The fasten seatbelt sign switches off with a ding. People start shuffling to the bathrooms and unfolding their tray tables. I stay put, staring out the window at the blanket of clouds below.

  My mind drifts to the disastrous conversation with my dad two days ago. He called me into his wood-paneled office, assuming I'd happily accept the COO promotion he'd arranged for me at Farmology, our family business, in the packaged foods department.

  "It's time you took your place in the empire," he said, pushing a stack of contracts across the desk. "So what if you didn't get married? There's plenty of other fish in the sea. No point dwelling on that horrid Bethany business. It's time for you to focus on the family business."

  I shook my head. "I appreciate the offer, but I've decided to take a job on the ground with Farmology."

  His face hardened. "As what, some entry-level grunt? You're meant for the executive suite, not field work."

  "It's important that I gain experience from the ground up, and I'm transferring to a procurement rep position."

  "Don't be a fool. This is your legacy!"

  "Look, Dad.” I stood firm. “I'm doing this with or without your approval."

  His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes smoldering. But for once, I didn't back down.

  A flight attendant comes by with the drink cart. I jolt back to the present, decline, and turn again to the window.

  Wisps of clouds past. Somewhere below, my future awaits—a modest room on a farm somewhere in Perham, Minnesota and an honest job. Far from the world I've always known, but somehow closer to the world I want to know.

  It won't be easy. But it will be mine. And that's worth any struggle.

  The plane begins its descent into Perham Municipal Airport. I peer out the window at the patchwork farms stretching to the horizon.

  As the plane bumps down the runway, my nerves kick in. I've always relied on the family name and money to open doors for me. Now I'll have to prove myself with hard work alone. I must say it seems a little daunting, but also exhilarating. I chose this small town deliberately – somewhere I can build connections and gain hands-on experience, far from the Elliott reputation.

  My pulse quickens as I gather my belongings and make my way off the plane. The arrivals area is tiny compared to the massive airports I'm used to. But I don't mind. This is exactly what I wanted – a place where I can discover who I am.

  A fresh start. A blank page.

  ***

  I stand outside the small airport, scanning the parking lot for my ride. What the hell is this place and what am I doing here? The airport is so empty that it feels a shame to even call it one. I’m used to such places being busy, full of important folks with big things to do and places to go, but out here, I feel like an alien.

  The owners of the dairy farm are picking me up, but there's no sign of them. Frustrated, I check my watch – they're now an hour late. I fish the crumpled details out of my pocket and dial the number.

  No answer.

  Great.

  I'm stranded at this tiny airport in the middle of nowhere, fresh off the plane, with two bulging suitcases. The parking lot is virtually empty, not even a taxi in sight. For a moment, I consider calling my dad's assistant to send the company car from the Perham headquarters. But no – I can handle this. I’m choosing a new life.

  My mind races as I weigh my options. Do I swallow my pride and reveal who I really am to get help? The Elliott name would solve this mess in seconds. But no, that's the easy way out. If I use my family's influence now, I'll defeat the purpose of all this.

  A bus is heading my way and I eye it hopefully, but it whizzes past me. I check my phone again – still no call from the farm owners. My frustration mounts, but I take a deep breath. I'll figure it out, even if it means lugging these bags the five miles into town myself.

  The only problem is, I don’t know which direction to go.

  After I ask around and learn that public transport is hard to come by and the Sanders farm is tens of miles away, I try calling the Sanders again while pacing in front of the small airport terminal. As soon as I hear a voice, the words erupt from me.

  "This is unacceptable. I've been waiting here for over an hour, after a long flight, and there's no one here to pick me up." I pause as the gentleman starts to stammer an apology, but I cut him off.

  "I don't want excuses, I want solutions. I've called you multiple times. Now, I'm standing outside the Perham airport with all my belongings and not a soul in sight. What are you going to do about it?"

  My assertive tone surprises me, but I’m done playing nice. If I’m going to make it here, I need to speak up for myself.

