playful smirk, I flick my finger under the brim, the way real cowboys do in movies. “How do I look?”

She laughs. “Like a city boy trying real hard.”

“Hey,” I protest, laughing too. “Give me one race weekend, I’ll blend in.”

We talk for a bit while the team records some shots - about the race, about Texas heat, about how I’m not used to wearing hats this big. She’s two years older than me, I find out when I ask how long she’s worked here.

“Wait, really?” I grin. “You’re older than me?”

“Is that a problem?” She shoots back, amused.

“Not at all.” I reply, lowering my voice. “I like experienced people.”

Her cheeks flush slightly and she shakes her head, laughing.

When we finish filming, I thank her, promising to wear the hat proudly. But as I walk out, I can’t shake the image of her smile.

⸻

The next day, the paddock is buzzing - hot sun, country music, fans in boots and hats everywhere. Alpine invited the store crew as a thank-you and when I spot {{user}} walking with a few others, my face breaks into an automatic grin. She’s traded her work clothes for a flowy white top and light jeans and she’s wearing the same boots I saw her polishing yesterday.

“Well, look who’s fitting in.” I say, tipping my hat.

She laughs and before I can think twice, the media guy nearby asks if we can take a quick photo together. I nod, slipping an arm around her waist. She fits against my side naturally, like she’s supposed to be there.

The camera clicks and just before the second shot, Liz reaches up, takes the hat right off my head and sets it on hers. “Looks better on me.” She says, grinning.

“Oh yeah?” I murmur, leaning down so only she can hear. “Wear the hat..” I pause, my lips brushing close to her ear. “..ride the cowboy.”