Brent’s POV
There’s something about this town that always pulls you back. Maybe it’s the quiet streets or the way everyone seems to know everyone else’s business, but it’s like no matter how far you go, this place stays in your bones.
I hadn’t planned on being here this summer. The whole point of going to the city was to get out, to make something of myself. But after everything that happened with Megan, the team, and Betty... staying on campus felt like the last thing I wanted.
Stacey had mentioned, offhandedly, that Betty was heading back here too. At the time, I’d brushed it off. She hadn’t told me herself, so I figured she didn’t want me to know. Still, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Betty. Back in this town. It was like fate, or maybe just bad timing, but either way, I found myself standing on her porch before I even knew what I was doing.
Her house looked the same as it always had—small, a little worn, but warm. I knocked lightly on the door, half-hoping she wouldn’t answer so I could chicken out and leave.
But then the door opened, and there she was.
“Brent?” she said, her voice full of surprise. “What are you doing here?”
I leaned against the doorframe, trying to play it cool. “I live in this town too. Remember?”
She blinked, and for a second, I thought she might close the door on me. Then her eyes flicked to the half-eaten burger sitting on the coffee table behind her.
“Have you eaten?” I asked, motioning toward the soggy mess.
“Kind of,” she said, clearly embarrassed.
I stepped forward, brushing past her to grab a napkin off the counter. Without thinking, I reached out and wiped a smudge of ketchup from the corner of her mouth.
“C’mon,” I said, grinning as she froze in place. “Let’s get some real food.”
***
We ended up at one of those hole-in-the-wall places that only locals know about. The kind where the menu’s written on a chalkboard, and everything tastes like it was made with a secret family recipe.
Betty sat across from me, stirring her lemonade with a straw and avoiding my gaze.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “How does it feel to be back?”
She shrugged. “Weird. Quiet. Too quiet, maybe.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I forgot how quiet it gets out here.”
She finally looked up, her eyes softening just a little. “Why are you here, Brent? Really?”
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Why are you?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Neither was that,” I shot back, grinning.
For a second, I thought she might get mad. But instead, she laughed—soft, barely there, but real.
After dinner, we drove around town, passing all the spots that used to mean something to us. The river, the old movie theater, the park with the broken swings. It felt like stepping into a time machine, except everything was just a little more worn down.
When we finally stopped, it was at the trailhead of the hiking path we used to tackle every summer.
“You’re not serious,” Betty said, staring at the sign.
“Do you remember the day we went hiking?” I asked, leaning against the car.
She groaned, shaking her head. “Oh, that was a terrible idea.”
“Absolutely,” I said, laughing. “Let’s do it again.”