Chapter 4
FOUR
BLAST FROM THE PAST
SHAUN
Valerie “The girl I ruined things with because I convinced myself she deserved better than me” Andrews.
The girl I wanted.
The girl I still want, based on my body’s reaction.
When my eyes finally meet hers, I watch the emotions flicker across her face in real time. Recognition first. Then confusion. Then something that hits harder. Hurt. Maybe anger. I earned either one.
Sunlight spills through the high barn windows and catches in her red hair. For a split second, my brain shuts off. Breathing feels optional. She’s still beautiful. Not polished. Not pristine. Real. And there’s something restless in her eyes now, like she’s carrying ghosts.
What the hell is she doing here?
Val was always meant for more. Top of the class. Headed somewhere big. She was going to cure diseases, discover something world changing, or invent a device to kick idiots in the balls. Idiots like me.
After one memorable afternoon, I avoided her the rest of senior year, acted like she didn’t exist because wanting her felt like crossing a line I didn’t deserve to touch. I haven’t seen her since graduation. Since I stood there and listened to her speech, proud and miserable all at once.
But she never really left my head.
The girl in front of me now isn’t the one I memorized back then. The neat braids. The perfect posture. The book glued to her hands. This Val looks sharper. Louder. Her hair hangs in loose braids, bangs framing her face and drawing my attention straight to her freckles and bright green eyes.
And the nose ring.
Flipping freaking flapjacks.
That damn nose ring does something to me. I want to touch it. Want to trace it with my thumb before my hand slides to her jaw, before I see if she tastes like my dreams.
I don’t even realize I’ve leaned forward until Drew’s elbow slams into my shoulder.
“It’s a real reunion now,” he mutters, grin thick in his voice.
I swat his hand away without looking at him. Of all the mistakes I’ve made, telling Drew I liked Valerie ranks high on the list.
Val moves past us and sits on a hay bale near the high school kid. The space she leaves feels wrong. Too empty.
My chest tightens.
She’s here.
I’m here.
She won’t look at me. Her focus stays forward, perched on the edge of the hay bale like she’s waiting for orders. The clothes are different, but the girl underneath hasn’t changed. I can still see it in the way she listens, alert and curious, like her brain’s already ten steps ahead of the room.
I can’t help wondering what she sees when she looks at me.
Quarterback. Golden boy. Full-ride scholarship. The guy everyone thought would escape this town without a scratch.
And now?
Just another busted version of what I used to be.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the dirt floor. Straw and dust cling to my boots. I should keep my eyes down. I don’t.
Something in my chest pulls hard, magnetic. I glance over, just for a second. Just enough.
Memories crash in. The library. Senior year.
Hidden between the shelves where the lights barely reached.
Her back against the bookcase, my arm braced above her head.
Way too close. Not close enough. I wanted to kiss her so badly it made my hands shake.
I can still feel the heat of her body, the way her breath hitched when our noses touched.
I remember following her back there with the excuse of a Government assignment. I remember the surprise on her face when she turned and found me blocking the aisle. I almost smile at that part.
Then Drew ruins it.
He leans toward Sandie Sampson with that same stupid grin. Please, god, no.
“So,” he says, “you come here often?”
Sandie doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Wow. That line never gets old.”
“Good thing I don’t either.” He winks.
She finally glances at him. “What are you, Peter Pan? I don’t date little boys, weirdo.”
I shake my head. “You’re embarrassing yourself, man.”
He shrugs, unfazed. “Practice makes perfect.” Then he wiggles his eyebrows toward Val.
I follow his gaze. Val pointedly ignores us, staring straight ahead like we’re nothing more than faulty farm equipment.
That stings more than it should.
Because I don’t want to avoid her.
Not again.
And judging by the way she keeps shifting, by the tension in her shoulders, I don’t think she’s as unaffected as she wants us to believe.
Fred clears his throat, snapping the room to attention. “All right, listen up. We’ve got a lot to do before the festival tomorrow. I don’t want excuses. I don’t want laziness. We’re setting up stations, decorations, and games, and I expect it done right.”
His eyes drag across the group, weighing us like we’re defective tools. He lingers on Drew for a beat longer than necessary.
Spoiler alert, Fred. You found your problem.
Drew stretches his legs out on a crate beside me, humming off-key like he’s auditioning to get fired. Sandie stays glued to her phone, thumbs flicking like she’s afraid it might escape.
Fred nods once, satisfied that we’re all trapped, then folds his arms. “Let’s do quick introductions.” He motions for the young kid to start.
“Uh, I’m Cole.” He shoves his thick-framed glasses up his nose. “Junior at Ballard Memorial High. I’m here for community service hours for my college apps.” He rubs his palms down his faded jeans and sneezes hard into his elbow, dark curls falling into his face. “I’m also allergic to hay.”
I skim the surrounding area covered in hay. Poor choice of community service there, bud.
Fred grimaces. “More than I needed, but thanks.” Then he turns toward Val.
My pulse kicks up, sharp and sudden. I haven’t heard her voice in over a year, but my body remembers it just fine.
She shrugs like this is no big deal. “I’m Valerie, but you can call me Val.” One corner of her mouth tilts up before she continues. “Statistically, group icebreakers boost engagement and participation by creating a positive atmosphere.”
