Chapter 6

six

. . .

Sloane

As I take the hour-long train ride to my grandmother’s town, I watch the mountains roll by, their peaks dusted with the last traces of snow. Nature is a welcome distraction from the text glowing on my phone.

Asher: Alright. Cool. Have fun! I just want to be clear that I really like you and, ideally, that wasn’t just a one-time thing for me. But if it was a one-time thing for you, I understand. You just got out of a long relationship. Take the time you need.

Damn it. Why does Asher have to be so emotionally mature about all of this? Can’t he at least be an asshole so I have an excuse to brush him off?

Stupid sexy game of King’s Cup. What was I thinking with that dare, anyway?

I call my grandmother, leaving a voicemail to let her know I’m on my way. The service is patchy, but she calls back with her usual enthusiasm, promising to make pea soup—her special recipe, the only kind I actually like.

The train pulls into Belleville, a town where time seems to have paused, leaving everything cloaked in nostalgia. The air carries the scents of fresh-cut grass and woodsmoke, even in spring. It’s the kind of place where strangers wave like old friends.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and start the short walk to Grandma’s house. The crunch of gravel under my shoes and the chorus of birds above feels like a balm to my frayed nerves. Mystic Falls has its charm, sure, but its constant buzz can feel suffocating when your heart is tender.

By the time I reach Grandma’s small white clapboard house with its cheerful blue shutters and flower boxes brimming with petunias, I’m smiling despite myself. The front door opens before I can even knock.

“Sloane, sweetheart!” Grandma beams, arms wide open. Her floral apron has a tiny smear of flour on the hem, and her gray hair is pinned up in a loose bun. With her glasses perched low on her nose, she looks like she’s stepped out of an old family portrait.

“Hi, Grandma,” I say, letting her pull me into a warm, slightly squishy hug. She smells like lavender and fresh bread, and suddenly, I feel like everything might be okay.

“Come in, come in! I just took the soup off the stove. Sit, and I’ll get you a bowl.”

Inside, her cozy kitchen is exactly as I remember: mismatched china, an embroidered tablecloth, and the comforting noise of the kettle on the stove. The scent of peas, ham, and something herbal fills the air, wrapping around me like a hug.

“You look like you could use a good meal,” she says, setting a steaming bowl in front of me.

“I probably could,” I admit, taking a spoonful. As always, the first taste melts away every bad thought I’ve been holding onto.

Grandma sits across from me with her own bowl, her eyes twinkling as she studies me. “What brings you to Belleville this weekend? You sounded a little…off in your message.”

I sigh, stirring my soup. “I had a breakup,” I admit finally.

She tilts her head, her expression soft and understanding. “Oh, honey. Was it that young man I met last Christmas? The one with the very shiny hair?”

“Joe,” I say, a half-smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah, it was Joe.”

Grandma makes a thoughtful noise. “Well, shiny hair isn’t everything. What happened?”

I hesitate, but this is Grandma. She makes it easy to speak without fear of judgment. “He said I was too…independent. That I didn’t make enough time for him.”

Her eyebrow arches. “Too independent? That’s a new one. Next thing, they’ll be complaining that you’re too smart or too kind. Ridiculous.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Thanks, Grandma. But maybe he had a point. I mean, I did decide not to stay in Mystic Falls this summer because of that internship in San Francisco. And…I don’t know, maybe I wasn’t as present as I should’ve been.”

“Honey,” she says, leaning forward, “there’s nothing wrong with being dedicated to your goals. The right person will understand that. They won’t try to make you choose between them and your dreams—they’ll want to be part of your dreams.”

Her words land harder than I expect. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” she says firmly. “You’ve got a big heart, Sloane. And someday, someone is going to see that and think it’s the best thing in the world. Until then, focus on you.”

The warmth of her words wraps around me like a quilt. “Thanks, Grandma. Really.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” She pats my hand, then grins mischievously. “Now, tell me, was he at least a good kisser? Or are we putting ‘better taste in men’ on the to-do list?”

I burst out laughing, nearly choking on my soup. “Grandma!”

“What? I’m old, not dead.”

Later, we sit on the porch, sipping tea and watching the fireflies dance in the yard. The air smells of damp earth and wildflowers, and the horizon glows with purples and pinks.

“Speaking of clearing your head,” Grandma says, her voice gentle, “do you want to talk about it? The reason you’re here?”

I take a deep breath. “It’s…complicated. Joe and I broke up. And I, um, maybe have a crush on another guy already.”

Grandma rocks gently, her expression calm and steady. “Well, sweetheart, life doesn’t follow a tidy script. Sometimes someone surprises you, even when you least expect it.”

I fiddle with the rim of my mug. “It just feels too soon, you know? Like, how can I already have feelings for someone else? Isn’t there a rule about this?”

She chuckles. “Rules? Oh, honey. Love doesn’t follow rules. If it did, your grandfather and I would’ve been in trouble from the start.”

I glance at her, intrigued. “Why? What happened with you and Grandpa?”

Her voice softens as she tells her story, and I soak in every word. By the time the evening sky turns indigo, her wisdom has untangled the knots in my heart, at least a little.

As we head back inside for another round of tea and pie, I feel lighter. Maybe things will work out after all.

My phone buzzes as I’m falling asleep that night, and I decide that Sunday I’m going to have to take a break from my phone.

But curiosity gets the better of me. Who’s messaging me this late?

Asher: Library is pretty empty tonight.

Me: Guess everyone is out celebrating the big victory. Shouldn’t you be?

Asher: Nah. Football just isn’t “it” for me. You know?

Me: What is “it” for you?

Asher: I’d tell you, but I feel like I don’t know where we stand now.

Me: Just pretend I’m the person you’re 100% honest with.

Asher: Okay. You’re not “you” in this scenario?

Me: Exactly.

Asher: Alright. Well, I met this girl. I didn’t know much about her—just that we had this insane “vibe.” And maybe we crossed some moral boundaries—like telling her ex she’s busy after I did some very naughty things with her. They’d just broken up, but honestly? Hottest night of my life.

Me: So your “it” is reliving that scenario?

Asher: My “it” right now is seeing what another hangout would be like. And going from there. I don’t like to get ahead of myself.

Me: So you like to take it slow? Didn’t seem like it last night.

Asher: Wait, if you’re not “you,” wouldn’t you not have access to that memory? Thought this was a simulation scenario.

I chuckle. What a nerd.

Me: Okay, my bad. Go back to pretending I’m your therapist or whatever.

Asher: I would NOT admit some of these dark desires to my therapist. Too personal. Wait—is this what you talk about with your therapist?

Me: lol. I’ve never had a therapist. Maybe I should add that to the list.

Asher: Oh? What “list” are we talking about?

Me: The list of things that are fucked up about me.

Asher: Does that include how wet you got taking me in your mouth last night? Oh wait, sorry—you’re my therapist…

Ugh. Why does this man have the power to make my thighs clench just by texting?

Me: Just tell me one dark desire.

Asher: You first, Hot Nerd. Bet you have a whole list somewhere.

Me: lol I don’t. The list is in my head. But yeah, I fully admit that was insanely hot. And so are you.

Asher: I’m getting crushed with these mixed signals right now.

Me: Well, you’ll just have to deal with them. Enjoy the library. I’m getting sleepy. Night!

Asher: Night, Nerd.

I set the phone down, determined to sleep. But my mind spins with thoughts of him. Screw it. One last text.

Me: Fine. Library. That’s all I’ll say.

Asher: Come again?

Me: I want to fuck in the library. Is that clearer?

Asher: Fuck me. That’s hot as hell. Funny you mention that…That’s on my nonexistent list too.

Me: What a coinkeydink.

Asher: Okay, now I’m both turned on and laughing that you used the word “coinkeydink” in a text.

Me: Doesn’t take much to get you turned on, does it?

Asher: Considering last night, it’s easy to picture you, in a skirt with no panties, bent over against the attic stacks where no one ever goes…

Me: Ah, yes. The attic stacks. I’ve heard legends. Apparently, there are some giant books there no one ever reads.

Asher: You’re a fan of big books? I’m not surprised. Really living up to your nickname, Nerd :)

Me: Nerd and proud of it.

Asher: Maybe you should try no panties next time you’re in the library and see what happens.

Me: Maybe it’s better to stay a fantasy. Just like those big books no one actually reads because they don’t have the attention span anymore. Or maybe not.

Asher: True. Most people can’t handle big books. But I have a feeling you can.

Me: Oh? Why’s that?

Asher: Because you already handled this.

Attached to his message is a photo. It’s from his point of view, in the library, conceivably right now, wearing gray athletic sweatpants like he was last weekend.

There is no mistaking the outline of something big and thick through the cotton that is definitely not a book.

Something coils inside me.

Dear God almighty. I’m going to need to dip further into my spare reserves of panties at Grandma’s.

Asher: You okay?

Me: Doesn’t seem like you’re getting much studying done tonight.

Asher: Doesn’t seem like you’re getting much sleeping done at Grandma’s house.

Ugh. Screw him and his big dick golden retriever energy.

Me: GOOD NIGHT, Asher. On a serious note, you looked good out there today. Congrats on the win again. And I appreciate you giving me space.

I plug my phone in across the room this time so I’m not tempted to message him again no matter what he says.

And with all of my willpower, I fall asleep.

And no, it’s definitely not Asher and my wedding that I’m dreaming about.