By five-thirty, the sun had started slipping behind the pines like it was clocking out early.
The warmth drained out of the air in a way Sol wasn't used to. Texas had heat that lingered—like it wanted to argue. Montana just… turned the temperature down and expected you to deal with it.
Sol stood in front of the bathroom mirror upstairs, towel slung over one shoulder, deciding what kind of person he was going to be tonight.
He wasn't trying to impress anybody.
He just didn't want to look like he'd crawled out of a moving box.
He swapped into a clean, dark green long-sleeve henley that fit without clinging, dark jeans, and—after ten seconds of stubbornness—he grabbed a light jacket from the closet and put it on. Not a real coat. More like a compromise. His watch clicked softly as he fastened the strap again.
Downstairs, his mom was at the stove, stirring something that smelled like garlic and onions and victory.
"You're going out?" she asked, like she already knew.
Sol paused in the doorway, trying not to look guilty about having a social life for the first time since arriving. "Kaylee… invited me to the diner."
His mom turned, wooden spoon in hand, eyebrow lifted. "The loud girl?"
Sol blinked. "How do you—"
"Wade talked about her like she was a weather event," his mom said. "Also, you smiled when your phone buzzed. You're not subtle."
Sol's cheeks warmed. "It's not like that."
His mom gave him a look that said it could be, if you don't act weird.
His dad was at the table, sorting tools in a small pile like he couldn't relax unless something was organized. He looked up once, taking in Sol's outfit with that quiet assessment that always made Sol feel like he was being inspected for cracks.
"You got a jacket?" his dad asked.
Sol nodded.
His dad pushed a set of keys across the table. "Take the SUV. Be back before ten."
Sol stared at the keys like they were sacred. "For real?"
His dad's mouth twitched. "You're not in boot camp. Go meet people."
Sol picked them up carefully, like they might evaporate.
His mom's voice softened. "And—Sol?"
He looked at her.
She tapped her own chest once. "If something feels off, you leave. You don't have to prove anything."
Sol nodded. "I know."
His dad added, calm and firm, "And if somebody wants to be stupid, you let them be stupid by themselves."
Sol tried to smile. "That's… poetic."
His dad went back to his tools. "It's practical."
Sol headed out, the porch creaking under his steps like it was judging his footwear.
He still wore sneakers.
He felt the house judge him too.
---
The diner's neon sign buzzed like it remembered him from yesterday.
Inside, it was louder—more chairs, more voices, more clinking mugs. It wasn't packed like a city place would be. It was packed like a small town was: because this was where people went when they didn't have anywhere else to be and didn't want to be alone.
Sol scanned the booths automatically, not anxious, just aware.
Kaylee saw him first.
She popped up from her booth like a spring-loaded toy, waving her whole arm with zero shame. Tonight she'd upgraded into "event cute": a soft maroon sweater tucked into high-waisted jeans, a thin belt, and ankle boots that looked practical but still stylish. Her hair was down, slightly wavy, and she'd clipped one side back with a little silver star clip like she couldn't resist being extra even on a random weekday.
"Texas!" she called again.
Sol paused mid-step, deadpan. "We talked about this."
"We did," she agreed cheerfully. "And I ignored it."
He walked over anyway, because the thing about Kaylee was that she didn't give you time to decide whether you wanted to be included—she just included you and moved on.
"Sit," she commanded, patting the seat beside her.
Sol slid into the booth, posture relaxed, jacket still on. The vinyl was cool at first, then warmed quickly. Kaylee leaned in like she was reading a headline.
"You wore the flannel yesterday," she said, eyes narrowed. "Where is it."
Sol blinked. "I'm not wearing a flannel to a milkshake."
Kaylee gasped like he'd insulted her grandmother. "Okay. Growth. I respect it."
Across from Kaylee sat the composed girl from yesterday—Noelle, though Sol didn't know her name yet. She wore a cream sweater vest over a fitted long-sleeve shirt, straight dark jeans, and black ankle boots. Even at a diner, she looked like she had a plan. Hair clipped back clean, minimal jewelry, nails short and neat.
