Chapter 1
If anyone asks, I didn’t drop out of college.
I “took a break.”
A strategic, mature, well-thought-out break.
That just so happened to involve packing up my dorm room at two in the morning, ignoring seventeen missed calls from my mother, and driving three hours to a beach town I’d only visited once during spring break.
Details.
The ocean smells different at seven in the morning. Less sunscreen, more salt. Less freedom, more reality. I learned that on my first day working at Maxwell Air Force Base.
Technically, I’m a civilian administrative assistant for one of the training squadrons. In reality, I answer phones, sort paperwork, and pretend I understand military acronyms.
“TSgt,” “Lt,” “PCS,” “TDY.”
They throw letters around like confetti here.
I smooth down my borrowed blazer—okay, fine, stolen-from-my-older-sister’s-closet blazer—and step inside the building, reminding myself I am a functioning adult with a real job.
I have a badge.
A badge means responsibility.
A badge means I did not completely ruin my life at nineteen.
Twenty. I’m twenty now.
Which sounds significantly better.
The office smells like coffee and industrial carpet cleaner. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. A few trainees in uniform walk past the front desk, their boots echoing sharply against the tile.
I try not to stare.
It’s not that I’ve never seen a guy in uniform before. It’s just… different up close. Structured. Pressed. Intentional.
Unlike my college experience.
“Morning,” someone says.
I blink and realize one of them is actually looking at me.
He can’t be older than twenty-three. Close-cropped hair. Sharp jaw. Sleeves rolled just enough to show strong forearms. His name tape reads: BENNETT.
I swallow.
“Hi,” I reply, then immediately knock over my iced coffee.
Of course I do.
The plastic cup tips dramatically, like it’s performing for an audience, and crashes against the edge of the desk before emptying all over a stack of neatly organized folders.
Silence.
Oh no.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, grabbing napkins like they might reverse time.
Bennett steps forward immediately. Calm. Controlled.
Efficient.
“It’s okay,” he says, already lifting the top folder before the coffee can soak through. “We’ve survived worse than caffeine casualties.”
I blink up at him.
“We have?”
His mouth twitches slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ma’am.
I narrow my eyes. “I’m twenty.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he repeats, completely straight-faced.
He’s enjoying this.
I squint at his name tape. “Bennett, huh?”
“Chase,” he corrects gently. “Airman Bennett makes me sound older than I am.”
“Good,” I mutter, dabbing at the desk. “I’d hate for you to feel aged.”
That does it. A real smile breaks across his face now. Slow. Unexpected. Slightly devastating.
And I hate that I notice.
“You’re new,” he says.
“Is it the panic in my eyes or the fact that I just assaulted government documents with vanilla cold brew?”
“Both.”
I sigh dramatically. “Great. I was hoping to make a professional first impression.”
“You did,” he says. “Memorable is professional.”
I glance up at him again, and there’s something about the way he stands—straight-backed, composed, like he belongs exactly where he is.
Unlike me.
“So,” I say lightly, trying to ignore the small knot forming in my chest, “what are you training for?”
He shifts slightly. “Aircraft maintenance. Tech school.”
Tech school.
So he’s temporary.
A few months, maybe. Then gone.
Good.
Temporary is safe.
“Well,” I say, finally managing to mop up most of the disaster, “try not to spill anything today. I’ve hit my quota.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I glare.
He grins.
And then someone calls his name down the hallway, sharp and official. He straightens instantly, like a switch flipped inside him.
“See you around,” he says.
Something in his tone lingers a second longer than necessary.
I watch him walk away.
Structured. Focused. Certain.
Everything I’m not.
I glance down at my stained paperwork and exhale.
This job is temporary.
This town is temporary.
And Airman Bennett?
Definitely temporary.
I’m not here to fall behind again.
I’m here to get my life together.
Falling for someone who’s already leaving would be the worst possible decision.
So naturally, I already know I’m in trouble.
