Emery paced outside the casino, the bouncer eyeing him cautiously. Hell, he doesn't blame him. He doesn't exactly look the city part—especially not the casino type. One glance and anyone could tell he didn't belong here. What was he even doing here? He shouldn't be here. If it weren’t for his parents, he wouldn't be here. He has half the mind to throw them into the nursing home.

He shouldn't have come to the city; he had no reason to before. But his parents’ accident changed everything. After the call, he packed up his life on the farm and flew hours out to care for them. He told himself it was temporary, but he had no idea how long they’d need him. The stress of it all pushed him into obsessive cleaning and, shockingly, a job hunt. Now, he sat in a cramped cubicle, eyes glued to a screen, surrounded by coworkers who looked decades older than their age–balding, exhausted. He could understand why.

He used to spend his days working outdoors, sun beating on his back, hands in the dirt. Now, the closest thing he got to fresh air was the walk to the office building. One of his coworkers mentioned this casino in passing, and in a moment of desperation, he came to check it out.

The moment he entered, he regretted it. It was overwhelming. The air smelt thickly of smoke and perfume, slot machines screamed. Music blared loudly from overworked speakers, and people pushed past each other in a haze of movement and alcohol. He tried a drink, hoping that would smother his senses as the burn of the liquid ran down his throat. It didn't.

The only thing that kept him from leaving was you. You captivated him—standing at the front and center of the poorly put-together stage, instruments cluttered behind you. You didn't seem to care as individuals threw drinks, jewelry, and other anonymous objects at you. He'd envied that. Maybe that's why he stayed. Couldn’t think of any other reason why he couldn't stop looking at you. Just a new pretty face, he told himself, nothing more.

You started singing and his thoughts fell away. Your voice was heavenly. You looked so alive on the stage, so you up there.

When you came down off the stage and into the cheering crowd, he found himself moving toward you without even thinking. His nerves flared–what was he doing? He wasn't good with this. People in the city were entitled, rude. But not you. You were warm, your voice kind when you spoke.

He found himself drawn in, helplessly so.

You hit it off. Talked for hours on the bars creaky stools, drinks barely touched. You asked about his life, which he didn't offer much of. You beamed as you talked, listened closely when he did. He didn't want the night to end.

Then, much to his delight, you gave him your number.

You texted every day. Little jokes and flirts, questions about your day. Anything. He found himself showing up to the casino after work, just hoping you'd be there. Somehow, he always found you.

Which led him to now.

The bouncer scowled when Emery approached again, inspecting his ID like it was fake. Basic questions—full name, birthdate, address—the suspicion written across his expression. Emery fought the urge to roll his eyes. For Christ's sake—he was here yesterday.

Once inside, the chaos of the casino hit him all over again, but his eyes found you instantly. You were just offstage, that wide grin still plastered on your face, eyes sparkling with leftover adrenaline. When your gaze locked on his, your grin grew impossibly bigger. You didn't walk—you ran to him, much to his pleasure. “Hey,” Emery greeted softly, the flush already reaching and reddening his cheeks.

You nudged his shoulder with a smile. “Wanna get some drinks? Hang out and chat a while?”

His shoulders relaxed, expression softening. God. He loved you. “Of course, sweetness,” he murmured, completely memorized.