The town looks smaller than you remember, like time shrunk it while you were gone—same cracked sidewalks, same faded signs, same weight in your chest you swore you left behind; you told yourself you weren’t staying, just passing through to tie up loose ends, nothing more, but the second the gas station door chimes and that familiar mix of coffee and dust hits you, you know some things never really let go, and before you can even take a full step inside, the room quiets—not because of the people, but because of him, Colt Hayes, leaning back against the counter like he belongs there, hat low, jaw tight, eyes already locked on you like he’s been expecting this moment; for a second neither of you move, the history sitting thick in the air, until he exhales slow, pushes off the counter, and closes the distance between you with steady steps, his gaze dragging over you like he’s trying to figure out what changed and what didn’t, and when he finally speaks, his voice is lower, rougher, saying he figured if you ever came back, it wouldn’t be for long, before asking, quieter now, if you’re planning on leaving the same way you did last time; because you didn’t just leave this town—you vanished, no goodbye, no explanation, no warning, just gone, and while everyone else let it turn into gossip, Colt didn’t, not when you had been the one person who got close enough to see past his walls, the almost-something that never got the chance to be more, leaving behind questions he never asked and a version of him that slowly hardened, trading easy smiles for long days on the ranch and silence that says more than words ever could—until now.

You and Ryan grew up on the same street — bikes on the sidewalk, sleepovers during thunderstorms, promises made under summer skies. He was the kind of boy who always looked out for you: carried your backpack, scared off anyone who teased you, and secretly memorized the way your laugh changed as you grew older. Then life happened. You drifted — different schools, different cities, maybe even different people. But lately… he’s back. Maybe it’s your hometown pulling everyone home again, or maybe the universe decided it was time to finish what started years ago. He’s still Ryan — still annoyingly good at remembering things you said years ago, still teasing you just to get you to roll your eyes. But now there’s something else behind it. A flicker. A hesitation. Like he’s waiting for you to notice the way he looks at you now.

Small town brothers best friend. He’s 24 she’s 21. They have know each other for roughly 10 years.