“Sure.” He hands me a couple ears of corn that still have their husks. “I’m Max,” he adds, grinning.

Clearly, I wasn’t very subtle in my inspection. “That was going to be my guess,” I tell him, smiling sheepishly.

“Of course it was.” He sends me a cheeky grin that looks exactly like Jace’s.

I take a seat on the step next to him and start shucking. “Jace said you’re starting high school next year?” I haven’t spoken to a thirteen-year-old boy since I was that age myself, so school seems like the safest topic.

“Yup,” Max replies. I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate further.

“Are you excited about starting high school?” I prompt.

“Yeah, I guess. I know other guys who are nervous about combining with Arlington.” He glances over. “That’s the next town. Kids there are richer, but we’re the bigger town, so they come to us.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Nah. Mike will still be there, and we’re Dawsons. No one gives us a hard time once they know we’re related to Jace.” He gives me a side glance. “Is he a big deal at Lincoln, too? Mike said it was nuts when he visited.”

“Yes,” I reply honestly, setting the freshly shucked corn in the basket. “He’s a big deal. Everyone on campus idolizes him.”

“Do you?”

I cringe, realizing I set myself up for that question and unsure how to answer. I’ve avoided labeling and examining my feelings for Jace, knowing they’ll eventually hit the barrier of my inevitable departure. “I admire him,” I start slowly, realizing with surprise I genuinely mean the words. “But I wouldn’t say I idolize him. To me, he’s not a big football star, he’s just Jace.”

And I like that to him, I’m just Vivienne. By nature, I’m not deferential. Part of it is personality. Another piece is taught. Rulers and leaders aren’t supposed to need guidance or reassurance. They’re the people we look to for guidance and reassurance. But I’ve relied on—trusted—Jace more than I have anyone else, outside of my parents. He makes me feel stronger, not weaker.

“Are you his girlfriend?” Max asks.

Goodbye unsure, hello uncomfortable. I shift on the hard step, certain I’m blushing. “Uh…” I stall for time, not certain how to respond.

A slam sounds behind us, and I turn to see Alden rushing through the front door.

“Caroline dropped off the pumpkins at the farm stand,” he informs us. “Mom told me I could take the cart.” Alden turns to me. “Do you want to come, Vivienne?” His voice holds a hint of nervousness.

I’m tempted to leap up immediately, but instead I make a point to glance down at the basket piled high with freshly shucked corn as though I’m contemplating my answer. I don’t want Max to think I’m avoiding answering his question, even though I absolutely am.

“Sure, it looks like the corn is all set,” I reply cheerfully. “Thanks for letting me help, Max.”

I follow Alden over to one of the small outbuildings scattered around the yard. He lifts the long wooden board that’s holding the front doors in place, and they swing open, revealing what looks to be a green golf cart without the canopy overhead and with less seating. There are two seats in the front, but the back is just a cavernous opening similar to the bed of a truck.