“I don’t have time for breakfast mom, I need to get to the university.”

She points to the seat across from my father, a plate loaded with steaming eggs already at it. “You will sit and you will eat. You’re too thin.”

There’s no point arguing again that there’s a difference between lean muscle and no muscle. “I can’t stay long.”

She smiles, not caring since she won. I’ll have to push getting my own place farther up my priority list. In moving back here, it was only logical to move into my parents’ basement. Their home is conveniently located near work and since I paid off their mortgage four years ago, it’s rent-free. However, part of my moving home was to be closer to them, just not this close.

If I didn’t have degrees confirming my understanding of mass, I’d swear this house has shrunk. How is it if I’m approximately the same size as when I left, it feels smaller? That’s a question I’ll have to consider further when I have more time.

She sits at the chair to my right and sips her coffee. “Did you hear what happened to the Thompson girl?”

Reflexively, my ears perk up at the name. All through high school I had a massive crush on Abigail Thompson.

My father lowers his newspaper. “I didn’t. Care to share?”

“She has a sinkhole in her backyard. From what I heard, it’s a bad one.”

My father pushes up his glasses. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard of a good sinkhole.”

“Oh, you know what I meant,” my mom retorts, setting her mug down.

He nods and returns his attention to his paper. “I do, and it’s too bad. She was a good student.”

My dad has taught high school English for thirty years but never forgets how his students both performed and behaved in his class.

“A couple of her brothers were a handful, though.”

My mother chuckles. “That’s the truth. I had the youngest one in one of my classes.”

She turns her attention to me. “Didn’t you have a few classes with Abigail Thompson?”

“I did.”

Ten.

I graduated one year ahead of her, but during the three years we were in the same school, we had ten classes together.

“You should hire her to be your realtor.”

“That isn’t necessary. There are listings online that will suffice.”

She looks at my father but points her mug toward me. “Do you hear him? Now he doesn’t need a realtor.”

Her gaze shifts to me. “There’s more to life than what’s past Earth’s atmosphere.”

I stand, picking up my now empty plate. “Not today there isn’t. Thanks for breakfast, I need to run.”

My mom stands as well. “I’ll call Abigail and set up an appointment for you.”

That stops me in my tracks. “Please don’t.”

“Oh, let your mother set up an appointment. What’s the harm in using a realtor and, considering this sinkhole business, she could most likely use the commission.”

What could possibly go wrong?

Oh right, everything.

But, if my buying a house from her will help her in her current predicament, so be it. “Fine.”

Before she can talk me into anything else, I make a hasty retreat. During my drive to the campus I evaluate her proposal to form a hypothesis.

Most likely, given the state of her personal affairs, she’ll be far too busy to assist me. Another possibility is that, even if she can assist me, it will be nominal assistance at best.

Pleased with both of those scenarios, I park and scan my badge then make my way into the science wing of Woodlake University. While the majority of the campus is closed for winter break, the research floor is open for grad students and people like me.

I’ve been hired by the university to assist in the research of supernova stars. The bulk of our work will be in locating stars that are early in the supernova stage. Then our partner researchers will study them.

“Morning, Spencer.”

My head turns and when I see the source of the words, I lift my hand in greeting. “Morning, Duncan.”

“The images from last night are a dud,” he tells me as we begin to walk together.

I turn to look at him. “None of the stars appeared brighter?”

“Not one.”

“Maybe we should consider widening our search to include more galaxies.”

Our footsteps echo as we make our way down the hall.

The pungent aroma of stale coffee hits my nose the moment we’re inside our lab.

“How long have you been here?”

He lets out a sheepish laugh. “I fell asleep at my desk. Woke up around three with a bitch of a crick in my neck.”

“You make a habit of that and we’ll have a cot set up for you in the back.”

“I don’t plan on making a habit of it.”

We both sit and my chair squeaks as I swivel to face him.

When I moved out of the dorms and into an apartment, my only focus was proximity to the campus. One of my professors rented me the space above his garage. It was all I needed and came with the added bonus of access to the workout equipment he housed in the garage.

Now that I’m back on the east coast, and intent on having a semblance of my own space again, I’m curious as to the living arrangements of my colleagues.

