Page 64 of Best Friends, Tennessee

Goddamnit.

For years, it had been so much easier for me to expect nothing from anyone. No loyalty, no real friendship. After what had happened with Aaron, I was particularly wary of anything like it.

So I hadn’t let myself feel this way—that little flutter in my chest when I saw a guy’s name on my phone screen—in years. It felt dangerous.

But I also knew Finn was different. He might have pissed me off more than anybody else sometimes, but he wasn’t a flake. He wasn’t a liar. And he’d never ghosted anyone in his life.

Even if what we were doing was a weird little burst of curiosity for him, and we both knew it was temporary, for once I was letting myself enjoy some part of it.

Finn’s texts were fucking adorable, for one. I read them all in my head with a little southern drawl, just like he had in real life.

And fuck it. Maybe I liked knowing he was thinking of me sometimes, too.

I hopped in my car and made my way through the winding, forested roads back toward Bestens.

The forest gave way to farmland, and soon I was back. I didn’t even mind when I drove through areas that smelled like manure—it meant that the farms were gearing up for summer, and that soon, we’d have overflowing farmer’s markets.

Today had been the first time I’d left the Bestens town limits since moving back to town.

And driving back in was strange. Again, I didn’t have the same deep dread in my heart that I had the first day. Even if Bestens wasn’t for me, it sure was better than that hellish apartment in Sable Valley.

I parked my Beetle in the lot behind Red Fox. My shift in the diner was going to start in ten minutes. I slid out my phone again and this time, saw something different.

There was an email on the screen from an art museum I’d applied to volunteer at when I’d first come into town, before Thomas even recommended the other gig for me.

My heart did another happy little leap in my chest.

Fuckyes.

Finally.

I’d been waiting to hear back for weeks now, and finally I felt like I could start to regain an outlet that felt like it nurtured my love for art. Something that might make me feel like Tennesseecouldfeel like home. The position was only a once-a-week volunteer spot, but it felt like a pressure valve releasing the moment I saw that the email was from the museum.

I opened the email, smiling.

Ori,

Thank you so much for applying for the docent position at the Clearview Museum.

Unfortunately, at this time we cannot accept you into the volunteer position. Feel free to apply to other positions as they open. We always welcome any motivated applicants.

Thank you.

My throat tightened as I read the wordunfortunately, over and over again.

I swallowed hard.

The air in my Beetle suddenly felt too hot and compressed, like I was going to suffocate in the small space if I stayed in here. I got out and shut the driver’s side door, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek, trying to rein myself in from a spiral.

The back door of the diner opened a second later, and Danielle walked out, taking out a big black trash bag.

“Ori,” she said, tossing the bag in the dumpster and squinting at me as she walked over. “You look like a kid who just dropped your ice cream cone. What’s up?”

“Can’t find an apartment,” I said. “And apparently can’t find a volunteer position, either.”

“Shit,” she said, coming over to give me a hug. “The nice apartment you were showing me pictures of yesterday?”

“Not so nice in person,” I told her. “Roach motel.”

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