EVEN IF IT IS THE FRIENDLIEST AREA of the state, trading Austin, Texas for Freemont, Mississippi stings quite a bit. I do my best not to show it in front of Mom and Dad. With everything going on right now: Uncle Grey dying, taking up our family duty for the sacred springs, all the whispers about pwps, changing my letter of intent. They really didn’t have a choice in moving us here. Doesn’t make the changes any easier.

Kay, my twin sister, shares her opinions a bit too easily. I get it, even if I wish she’d give her little digs a rest. Nobody wants their start in adult life—the one they worked, sweated, bled so hard for—to be disrupted. I damn sure didn’t, but I’m here and keeping my complaints to myself.

Our new city has some things in its favor. Freemont’s not small. We’re not in Hicksville, USA. Kay thinks we are because the house and land Uncle Grey left to Dad is tucked back in the hillside woods on the fringes of town. Still Freemont University is a Div-1 school, and I’m on scholarship. Go Mud Devils! I found a couple of neat coffee houses and clubs online. My scene exists here just smaller in scale.

My complaint is more about the mood. The mood lacks the quirkiness of Austin. But with like seven-hundred thousand fewer people and a lot less money, I shouldn’t be too harsh. Dad’s doing his best to liven up one little corner of the area with High Spring—our new family distillery-restaurant combo. The place will be the only boutique distillery in the city and the first business available to the new Wolf Acres subdivision.

Since Mom, Kay, and I drove in last weekend, preparing for the grand opening is now, officially a family affair. Our parents want our joint effort of prepping High Spring to be a big bonding experience among us all. It’s not entirely working. Not for Kay and me. I have classes, and Kay, well, is Kay.

When Dad receives a notification that a part for one of the big industrial grills arrives in town, Kay and I jump at the chance to get out for awhile. Not we need an excuse, our parents aren’t keeping their adult children hostage. I hate seeing them disappointed. But, I’m becoming obsessed with this Beans and Books place by the university and need my good coffee fix for the day. Plus, I do have practice and an evening bio lab.

∞ ∞ ∞

Thankfully, a storm is passing through which slows Kay down. She’s a woman possessed on these back roads. At the very least, she has been for the three times I’ve ridden with her so far. She takes the graveled, hairpin turns like she’s driven them her whole life. Today, she’s a lot more cautious. She’s still blasting Nicki Minaj, and we’re both belting along.

My phone vibrates with a notification. I eyeball the waiting text, and my heart skips a beat. I type out a quick reply and slide my phone back underneath my thigh.

Nicki going full throttle quickly changes to nothing but road noise. Kay tosses me a casual glance. I pretend not to notice and watch the endless stream of pine trees pass us. She jerks the steering wheel, which sends my stomach into my sinuses, and I imagine hurtling into the surrounding forest.

“What the hell, Kay?”

“Hmph, you can speak,” she says, a grin curling the corner of mouth.

A twin is great, until they aren’t. She wants to hear about the details of my evasive text. She’s probably already guessed.

“Tali just wants to see what was up.” I act like the wipers cutting across the windshield are the most interesting thing in the world.

“But y’all, krck.” Kay makes a cutting noise and draws a finger across her throat. Only she can get away with being so brazen. Tali and I are a sensitive topic. Shouldn’t be. We broke off our official relationship when she moved to Fort Worth after graduation. But I really can’t let her slip out of my life. She’s not…wasn’t…probably is mostly out of it now that I live in Freemont, which makes all of this more complicated in my head.

“We did. She’s checking in to see how things are. Friends do that.” I hear the defensiveness in my voice and immediately regret the tone. Kay’s smirk says she’s making an assumption, and I hope she’s not. I don’t have the energy to try explaining. Instead, she cranks the radio back up and heads for Beans and Books.

∞ ∞ ∞

Kay drops me to start my routine, while she heads a couple blocks over to pick up the grill parts.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

“See you whenever,” she shouts from the window, as I’m entering the shop. My car mostly stays parked at the university. I’m in the athletic dorms, and Kay sort of just shows up to play chauffer when the rest of the family needs me back at the distillery. I fully outfit a room at our new house, too, but I won’t make any new friends holed up five miles from town. Friends like the one waving to me across her store.

Terri, one of the best people I’ve met so far in Freemont, greets me by name as soon as I’m through the door. I work a traveler out of my bag and pass it off along with an order for the house blend.

“With patronage like this, you’re gonna give Micah a run for his money.” She jerks a thumb down the counter. A guy who looks like he could easily play a body double for Achilles shuffles in our direction, eyes glued to a book.

“A real reg— Whoa!” I reach out as carefully as I can to catch the guy by the shoulders before he plows over me.