“Do you live near campus?”

He swivels my way. “Need a place to stay?”

My brows furrow and I shift back to facing forward. “I’m in the market for a house but I am not looking to cohabitate with anyone.”

He faces forward as well. “Fair enough.”

Something compels me to explain myself. “I’ve lived alone for years. When I moved back here, I moved into the basement of my parents’ house. It’s proving to be more difficult living there than I anticipated.”

He swivels back toward me. “No privacy huh?”

I nod, already certain a forced breakfast will be the least of my concerns.

Mid-way through my day, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

After reading it, I lift it for Duncan to see. “Looks like I have an appointment with a realtor this evening.”

“You move fast. When did you set that up?”

Shaking my head, I tap out a reply and hit send. “My mom set it up.”

He smirks. “Sounds like your folks want their space back.”

Slipping my phone back into my pocket I shrug. “It’s not that. I argued since the listings are all available online, I could easily find a place all on my own. She disagreed and it wasn’t worth arguing over it. My guess is having me meet with the realtor today is her way of ensuring I’ll use her and not do it on my own.”

“Smart woman.”

* * *

“Want to walk out together? It’s the only way I can guarantee you don’t sleep here again tonight.”

He pushes away from his desk. “Good call.”

We part ways at the main doors and make our way to our vehicles. He turns around, walking backward and calls out to me, “See you tomorrow. I hope your meeting with the realtor goes well.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

Earlier, when we discussed my meeting with Abby, I avoided mentioning her. It’s been years since I graduated. That doesn’t mean I’m not curious to see how those years have treated her.

The coffee house my mom listed in her message is packed when I get there. With two warm-toned wooden accent walls, and a back wall made of stacked stone, the shop manages to be both cozy and rustic. If the coffee is as good as the ambiance, I’m not surprised it’s packed.

One quick sweep of my eyes across the room confirms I beat her here. I’m twenty minutes early so it’s no surprise.

After getting a cup of decaf, I grab one of the few free tables and pull out my laptop. A friend from school recently published a paper on event horizons of black holes. It’s good to see her getting published. We were close, but it’s been well over a year since the last time we spoke.

Even with my attention on reading, I know the moment she walks in. She tugs free a thick red scarf as her eyes move over the crowd. I wait for them to land on me, and for that flicker of recognition to flare.

Her eyes do meet mine but it’s not familiarity I see, rather curiosity before her gaze moves away.

She doesn’t recognize me.

Pulling her phone from her bag, she looks at something on it, before glancing around the room again.

I’m torn between wanting to observe her and needing to put her out of her misery.

Pushing down the screen of my laptop, I close it with a snap loud enough to draw her attention back over to me. Tucking strands of caramel-hued brown hair behind her ear, she smiles at me.

I was curious if the years would change her. In some ways, as expected, they have. Her smile is still the same, though, still as warm and infectious as it was back in high school. It was the thing that drew me to her.

Standing, I lift my hand. Her smile falters at my approach.

We weren’t friends in high school so I decide against calling her Abby. “Abigail Thompson?”

“That’s me. Have we met before?”

Offering her my hand, I say, “I’m Spencer Hill.”

She’s unable to disguise her surprise as she shakes my hand. “You look so different.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She laughs, pulling her hand back. “Have you been waiting long?”

Shaking my head, I motion toward my table. “Not at all. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

She waves me off. “Oh, I’ll get it.”

While she orders, I move back to my table.

A woman seated at a table near mine leans toward me. “Do you come here often?”

Looking around first, I point to myself. “Were you talking to me?”

She wets her lips. “I was.”

Leaning back in my chair, I attempt to increase the space between us. “This is the first time I’ve come here.”

She tilts her head. “I come here all the time if you want any recommendations.”

“Thank you but that won’t be necessary.”

At that moment, Abby arrives. The woman looks her up and down before turning her attention elsewhere

“Is now good?” Abby asks, discreetly motioning to the woman I was speaking to.

Standing, I move to pull out a chair for her. “It is.”

She blinks but recovers quickly. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. How have you been?”