Heat spreads through my chest and I don’t bother stopping the smile.
There she is.
“Also,” Val adds, turning to Cole, “introductions usually follow the three P’s. Personal, professional, and peculiar. You covered all three, so nice job.”
She smiles at him. Real. Warm. The kid visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping like she flipped a switch.
Something twists in my gut.
Am I jealous of a high schooler?
Yes.
Yes, I am.
Because she still does that thing. Makes people feel seen. And sitting here, watching her own the room without even trying, I want her attention back on me more than I probably should.
Val turns to face Fred, who looks like he already regrets asking for introductions. She tilts her head, then smacks her palm to her forehead.
“Right. Something personal . . .” She bites her bottom lip, eyes flicking upward as she thinks.
My chest tightens.
I shouldn’t notice that.
I absolutely notice that.
She lights up like she’s cracked some great mystery. “I love random pieces of knowledge and facts.”
Fred stares at her. Flat. Unamused. “You don’t say.”
She shoots him a finger gun and a wink.
Something hot and reckless coils low in my stomach.
This version of Valerie Andrews—sharp mind, smart mouth, zero fear—hits harder than any memory I have of her. She isn’t trying to impress anyone. She’s just being herself, and somehow that makes it worse. Better. Both.
Fred’s gaze shifts to me.
Right. My turn.
I clear my throat. “I’m Shaun. I work at Drew’s family farm and . . .” I turn just enough to catch Val’s eye and let a slow smirk pull at my mouth. “For my peculiar fact, I believe candy corn is superior to all other candy.”
Her eyes roll, but she doesn’t hide the smile fast enough. She turns away, loose strands of red hair falling around her face like a shield.
I count that as a win.
A small one, but I’ll take it.
Cole sneezes hard, the sound echoing off the barn walls. We all mutter a half-hearted “bless you” before Drew jumps in.
“I’m Drew. I work professionally at my family’s farm.” He throws Val a wink. “And I strongly disagree with Shaun. Candy corn is trash. Caramel apple suckers are elite.”
I scoff. “Blasphemy.”
Sandie doesn’t bother looking up. “I’m Sandie. I’m taking a break from modeling and figured I’d get some cute content for my followers.” She snaps a quick selfie, lips pursed, chest out, then goes right back to typing.
Nothing’s changed.
Fred closes his eyes like he’s counting backward from ten. “That took longer than necessary and I don’t care.” He stuffs his hands into his overall pockets. “I’m splitting you into pairs so you stay focused.”
Drew’s hand shoots up. “I’ll work with Sandie or Shaun.”
Fred snorts. “Absolutely not.”
Then he points between me and Val.
“You two are on kids’ crafts. Pumpkin painting, coloring, bracelets. Keep it clean. Keep it organized.”
Something sparks low in my chest. I glance at Val again. She’s already looking at me, brows raised, lips pressed together like she’s fighting a reaction.
Fred jerks his thumb toward Drew and Cole. “You’re on games by the corn maze. Pumpkin toss. Carving contest. Try to make it look fun.”
Finally, he turns to Sandie. “You’re with me at the main barn. Baked goods and coffee stations need finishing touches.”
Sandie groans. Drew mutters something about favoritism. Cole looks like he might pass out.
Val and I stay quiet, but I catch her shifting beside me. Just a small movement. Enough to give her away.
Of all the pairings.
Yeah.
This just got interesting.
Fred digs into his pocket and tosses a set of keys at Drew. He catches them easily. “Tractor’s out back. Don’t go near my new pumpkin patch. It’s my prize crop. You touch it, you’re both out. Got it?” His stare sharpens.
Drew mumbles his agreement.
“Good. Get to work!”
He storms off in a cloud of dust and irritation. Fantastic farm, my ass.
Sandie hustles after him. Drew and Cole head toward the tractor, their voices already fading into the distance.
Val and I don’t move.
The barn feels too quiet without everyone else. Too big. I glance over and find her staring right back at me. Neither of us looks away.
“Hey,” I say, lifting my hand in a wave. I hate how unsure it sounds.
She freezes. I can almost see her thoughts racing. Calculating. Deciding if she can avoid me for the next eight hours. The idea knots something in my chest.
Five seconds pass. Maybe less.
“Hay,” she says flatly.
Then she points at a nearby stack of hay bales.
It’s so quiet I can hear the corn rustle outside.
I lose it. Full-on laughter spills out of me, loud and uncontrollable. My stomach hurts by the time I catch my breath. Val’s lips twitch, then curve into a small smile before she can stop it.
Just one word. That’s all it took.
The weight on my chest lifts. I feel lighter. I always did around her, even back then, even from across a hallway. For a moment, I can’t remember why I ever thought pushing her away was a good idea.
Then her smile fades.
Her eyes darken, and she shakes her head like she’s shutting something down. A wall slides into place, quick and practiced. The warmth drains from the space between us, like she locked the sun away and swallowed the key.
She remembers the library too. Just not the part I wish she would.
“Shall we?” she says, already standing.
She walks off without looking back.
I push myself up and follow, the distance between us growing with every step.