She looked up from her notebook and met Sol's eyes without flinching.
"Solomon Carth," she said. Not a question.
Sol blinked. "Yeah."
Kaylee bounced slightly. "See? Everyone knows everyone's full government name here."
Noelle's mouth twitched—almost a smile. "I'm Noelle."
Sol nodded. "Sol."
Noelle glanced at his watch, then his jacket. "You dress like someone who listens when people tell him it gets cold."
Sol looked at Kaylee. "She's already judging me."
Noelle's expression stayed calm. "Not judging. Noting."
Kaylee pointed a finger at Noelle like she'd just proven a point. "See? She's scary. It's adorable."
"Kaylee," Noelle said, gentle but sharp.
Kaylee grinned bigger.
On the far side of the booth sat Sierra—athletic, clean, confident. Tonight she'd swapped into a fitted black top under a school team jacket, dark jeans, and spotless sneakers. Her hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, and her small gold hoops caught the diner lights when she turned her head.
She looked at Sol like she was checking his posture for weakness. Then she nodded once.
"You're not dead," Sierra said.
Sol exhaled softly. "Not yet."
Kaylee slapped the table lightly. "Okay, good, we're bantering. Great start."
Sol glanced around. "Where's—" he stopped himself, because he didn't actually know who all was supposed to be here.
Kaylee answered anyway, like she could read his mind. "Bri's coming. She's always late because she apologizes to the universe before she leaves her house."
Noelle's eyes flicked up. "That's not fair."
Kaylee shrugged. "It's kind of fair."
Sierra tilted her head slightly at Sol. "You moved in today?"
"Yesterday," Sol said. "But it still feels like today."
Sierra's gaze softened the smallest amount—barely there. "Yeah. That tracks."
Ruth appeared beside the booth like she'd been summoned by the word milkshake.
She wore the same name tag, the same bun, the same expression that said she'd seen every form of teenage nonsense and had lived to tell the tale.
"Well," Ruth said, looking Sol over, "Texas came back."
Sol nodded politely. "Yes, ma'am."
Ruth's eyes narrowed like she was measuring him with an invisible ruler. "Still polite."
Sol didn't know what to do with that, so he stayed still.
Kaylee leaned across the table, whispering loudly, "Ruth, he's new. Don't scare him."
Ruth stared at Kaylee. "Kaylee, I've been trying to scare you for four years. It hasn't worked once."
Kaylee beamed. "Because I'm fearless."
Ruth turned to Sol. "What you want?"
Sol blinked. "Uh… milkshake?"
Ruth's eyebrow lifted. "Flavor."
Sol glanced at the menu like it was going to betray him. "Chocolate."
Kaylee sighed dramatically. "Basic."
Sol looked at her. "Safe."
Noelle murmured, "Practical."
Sierra added, "Reliable."
Kaylee pointed at them both. "Stop encouraging him."
Ruth scribbled something, then looked at Kaylee. "And you?"
"Vanilla with fries," Kaylee said proudly.
Ruth paused. "You're still doing that?"
"It's a lifestyle," Kaylee replied.
Ruth made a sound that might have been disapproval or might have been affection, then moved on.
Sol leaned back a little, watching the way the diner flowed around them. Two older men argued softly at the counter about hunting tags. A family ate in the corner, little kids swinging their legs under the table. A group of teens in letterman jackets took up a booth and laughed too loud.
Sol noticed one of them noticing him.
Braden.
Ball cap low, shoulders squared like he was trying to look bigger than he was. His eyes found Sol and held there, and for a moment Sol felt that same pressure from the gas station—like Braden wanted the world to be a stage and Sol was the new prop.
Sol didn't look away immediately.
He just met the stare, calm and flat, then returned his attention to the table like Braden wasn't important enough to steal his night.
Sierra followed his glance, saw Braden, and her jaw tightened.
Kaylee noticed both of them noticing and sighed. "Oh, great."
Sol looked at her. "What?"
Kaylee rolled her eyes. "That booth is the local hobby club."
"Hobby club?" Sol repeated.
Noelle's voice stayed even. "Their hobby is making other people miserable."
Sierra didn't speak. She just stared at her water like she wanted it to turn into patience.
Sol nodded slowly. "Got it."
Kaylee leaned in. "Rule number seven of Cedar Ridge: do not feed the bored."
Sol almost smiled. "That's actually good advice."
Kaylee sat back, smug. "I'm full of wisdom."
"Full of something," Noelle muttered.
Kaylee gasped again. "Et tu, Noelle?"
Noelle's lips twitched again. Small. Controlled.
Sol filed it away like a victory.
---
Bri arrived exactly the way Kaylee had described: quiet, careful, like she was entering a room where the air might bite.
She hovered near the booth for half a second before Kaylee waved her in like a flagman landing a plane.
"Bri!" Kaylee said, bright. "Come sit. You're safe."
Bri slid into the booth beside Sierra, shoulders slightly hunched like she wanted to take up less space. Tonight she wore a soft olive cardigan over a long-sleeve henley, dark jeans, and tan lace-up boots. A knitted beanie covered most of her hair, but a braid still fell over one shoulder.
Her cheeks were faintly pink—either from the cold or from the fact that she'd just walked into a social situation.
She looked at Sol, startled, then looked down quickly.
Kaylee, of course, made it worse.
"Bri, this is Sol. Sol, this is Bri. Bri is the nicest person in Montana."
Bri's eyes widened. "Kaylee—"
Sol kept his voice gentle. "Nice to meet you."
Bri nodded, still not fully meeting his eyes. "Hi."
Sierra nudged Bri lightly with her shoulder. Not mean. Just… grounding. Bri relaxed a fraction.
Noelle watched Bri with a quiet protective awareness. Kaylee watched everyone like she was the conductor of a chaotic orchestra.
Sol noticed all of it, because that was what he did.
Ruth brought milkshakes: tall glasses sweating cold down the sides, whipped cream piled high, a cherry perched like it was proud.
She set Sol's chocolate shake down first. "Drink that before it melts. Montana doesn't tolerate weakness."
Sol blinked. "Yes, ma'am."
Kaylee clapped. "She likes you."
Ruth slid a basket of fries onto the table. "Those are not for your milkshake," she told Kaylee.
Kaylee stared at her. "Ruth. Don't be weird."
Ruth walked away without responding, which somehow made Kaylee look even happier.
Sol took his first sip of the shake.
It was thick, cold, and honestly good enough that for a second he forgot he was the new kid in a town that didn't do anonymity.
He exhaled through his nose, shoulders loosening.
Kaylee watched him with intense interest. "So," she said, drawing the word out like she was opening a folder. "Tell us your tragic backstory."
Sol nearly choked. "My— what?"
Kaylee leaned forward. "You're from Texas. You got moved here against your will. I assume you left behind a dramatic love story, a dog, and possibly a football scholarship."
Sol stared at her. "I left behind… my bed."
Noelle's eyes flicked to him. "That's valid."
Sierra asked, "You play sports?"
Sol shook his head. "Not really."
Kaylee gasped. "A Texas boy who doesn't play football? That's illegal."
Sol sipped his milkshake again, buying time. "I did Wing Chun. My dad used to take me to Muay Thai classes."
Bri's head lifted slightly at that, curiosity breaking through shyness.
Sierra's eyes sharpened. "You fight?"
Sol shook his head quickly. "No. I trained. There's a difference."
Noelle nodded, like she liked that answer.
Kaylee grinned. "So you're like… secretly dangerous."
Sol glanced at the fries, then at Kaylee. "If I was secretly dangerous, would I be sitting here?"
Kaylee pointed at him. "Yes. That's exactly what a secretly dangerous person would say."
Bri's mouth twitched. Barely. Like she almost smiled and then remembered she was shy.
Sol noticed anyway.
Noelle asked, "Why Wing Chun?"
Sol shrugged. "I liked that it was simple. Direct."
Sierra tapped a finger against her glass. "Does it work?"
Sol didn't answer immediately. He remembered his dad's voice: Don't show off. