1. Prologue #2
I came home that afternoon with thoughts of Brady Jackson swirling in my head, impossible to untangle. Aunt Lu and Doris—our housekeeper, though she was more like family—greeted me at the door wearing party hats, blowing noisemakers, and showering me in confetti.
The sight made my stomach dip. Guilt bloomed behind my smile. Because my Aunt Lu was the one person in the world who truly loved me. She had taken me in when I was just a year old—after my momma left my daddy, and my daddy turned to the bottle.
She’d given me everything.
And I was keeping secrets from her.
How could I even think of meeting Brady Jackson?
Later that afternoon, my friends came over for my traditional birthday dinner: chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and homemade biscuits—just the way Doris made them every year.
The cake was decorated in Auburn colors, complete with an Ella-shaped “A” styled like the Auburn logo.
Every bite, every sparkle of frosting, was a reminder of rule number three.
Aunt Lu always outdid herself with presents, and this year was no exception. Prada shoes. A Coach handbag. Gifts that felt absurd in Kaysville, Alabama—frankly, absurd anywhere. What fifteen-year-old needs luxury accessories? But Aunt Lu was all about the outrageous. She did things her way.
After the birthday festivities, my best friends and I made our way to the annual Kaysville carnival at the fairgrounds. Laughter, neon lights, and the scent of funnel cake wrapped around us like a warm familiar hug.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about Brady Jackson.
Not that I could tell anyone about the note—not even my best friends.
In Kaysville, people didn’t just follow the rules, they revered them.
It wouldn’t surprise me if someone etched them in stone and mounted them next to the Ten Commandments at the courthouse.
We bought our tickets and rode everything from the tilt-a-whirl to the bumper cars, shrieking and laughing like nothing was tugging at my conscience. But as we headed toward the Ferris wheel, I glanced at my phone: 6:50 p.m.
One of us would have to ride alone on the Ferris wheel, so I thought maybe I should stay back and let the other two ride together. Plus, I really didn’t like heights.
Yes, they were all just excuses. Wicked little excuses.
Because even though I knew better, I couldn’t stop thinking about why Brady Jackson had asked me to meet him.
“Girls,” I said before I could talk myself out of it. “Why don’t you two ride the Ferris wheel? I’m going to grab some lemonade.”
“Are you sure?” they asked in unison.
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
I watched them get in line, then turned and slipped away toward the funhouse.
My heart was racing—wild and wicked. I felt like a cat chasing curiosity, and Aunt Lu’s voice echoed in my mind: Never trust a Jackson.
I told myself it was just one meeting. No harm done.
Still, I glanced around to make sure no one was watching.
Ridiculous, really. But in Kaysville, even secrets had eyes.
I crept behind the funhouse five minutes early. Brady was already there, pacing. When he heard my footsteps, he turned—and his face lit up like the Fourth of July. We stood there, caught in a moment, neither of us speaking.
He’d invited me, so I wasn’t going to be the first to talk.
Then he stepped closer, slow and cautious.
I should’ve walked away. This was rule-breaking of the highest order. But he looked so sweet—and so country —with his tight blue jeans, cowboy boots, and white tee that clung just enough. And that warm, fluttery feeling bloomed inside me all over again.
“Miss Ellie,” he drawled.
“My name is Ella.” I probably added more sass than necessary, but I was a Southern girl through and through.
He grinned. “I know your name, Ella Lu Eaton.”
He stepped closer. I held my breath, twisting a strand of hair between my fingers.
He stopped mere inches away, towering over me in his tight blue jeans and cowboy boots.
I tilted my head to meet those light blue eyes framed by lashes darker than they had any right to be.
His smile was wide, fresh—he’d just gotten his braces off, and now, it gleamed like summer. He slipped his hands into his pockets, nervous in that way boys are when they’re trying to be cool.
“Happy birthday, Miss Ellie,” he said, soft and sweet as molasses.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He reached up and tugged on my hair. “What happened to your crown?”
I couldn’t wear that crown home. Aunt Lu would not have been pleased at all to see me in it. Surely, he knew the rules.
“Why did you ask me to meet you?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He stood taller, his confidence gaining as if he were ready for this question. “Well, Miss Ellie, I was hoping to get to know you better.”
I stopped twirling my hair and took a step back. “You know we can’t.”
