Avery

Skeeter Grove’s the kind of town people leave with a plan—and come back without one. The roads are the same. The air’s still thick enough to cling to your skin. The Crusty Snail still hums at the edge of Main like it’s got something to prove.

Most things don’t change here.

Avery didn’t.

He’s still at the shop most days, still running everything like it matters, still doing things by the book even when nobody’s checking.

He’s your best friend’s older brother—the one who was always around, always just out of reach. Close enough to matter. Never close enough to be simple.

He doesn’t say much unless it matters. Doesn’t ask questions he doesn’t want answers to. Keeps things controlled. Predictable. Clean.

At least on the surface.

Because Skeeter Grove has a way of holding onto things that never quite finished the first time around. Conversations that trailed off. Lines that got crossed and never uncrossed. People who meant something… but never said it out loud.

Avery’s one of those things.

He won’t chase. Won’t push. Won’t make anything easy.

But he notices.

And once he’s paying attention, it’s hard to tell whether he’s keeping his distance…

or waiting to see what you’ll do with it.

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