  The flustered voice promises to send someone right away. I feel a twinge of guilt at my outburst, but mostly just relief that the issue will finally get resolved.

  I find a bench outside the terminal and set down my bags. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since this morning. I close my eyes, telling myself to be patient just a little longer.

  Chapter 4

  Chloé

  The shrill scream of the dental drill pierces my eardrums as I lean over Mrs. Johnson's opened mouth. The scent of antiseptic burns my nostrils. I angle the drill to smooth out the jagged edge of her molar, ignoring the twitch of her watery eyes.

  As I’m finishing up, my phone vibrates in my pocket, a welcome distraction. I turn off the drill and slip away to answer it.

  "Chloé, thank goodness!" Mom's frantic voice erupts through the speaker. "The Farmology rep's flight got in today when we thought he would arrive tomorrow. The rep just called, and he sounds really mad. Your father was supposed to pick him up, but he's fixing the tractor, and the mechanic is here. We completely forgot!"

  I sigh, picturing Dad covered in grease and cursing over that ancient John Deere. "So, you need me to get him from the airport?"

  "Would you? I feel awful about this mix-up. We feel terrible, and he's extremely upset about having to wait."

  I chuckle. "Mom, I'm sure he won't care as much as you think he does. It's just a little mistake."

  I pull off my latex gloves and wash my hands, glancing at the clock.

  "Thanks for your patience, Mrs. Johnson," I say as I escort her out. "See you in six months for your check-up."

  She nods and smiles her crooked smile.

  I gather my things and rush out to my car, the afternoon sun glinting off the sides. As I slide in, my earlier nonchalance melts away. What if the Farmology rep really is angry? What if I'm too late?

  I shake my head, turning the key in the ignition. Don't be silly. You're just picking up a stranger from the airport, not defusing a bomb. I put on some music and begin to drive.

  I pull into the airport parking lot, scanning for anyone who looks like a disgruntled Farmology employee. There's hardly a handful of people and most look like airport employees.

  Butterflies swirl in my stomach as I park and step out. Get a grip, I tell myself. Just be your usual bubbly self, and he'll come around.

  I spot him standing alone near the arrivals board, tall and broad-shouldered, in a button-down and slacks. Even with the scowl on his face, he's strikingly handsome. My breath catches for a moment before I put on a sunny smile and approach.

  "Hi there! You must be the rep from Farmology," I say, extending a hand. "I'm Chloé. So sorry about the mix-up, but welcome to Perham!"

  He eyes me warily for a second before taking my hand in a firm grip.

  "Alex ... uh... Burrow. Call me Alex." His voice is pleasantly deep. "I appreciate you coming to get me, Chloé, but I wish I didn't have to wait so long. I don't take kindly to wasting my time."

  My smile falters slightly. "Of course, I'm very sorry. We made a mistake with our schedules." I gesture towards the parking lot. "Shall we?"

  He nods, lips still pursed in a thin line. I sigh internally but keep up my cheerful demeanor.

  I lead Alex out to my car, a cherry red vintage Mustang that usually gets admiring looks. But Alex barely glances at it before tossing his bags in the back seat. I slide behind the wheel and take a deep breath.

  "So, Alex, have you been to Minnesota before?" I ask brightly as I pull out of the parking lot.

  "Once for business," he replies tersely, not even looking at me as he stares out the window.

  "Well, you're going to love it here! Especially the farm. The countryside is so beautiful this time of the year.”

  Alex just grunts in response. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, racking my brain for another topic. Clearly, small talk isn’t his forte.

  "Um, how was your flight?" I try again.

  "Long," he says flatly.

  I bite my lip to hold back a retort. Getting snippy won’t help matters. Patience, I remind myself. Alex is jet-lagged and grumpy. I would be too, after that nightmare of a travel day.

  We drive in silence for a few miles, the countryside rolling by outside. I'm debating whether to turn on some music when Alex speaks up unexpectedly.

  “So, you work for the Sanders?” he asks.