He stepped closer. “Why?”
“Because, Brady Jackson . You know the rules as well as I do.”
I turned to leave, but he caught my hand.
“Aren’t you tired of the rules?” he asked almost like a plea.
I thought about it, and if I was honest with myself, the answer was yes.
But I loved Aunt Lu and couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her.
As I looked down at our entwined hands, a sensation like nothing I had ever felt before washed over me.
It was the first time a boy had ever held my hand.
Somehow, it felt like it belonged there. Like it always belonged there.
How could that be?
I wondered if he felt the same way, seeing as he didn’t seem in any hurry to let go.
I should have pulled away, but I didn’t.
“Please, Miss Ellie, meet me by the old tire swing on the river tomorrow,” he pleaded with every ounce of charm he possessed.
And that was it.
That was when I began my life as a rule breaker and a deceitful, awful girl.
We snuck around that entire summer. We mostly met at the river, and we dove right into the current of forbidden friendship. I was easily swept away. We spent hours swinging on that old tire swing, talking, laughing, and dreaming big.
We swore we’d change the town—erase the line between Eatons and Jacksons. No more sides. No more rules.
As our lazy summer days on the river waned, our friendship waxed, impossible to ignore. And I didn’t want to.
The day before school started, we met one last time, lamenting our last day of freedom and plotting how we could see each other during the school year without getting caught.
We knew it wouldn’t be easy. He’d be knee-deep in football practice, and I would be involved in drama, choir, debate team, student government, and every AP class I could take.
It was my dream to be the valedictorian when we graduated.
Above all, we knew we had to be discreet. No one could ever see us together. We had already had a couple of close calls during the summer, but it had been the best summer of my life, and I was sad to see it end. I was becoming very fond of Brady Jackson. Too fond.
While we plotted and planned, Brady pushed me on the swing, like he’d done all summer. But suddenly he stopped, one hand gripping the rope, the other resting lightly on my waist. He stared at me—silent, steady—for several long seconds.
“What?” I asked, suddenly shy.
He leaned in, close enough that I could smell the sunshine on his skin. “Miss Ellie,” he said in a slow drawl, “I’ve wanted to do this all summer.”
Then, without warning, he pecked me quickly on the lips. It was sweet, like honeydew melon. That became the first of many stolen kisses, and each kiss only grew sweeter.
Sophomore year began, and we became quiet masters of deception. I knew it wasn’t something to be proud of. But as my feelings for Brady grew stronger, I tucked the guilt away in a corner of my heart—somewhere I didn’t have to look too closely.
We slipped notes into each other’s hands during passing periods and met behind the bleachers whenever we could. He’d kiss me until I forgot I was an Eaton and he was a Jackson.
Sometimes, under the cover of night, we’d sneak off to the banks of the Kaysville River.
I would lie in his arms for hours, and we’d talk about everything and nothing.
Brady would beg me to make our relationship public.
He wanted everyone to know I was his girl.
He hated that he couldn’t take me on real dates, especially to the school dances.
I wanted that too, but I couldn’t hurt my Aunt Lu, and I knew the firestorm it would cause in Kaysville if anyone found out about us.
People had already started to whisper.
They wondered why two of the most popular kids in school didn’t take or accept dates to homecoming, prom, or the winter cotillion. We went to every dance—just never together. We couldn’t.
But after each one, Brady would meet me down by the riverbank. He’d turn up the stereo in his new red Ford F-150—his sixteenth birthday gift—and we’d dance in the wash of headlights, wrapped in the night and each other.
After prom, George Strait played low through the speakers, his voice soft and sure. We swayed slowly in the warm dark, the air thick with honeysuckle.
Between songs, Brady stilled and peered into my gray eyes. Everything around us disappeared.
“I love you, Miss Ellie,” he whispered.
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t quite sixteen. In my mind, we were too young to be in love. Don’t get me wrong, I felt deeply for him. He had become my best friend, and if ever I was going to be in love, it was going to be with him, but I couldn’t say it then.
I looked into his expectant eyes. “Oh, Brady.”
I thought he would be upset that I didn’t say it back, so I braced for his disappointment. But it never came. Instead, he smiled that sweet country boy smile as he ran his fingers through my long, brown, curled hair.
“Don’t worry, Ellie, you don’t have to say it back. I love us enough for the both of us.”