Once she’s seated, I return to my chair. “Work has taken up most of my time. I’ve been living in California. Moving back here mid-winter was a shock.”

She takes a drink of her coffee before shrugging off her coat and letting it hang over the back of her chair.

“I hope you’re not regretting it.” Before I’m able to reply, she continues to speak. “I still can’t get over how different you look.”

“My old place had a gym in it. I used it quite often.”

She laughs, her laughter as infectious as her smile always was. “You must have, but what I really don’t remember is you being so tall. Since I’m short it’s one thing I always remember about people.”

“I grew four inches my freshman year of college.”

“Some people have all the luck. I peeked height-wise in high school. I think you’re as tall as my brother Noah. Did you ever meet him?”

The Thompson family is well known in Woodlake since they own the local hardware store.

“I tutored Gideon and have met Asher. I don’t believe I’ve formally met either of your other brothers.”

Lightly smacking the table, her mouth falls open. “I completely forgot you tutored Gideon. Did you know he became a landscape architect? I swear he would never have figured out his science classes and graduated high school if it wasn’t for you.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. He would have managed somehow.”

Her brows lift. “If you say so.”

“How have you been?”

She gulps and smiles. This smile is nothing like the ones I remember. It isn’t infectious.

“I’ve been great, thanks.”

She is under no obligation to share her troubles with me. Lifting my coffee for a drink, I watch as she pulls a small leather notebook and a pen from her bag. She opens it to a page with my name already scribbled in neat letters across the top.

Giving her pen a click, she meets my eyes. “Now, tell me what you’re looking for in a home.”

Leaning in, I set my mug down. “I’d like to be near the campus.”

She quickly jots that down. “How many bedrooms would you like it to have?”

“I only need one.”

Her pen freezes and her sky blue eyes lock on mine. “So you’re looking for a condo?”

My brows come together. “No, I said I only needed one bedroom.”

She sets her pen down and folds her hands, one on top of the other on her notebook. “It would help if I could narrow down the style of home you’re interested in. Though, this time of year the market is almost nonexistent so if you want to buy something in the next three months, the available inventory to choose from will be seriously limited.”

“Another con to moving back this time of year.”

Her infectious smile reappears, making the corners of my lips tip up. “Good thing you’re working with me. I haven’t failed on finding exactly what my buyer is looking for yet. It might take time but we’ll find the perfect home for you.”

“Thank you.”

She lifts her mug. “Shall we toast?”

I press my mug to hers.

“To finding exactly what you’re looking for.”

I incline my head in agreement.

From breakfast this morning I learned Abby is currently experiencing some troubles. Sitting here with her, I’d never know.

Her ability to focus on the task at hand is commendable. It’s not surprising though, the Thompson family has a reputation for being hard workers.

“Your mom gave me your number but I still need your email address. Tonight I’ll get you all set up on our MLS system. I can set a search criteria for everything within a ten-mile radius of the campus. Until you have a better idea of what you’re looking for, we’ll keep the other search criteria broad. We can narrow it down more in the future. Sound good?”

“It sounds great. Thank you.”

Her eyes seem to sparkle. “Don’t thank me yet, wait until I’ve found you something you like.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“I’m going to see Gideon tonight. He’ll get a kick out of me being your realtor.”

“Tell him I said hello.”

“I sure will, and please tell your folks I said hello as well.”

Movement beside us has both of us looking that way. The woman who started a conversation with me earlier loudly packs up her things.

“She’s doing that for your benefit you know,” Abby murmurs.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s giving you a chance to catch her before she leaves.”

“I’m not sure why she would do that.”

Abby smirks. “She was flirting with you.”

I frown. “I gathered.”

Her smirk falters. “Your mother said you were single. I guess she’s not your type.”

I blink. “My mother told you I was single?”

She lifts her hands. “I know, total mom move. In fact, it sounds exactly like something my mom would do.”

I clear my throat. The woman, now gone, was perfectly fine in theory. She was attractive, confident, and appeared to be close in age to me. There is no reason why I shouldn’t be interested in her. Except that I’m not. The concept of type doesn’t sit right with me though. Over the years, I’ve been attracted to many women.

“Currently, I have little free time outside of my work,” I blurt.