  “Nope!” I respond cheerfully. “The Sanders are my parents.”

  “Oh.” He frowns like he’s judging me.

  “Why?” I inquire, hoping to gain some insight into what he’s thinking.

  “Nothing. It’s just … If they’re your parents, and you work on their farm, it’s not wrong of me to say you work for them, is it?

  I wonder if this attitude is typical of him or if something else is bothering him. Did he not want to come here? Is he just socially awkward? Or is he normally this unpleasant?

  I feel my own smile fading as irritation prickles me. I’ve gone out of my way to welcome him, but he can't even make basic conversation. I shouldn't have to work this hard to get simple decency.

  “What made you assume I work at the farm? Just so you know,” I say, a hint of annoyance tingling in my voice, “I work as a dentist. My parents called and requested I pick you up since you’ve been waiting a while and my clinic is closer to the airport. But now I’m thinking it was a mistake that I came in the first place.”

  To my shock, he gives a hint of a smile for the first time since I met him. “Feisty, aren’t you?” he asks.

  I force a smile. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

  I remind myself that I need to put forward my best behavior, for if I don’t, it could backfire on my parents’ efforts. Whatever happens, we need to keep Alex Burrow on our side, or we could run into real trouble.

  "So, what made you decide to become a dentist?"

  I glance at him in surprise. His expression has softened slightly, though his jaw is still tense. I take the olive branch for what it is.

  "Well, I've always loved working with my hands ..." I begin. Maybe this drive won't be so awkward after all.

  I launch into an explanation of how I became interested in dentistry, relieved that Alex is finally engaging in conversation.

  "I shadowed my orthodontist in high school and just fell in love with the precision of it," I say. "And I like making people smile – literally and figuratively."

  I chance a smile in Alex's direction. The corner of his mouth twitches but doesn’t quite make it to a full smile. I'll take it as progress.

  "What about you?" I ask. "What drew you into consulting?"

  Alex shrugs. "Just fell into it, I guess." His tone makes it clear he doesn't want to elaborate.

  We fall silent again. The countryside rolls past, all green fields and wildflowers. As we get farther from town, the land grows more rugged. Rocky outcroppings jut from the earth like ancient monoliths. A hawk circles lazily overhead.

  "It really is beautiful here," Alex says quietly, almost like he's talking to himself.

  "I told you," I reply, matching his hushed tone so as not to break the spell. "Just wait until you see the farm. It's my favorite place in the world."

  Alex doesn’t respond but I sense a subtle shift in his demeanor. The furrow between his brows has smoothed ever so slightly. The set of his jaw is a little less rigid.

  I focus on the road ahead, a tiny sprout of hope taking root. Maybe this grumpy stranger just needs a little Minnesota magic to melt that prickly exterior.

  ***

  When we arrive at the ranch, I park the car on the driveway and point toward the farmhouse. “Go right in,” I tell Alex. “My parents will be inside, and they’ll help you get settled. I would’ve shown you, but I’m expecting a client back at the clinic. Sorry about that.”

  He grunts. I look at him, wondering why he just grunted.

  As though he’s read my thoughts, he adds. “So, this is what Perham hospitality is? It’s like a whole do-it-yourself project. Am I expected to carry my bags in myself too?”

  I look at him in horror. Did he truly just ask me that? Was he raised by butlers or something?

  I put on my fakest, quirkiest voice and chime in. “Afraid so, Mr. Burrow! We carry our own bags around here, and do our own laundry, and serve our own food. But you know what they say? Lifting weights is good for the muscles.” I lean over and open the door on his side. As I do, I smell that mahogany on him, and it takes everything in me to not take a deeper breath.

  Why, oh why, does he have to smell so good?

  He shakes his head, disgruntled, and gets out without saying a word, not even a simple thank you, before grabbing his suitcases from the trunk.

  I reflect on his behavior, questioning his motives. He acts like I've greatly inconvenienced him by being late and not helping with the luggage. But I had an honest excuse – I was with a patient at the clinic and tried to come as soon as I could! His impatience and rudeness seem excessive for the situation.