His head snaps up, and he utters a startled, “Shit!” The book hits the ground, as he tilts back.

“It’s cool.” I stoop and recover the manga for him. “The seventh Graythistle. That’s a good one.”

He stares at me for a second, going slightly red in the cheeks, and takes the book back. “Yeah…been, uh…just found it.” He makes a motion toward the shelves on the other side of the store. “Sorry about that.”

Kay laughs, bringing my attention back to her. She hands me the refilled traveler and rings it up.

“Oh, what’d you get?” the guy, Micah, asks a bit awkwardly.

“House iced.” I answer and jiggle the traveler a little.

“Great choice. Terri chooses the best roasts and makes the best coffee in the city.” He blushes again. “Anyway, sorry again for almost knocking you down. See ya around.”

I try to wave off the apology, as he maneuvers a mug of something mounded with whipped cream from the counter and retreats back across the room.

“Well, you’ve met my number one customer.” Terri offers. “Looks like you had him all tongue tied, which is a new thing for him.” She winks and heads toward the back to check something.

I’m stuck at the counter weighing options. I’m not in Austin anymore. I shouldn’t assume. But my ‘dar is pinging bright indicators. I think it is, but my gaydar sucks. We are in the gayborhood—what counts as one here, and this Micah guy seems like my type and like maybe he wanted to talk. But, he scampered off like, nope, never mind, or maybe, I’m reading way too much into the situation. That’s why I’m no good at this.

What would Tali do? The question rises unbidden, and I quash it as quickly. There’s nothing productive down that road, and it’s time I move the hell on. Maybe Kay’s right about something for once. Sometimes a risk is worth taking. Right?

I snag a piece of receipt paper from the bar, scribble a quick note, and wrap it around my debit card. I stow the bundle on Terri’s keyboard and walk across the room before common sense tells me treating this like a Bravo movie is a bad idea.

Micah sees me coming and tucks his lotus pose tighter into the armchair.

I slide between the coffee table and couch, asking, “Mind if I sit for a few?”

He motions at the couch with a shrug. A skintight, athletic cut Mud Devils’ tee hugs some seriously defined muscles, and those are muscles. That much is plain from grabbing his shoulders. His ignored laptop opens on the Canvas class screen. At least I have something to work with.

“What’s your major?” I gesture at the computer screen.

He settles Graythistle into his lap and actually looks at me. “Photojournalism. But, I’m a freshman, so it’s all mostly gen-eds right now.”

“Oh great. Me too. Uh, I mean a freshman. Chemistry major though.”

Micah’s eyes go wider. He’s eyes are turned down, staring at my…bag? “You run cross for Freemont?” he asks.

For whatever reason, I pull the logo side of the bag up as if to display a game show prize. “Yeah. Got lucky with a scholarship.”

His face lights up with emotion. “Oh damn. You know my best friend then.”

I cock my head needing a little more to go on.

“Sam Mathis,” Micah explains. “He started on scholarship this year, too. We ran together in high school.”

For the next few minutes, we compare notes. Micah’s enthusiastic introduction and rundown gives me a window to take a better look at him. He’s definitely got the legs of an XC runner. He must not be letting himself get out of practice. The rest of him, though, is built like a bull. Most cross runners are built like me: tall, wiry torsos with thick legs. Micah looks like he’s spent as much time playing linebacker as pounding grass.

We bounce from cross to manga and comics. Seems we have another similar passion. Though I’m more American comics, we at least know enough about the other to keep it interesting. My phone alarm interrupts our conversation.

I tend to let time slip away, so I recognize my reminder to head for practice.

“Hey, uh, do you have a way I can get in touch?” I scratch at the back of my head. “Might be fun to continue the conversation.”

The blush creeps back to his cheeks but his mouth smiles at the same time. “Sure. You have the ClassX app?”

ClassX is sort of a University of Freemont-specific social media meets student info hub. I’m not sure of all the tech specs, but it only shares as much as you want it to, depending on your shared affiliations, interests, presets, yadda, yadda.

I flip my sharing on, and seconds later, our profile cards light up as pending friends. We must accept about the same time, because they pretty much instantly go to friends as well. I’m gawking but I don’t realize it until I hear a slight hum from him.

All I can think is: His last name is Janison. I already said I’m from Texas. My last name is Ansley. What the hell are the chances? My nerves jangle and pop as I raise my eyes to him. His smile is dimmer as he scans my profile. I watch his head dip for just a blink, a breath. Enough to let me know that we both know.

“Not interrupting am I,” Terri joins in front us. “Figured you’d want this back. Well played by the way.” She hands back my debit card and hands Micah the paid receipt for his copy of Graythistle.