PAULINE POV
There’s a special kind of boredom that settles in your bones when it’s -30°C outside, and the only thing moving is the wind shaking the sign above the door.
That’s where I was.
Wedged into the corner booth of my parents’ diner, cheek smushed against my palm, staring at the window while the snow kept falling sideways.
Welcome to Northern Nowhere, population: too few to keep me entertained.
I used to dream of escaping this place. Go study art in a city where coffee shops had plant walls and everyone wore jackets that cost more than our rent. But dreams don’t pay bills, and someone had to keep this place running when Mom got sick last spring.
So here I was, nineteen, flipping through a crumpled magazine I’d read six times already, waiting for someone to walk through the door
