The field is quiet now, the echoes of whistles and shouts fading as the last of the boys jog off toward the parking lot. Caleb is still lingering, dragging his helmet along the grass when a young woman makes her way across the field. She looks a little nervous, but there’s a strength in her step.

You’re lining up your shot, doing your best to impress your boss with a clean drive, when you hear laughter that doesn’t belong to him. You glance up and there she is—walking beside him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, looking completely out of place and yet like she belongs more than anyone. She flashes you a smile that nearly makes you shank your shot, and your boss is too busy checking his scorecard to notice. You tell yourself to focus on the game, but every time she leans in to say something, you realize the only thing you really want to win today is her attention.

The sun was high and the fairways were buzzing with laughter as your buddies cracked open yet another round of beers. You were lining up your shot when one of them waved over a girl to join the group. At first glance, you noticed she wasn’t just gorgeous—she looked confident with a club in her hand. The round went on, and while your friends were getting louder with every drink, you and she kept the focus on the game. Between quick smiles, quiet jokes, and the way she crushed her drives straight down the fairway, it became obvious: you two were the only ones really playing golf that day.

The Saturday sun was already warming the town square when you finished arranging the last basket of tomatoes at your farmers market booth. The air carried that mix of fresh herbs, sweet peaches, and coffee from the vendor two stalls over. You wiped your hands on your apron and glanced up just as someone new wandered through the row of tents. She didn’t look like the usual crowd of locals who came for eggs and honey every week. She was dressed neatly but casually, scanning each booth with the curiosity of someone still learning what the town had to offer. A tote bag hung at her side, and she paused in front of your stand, eyeing the jars of preserves and the baskets of late-summer squash. “Hi,” she said, a little smile tugging at her lips. “I’m new in town. Just started at the hospital… OBGYN.”

You and Hallie matched on Tinder while she was passing through your city on vacation. You never got to meet but you’ve been texting for a few weeks now. She asked you if you wanted to FaceTime so you could “meet”. You take a deep breath and hit the call button. She answers with a smile on her face.

Sophie is your high school sweetheart. You dated for years until you went to different colleges and broke up. She lives in Texas and you live in Arkansas while you’re in medical school. You recently reconnected and you’ve been talking on the phone nonstop. One day, she FaceTimes you when she gets home from the gym.

Lacey is your high school sweetheart. You tried long distance in college, but grew apart. You’re at your 10 year high school reunion when you spot her again. She’s even more beautiful than you remember. She catches your gaze and smiles. She walks over to you and your whole world freezes.

Paige is your new coworker. She is at the desk next to you and your boss has asked you to show her the ropes for the next few days.

I hadn’t seen Shelby in six years. Not since we stood in her apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes and a silence heavy enough to crush the good memories between us. She wanted freedom, big cities, dreams without borders. I wanted a backyard, a golden retriever, and a family with our name on the mailbox. But tonight, at our college alumni event, I caught a flash of auburn hair and that familiar laugh—and just like that, I was 21 again, half in love and trying not to show it. She turned, drink in hand, and our eyes met across the crowd. Same green eyes. Same dimple when she smiled. Except this time, she walked toward me. No hesitation. No unfinished packing.

*you are on your way to Olivia’s house to pick up some of your things. After much thought, you both have decided with your demanding careers, it would be best if you two broke up. As you pull up to her house, she’s outside waiting on you. You grab your things and put them in your truck. You walk back up to her to give your final goodbyes. You wrap her up in a hug and when you pull away, there’s a familiar look in her eyes.*

I’m standing near the back of the room, swirling the ice in my plastic cup and pretending I’m deeply fascinated by the welcome slideshow looping behind the principal’s head. I’m new to the district—new to this whole town, actually—and if the squeaky gym floor and the streamers sagging from the ceiling weren’t enough of a clue, the polite small talk confirms it: this is a small town where everyone already knows everyone. I’m mid-sip when I see her. She’s laughing at something by the snack table—dark green dress, hair pulled up like she didn’t even try, but somehow it’s perfect. She’s got that warmth about her that draws people in, and apparently, I’m no exception. I tell myself to stay put. Blend in. Don’t be that new guy who comes on too strong. But before I know it, I’m weaving through a group of PE teachers debating dodgeball rules. She spots me right as I reach for the same mini cupcake she’s eyeing.

I didn’t even want to be at this party. I’d shown up because my buddy swore it’d be “worth it” — whatever that meant — and now I was half-pretending to listen to him ramble about his ex while I scanned the room for an exit strategy. That’s when I saw her. I’d seen her before — once at a coffee shop, once at the gym, enough times that my brain knew her name even if my mouth had never said it. She was standing by the kitchen, laughing at something some guy said. He had his hand on her side — just under her arm, like he owned the space there. She laughed again, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. When he slid his hand a little lower, she brushed it off like she was swatting away a fly. He didn’t get the hint — or maybe he didn’t care. I should’ve minded my own business. Should’ve looked away. But I couldn’t. Something in me tightened when he did it again — that same hand creeping back like he was testing her limits. She shifted closer to the counter, nowhere left to go. So I stepped in. Drink abandoned, excuses forgotten. I didn’t have a plan — just an instinct I couldn’t ignore. “Hey,” I said, tapping her shoulder like we’d known each other for years. “Sorry I’m late — did you wanna grab that drink now?” She looked at me — really looked — and I saw the relief before she could hide it. And just like that, she was standing next to me, her hand slipping into mine like we’d practiced it a thousand times.

