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1
Tristan
I rip the button from the cuff of my dress shirt sleeve and roll up the offensive material. My arms feel constricted in it, like a straitjacket keeping me locked in a role that isn’t mine.
Someone stares at me as I pass them on the sidewalk and quickly moves out of my way. It’s either the scowl on my face, my mumbling like a madman, or a combination of both that makes him rush away.
My dad’s words still echo in my mind. The money will be yours as soon as you do what we’ve asked.
Right.
A cleansing breath of fresh air fills my lungs and clears the frustration rolling through me.
I can’t believe I’m back in Hartville, even temporarily, crashing in my brother’s spare bedroom. If someone had told me this five months ago, I would have laughed and looked for the hidden camera trying to punk me.
I left after high school for a reason—to get far, far away from my parents and the Remington name. Timbuktu wouldn’t be far enough.
Yet here I am, trying to gain access to my trust fund from my parents. After another unsuccessful meeting with my dad today, I’m not sure it’ll ever be mine. Not after the stipulations they added, which include settling in one place and working for the family business—hard pass—or at a similar job they deem worthy.
I refuse to work at an office. A tie feels like a noose. It’ll be the death of me.
Victim: twenty-four-year-old man chasing his dreams.
Perpetrator: fabric string.
It leaves me with the other option—a relationship that proves I’m settling down.
I swing open the door to The Bean and breathe out when I realize the coffee shop isn’t full of people. I don’t want anyone coming up to me and welcoming me back to Hartville. I’m not here for the long term.
“Would you like a double shot of happiness to get rid of the grouchiness?”
I snap my head up to see the barista smile and finish off her mimed rimshot.
“Ba-dum-tss.” Her smile remains in place.
Laughter bubbles out of me, and I slap the counter.
“Ah, it worked.” She nods proudly.
“You’re new.” I tilt my head.
“I am. How can I help you?” Her voice is cheery.
“I’ll have a large coffee and a slice of the quiche.” I point to the display. “Thanks for the joke. I needed that.”
“It seemed like it.” She taps the screen on the register. “Do you want your coffee black?” She looks back at me.
“Yeah.”
“Can I have your name, please?” She holds up a black Sharpie and a cup.
“Tristan.” I smirk.
Her short hair lands right below her chin, one side tucked behind her ear, showing an earring in the shape of an aqua beaker that hangs from her ear. I smile at the quirky earring. I guess she likes science.
“Great.” Her big brown eyes look at me, and her gaze is penetrating and deep.
Clearing my throat, I hand her my card so she can ring me up, keeping my eyes on her.
