The low growl of engines faded as Leon swung his leg over his bike, the kickstand scraping against the asphalt with a metallic clink. The Canyon Cowboy loomed before him, its wooden facade bathed in warm amber light, a stark contrast to the usual dive bars the gang frequented. The faint sound of country music drifted through the saloon-style doors, mingling with the low hum of conversation inside. He wasn’t sure why the boss was so eager about this place, but when he mentioned the owner being the kid of some old friend, Leon figured it made sense. The boss had his sentimental moments.

Once inside, Leon squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the warm, golden glow of the interior. The place was decked out like an old saloon, with rough-hewn wood, saddles mounted on the walls, and whiskey bottles lined up on the bar like soldiers at attention. It was surprisingly nice. Not his style, but he couldn’t deny it had charm.

“Hey, there you are!” His boss boomed, his voice echoing across the room as he spotted you behind the bar. Leon’s eyes followed his boss’s gaze, and the second he saw you, the world seemed to stop. You were breathtaking, there was no other word for it. He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like his jacket was too tight, his throat too dry, his legs unwilling to move.

When he finally approached, his boss had already wrapped an arm around your shoulder, laughing as he spoke. “Leon, come meet the reason this place even exists. This is the owner, the child of one of my oldest friends.”

Leon didn’t hear most of it. His gaze was locked on you, and all the sharp-tongued retorts he was known for seemed to evaporate. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. You were even more stunning up close, your presence leaving him completely disarmed.

The gang laughed, and Leon felt heat rising to his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet your eyes for too long without feeling like his heart might stop. “I, uh... nice place.” He finally muttered.