I’ve never stayed for breakfast — that’s my rule. No attachments, no lingering looks when the sun comes up. Just a good time, a polite goodbye, and I’m gone before her coffee’s even brewed. That’s how I’ve always done it, and I’m proud of it — or at least that’s what I tell myself. But tonight, leaning against this bar with my easy grin and my best bad intentions, I catch her looking at me from across the room — not with that take me home look I’m used to, but something else. Something like try me. There’s a spark in her eyes — stubborn, sweet, a little dangerous — and when she walks over and calls me out on my best lines, I can’t help but laugh. She’s not here for a fling. She’s not here for my games. She says I could be more — and I almost scoff, ready with a comeback — but then she smiles like she knows something I don’t. For the first time in a long time, I catch myself wondering what it’d be like to break my own rule. To stay for breakfast. Maybe even lunch. Hell… maybe even longer.

I knew taking this summer job baling hay and fixing fences wasn’t going to make me rich, but I figured it’d buy me some time to clear my head and put some calluses on hands that’d gotten too soft behind a desk. What I didn’t figure on was her. She showed up on my third day — hair pulled back, skin sun-kissed from mornings that started before the sun did. The boss introduced her as his daughter, fresh out of college and back home to “help out” — though from the way she handled the tractor and gave orders, I’d say she runs more than she helps. I catch myself watching her more than I should — the way she laughs with her dad, how she brushes a stray strand of hair off her forehead with the back of her glove. I tell myself I’m just here for the work, just here for the summer — but there’s something about her that makes me wonder if maybe this old farm’s got more growing than just crops this year.

Lexie is your beautiful girlfriend that you met through work. She is a nurse and you’re a doctor. You’re getting ready to go on a vacation with your friends where you’re going to propose. She has no idea.

Meet Abby. She’s a 26 year old elementary school teacher. She loves reading, being outdoors, cooking, spending time with friends, and gardening. She is also your wife. Yep, that’s right. You were chosen to be on the TV show “Married at First Sight.” The experts chose you and Abby to be partnered together based on your personalities. Was it a good match? You will get to know Abby for 8 weeks and then decide if you want to stay married or get a divorce. You are standing at the end of the aisle and all of your worries melt away when you see Abby’s beaming smile in front of you. You can’t help but think that this may not be so scary after all.

I was just trying to mind my business and touch my toes—failingly, I might add—when I heard the softest voice float by with a hint of challenge: “Maybe you could stretch a little further if you joined my classes.” I glanced up from my half-hearted hamstring stretch to find her standing there—yoga mat slung over one shoulder, eyes lit with that kind of confidence that didn’t need to prove anything. She smiled like she knew I’d be thinking about that line for the rest of the day. She was probably right. I smirked, trying to recover some dignity. “Are you offering professional help? Because clearly, I’m in need.” She laughed—soft but sincere—and nodded toward the studio behind her.

I hadn’t stepped foot in this town in ten years, and it felt exactly the same and completely different all at once. The same cracked sidewalk in front of my mom’s house. The same dusty corner store with the flickering sign. But everything else? Me? All of it had changed. Life had a funny way of doing that. When I moved back to take care of Mom, I told myself I wasn’t here to reconnect or settle in—I was here for her. Nothing more. But then my childhood best friend, Blake texted. Said Hallie, his wife and my other best friend, was cooking dinner and their “friend group”—which apparently was a thing now—was coming over. I figured I could use a break from sorting prescriptions and unpacking boxes. Maybe even make a couple adult friends who didn’t wear scrubs or answer to “Mom.” I walked through their front door expecting small talk and maybe a few names I wouldn’t remember. Instead, I saw her. Olivia. Sitting barefoot on the couch with a glass of red wine, like she’d always belonged there. Head tilted back laughing at something, hair catching the porch light, one leg tucked under the other like she had nowhere else to be. And suddenly, neither did I.

I didn’t come to the bar looking for a girlfriend. I came for a beer and maybe a little pity from my buddies. Instead, I found myself scanning the room like a casting director for a rom-com nobody asked for. My mom’s retirement party is in three days. Everyone—my aunts, cousins, family friends from church—thinks I’m bringing my girlfriend. The girlfriend who, as of last week, is now my ex. And if I show up solo, I can already hear the whispers and feel the judgmental pats on the back: “You’ll find someone eventually, honey.” No thanks. So there I was, sipping a cheap beer, mentally drafting the world’s saddest Craigslist ad—“Fake girlfriend needed. Must tolerate awkward family games, lukewarm casserole, and my grandmother asking invasive questions.” That’s when I saw her. She was laughing with her friends, twirling a straw in her drink, completely oblivious to the fact that she might just be my way out of this mess. Or the start of a much bigger one.