So, I chose distance before there was anything to lose. I chose the easy regret over the complicated possibility.
I glance back toward the café window one last time before starting the engine.
She is not the girl I remember. And I am not the boy who left.
I don’t know anything about Violet Hartwell now, not who she has become, not the life she has built for herself, but I know one thing for sure.
I’m not making the same mistake twice.
4
Everett
It’s been a couple of days since I saw Violet at the café, and I’ve replayed that interaction at least a dozen times already.
The way she looked up when I said her name. The split second when she recognized me. Like she had opened a door she didn’t expect to find.
I thought time would make things smaller, that memories would blur the way they do when distance settles in.
But standing in front of her felt like something snapped into focus instead.
She doesn’t just belong here. She fits here. Like every part of her grew roots and decided to stay.
That café isn’t just a business. It’s her. The light, the flowers, the quiet warmth, it all feels intentional in a way I don’t think she even realizes. Or maybe she does. Like she built a space the way some people build a life. Carefully. With meaning in the small details.
And somehow she’s still the girl I remember.
The girl who brightens up a room when she walks into it.
But there is something else now, too.
A quiet weight behind her eyes.
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck, leaning against my truck, waiting for Henry to meet me to get some work done on the ranch.
Back in high school, Violet always felt untouchable in a way that had nothing to do with being popular. She just knew who she was, where she belonged and about what mattered.
I remember thinking that she deserved someone who wasn’t halfway out the door of Lavender Creek.
So, I told myself to stay away. To keep my distance.
The truth is that I was protecting myself too.
Because even then I knew that if I let myself admit that I wanted her and made it known, that leaving would have felt different. It would have been heavier. It would have felt like walking away from something real.
And now there she is.
She’s not a memory. Standing behind a counter in a town I came back to because I was tired of running in circles.
Seeing Violet didn’t feel like meeting someone new. It felt like seeing something important I had ignored before and being given a second chance.
Today I must focus. Henry asked if I could help him do some chores on the ranch. So, we are driving around, fixing up any holes in the fence, and checking up on the cattle.
My parents have 2000 acres of land. There is the main house, where we grew up, and my parents still live, a couple of barns for the horses, a shed that is as big as the main house for tractors and equipment, there are a couple of creeks that run through the property as well and rolling hills and tons of land for the cattle to roam.
Growing up here was so fun as a kid, living with cows and horses, I knew how to ride a horse before I started school. It was a great place to grow up, with all the land to run around and befree, never feeling trapped, always something to do. I remember getting in trouble a few times with Dad, nothing serious, mostly me sneaking the tractor out for a joyride or moving a few cows around. Dad would shake his head, mutter something about “Boys and their antics” and Mom would just roll her eyes.
I still have the memories of realizing ranch life wasn’t for me. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about the land or the family legacy; it was just never my dream. I wanted something I could build on my own, a life I could truly call my own without anyone handing it to me. Something I earned, not just because of my birth order.
