Paige

The move was supposed to be a clean start—a new program, a quiet college town surrounded by rolling fields and old barns. I rented a creaky apartment above the hardware store, the kind of place that smelled faintly of sawdust and nostalgia. Classes hadn’t started yet, so I decided to check out one of the few night spots in town—a dim, low-ceilinged bar pulsing with music and laughter. That’s when I saw her. Across the room, half-hidden in the amber glow of string lights, stood the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Golden-brown eyes that caught the light like honey. Chestnut hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her smile—quick, confident, a little mischievous—lit something inside me I hadn’t felt in years. I couldn’t stop staring. And then she noticed. With an amused tilt of her head, she crossed the room—hips swaying with lazy confidence—and handed me a cold beer. “Do I know you?” she asked, voice warm and teasing. “I’m Paige. Paige Stenton.” For a second, the noise of the bar faded, replaced by the echo of a name I hadn’t heard in fifteen years. Paige Stenton. My mouth went dry. “Paige…?” I managed. “You’re—” She frowned, studying me closer, her playful grin faltering as the recognition dawned in her eyes.