  As he turns down the long dirt driveway leading to my parents' door, I'm filled with relief. I can finally unload this ingrate and get back to my real work. I reverse the car with more force than necessary.

  Good riddance.

  Chapter 5

  Alex

  The creaky wooden steps lead up to the quaint farmhouse, its white paint chipped and faded from years of harsh Minnesota winters. I pause at the bottom. I shouldn't have snapped at Chloé like that and assumed she takes her parents for granted when she gave no indication that she does so. I feel a knot in my stomach.

  I suddenly realize that she didn't deserve my bitterness, not when she was just trying to give me a warm welcome. Her pretty smile lingers in my mind, and so does the guilt at knowing how I wiped it right off with my sour mood.

  With a deep breath, I start climbing the steps. I've always let my past poison the future. The echoes of old heartbreaks make me bristle and throw up walls. I squeeze my eyes shut. Bethany's cold voice rings in my ears: "But our parents can pay for our wedding.”

  I reach the top step and stare at the peeling door. It's not Chloé's fault I'm like this, haunted to assume the worst in any woman I meet. She's been nothing but kind since she picked me up at the airport. I exhale and relax my shoulders. Maybe it's time I stop assuming the worst in people. I raise my hand to knock, ready to apologize.

  This is a new start.

  And one where I must make sure I don’t use my last name. The minute I tell anyone I’m Alex Elliott, they might realize I’m connected to the Farmology family. What was that last name I used with Chloé again? I rack my brain trying to remember, and then it comes to me. Ah, yes - Burrow. I’m Alex Burrow from now on.

  The door swings open before I can knock, and a petite woman with silver hair appears in front of me. The laugh lines around her eyes smile brightly.

  "You must be Alex! We're so happy to finally meet you," she says. "I'm Margaret, and this is my husband, David."

  A tall, slender man steps up behind her, grinning through his bushy white beard. "Welcome, son! We're so sorry for the confusion. Please, come in."

  I step inside, comforted by the cozy warmth. Framed family photos line the walls, chronicling years of happy memories.

  "We prepared the spare bedroom upstairs for you. Let me show you," David says.

  We climb the creaking steps. He opens the door to a quaint room, furnished simply but tastefully.

  "I know it's not much ..." David rubs his neck.

  "It's perfect, thank you." I set my bags down.

  Margaret speaks up. “You know, we truly are so very sorry about what –”

  Overwhelmed with guilt regarding the bad behavior I myself exhibited, I cut her off. “Please, I apologize for being short-tempered. All’s well that ends well.”

  Margaret breaks into a smile. "Please make yourself at home."

  Their kindness catches me off guard. For the first time in a long while, I feel welcomed. Appreciated. Like I belong. But I shouldn’t assume it’s genuine. I’ve seen my parents be welcome and hospitable to dozens of people, to only later call those very same guests blind-sided and clueless behind their backs.

  Maybe Margaret and David are just being nice because they have to be.

  "So, Alex, any dinner requests?" Margaret asks as we descend back downstairs after setting down my luggage.

  "Oh, please don't go to any trouble on my account," I say. "I was actually thinking of heading into town to grab a bite."

  David and Margaret exchange a glance.

  "Are you sure?" David asks. "We'd be happy to whip up something here for you."

  "I appreciate it, but I should get my bearings. Plus, I'm used to fending for myself." I force a smile, hoping they understand.

  The truth is, after years under my parents’ wings, relying on others doesn't come naturally anymore.

  "Well, if you're set on going out, let us call a cab for you," Margaret suggests.

  I shake my head. "Thank you, but I can manage."

  David frowns. "It's no trouble. Our neighbor down the road drives for a service in town."

  "I'm sure I can figure it out." I grab my coat, trying to hide my irritation.

  They're only trying to help, but I need to do this myself. To prove I don't need anyone. That's the only way I'll heal.

  "Be safe out there," Margaret says as I head for the door.

 

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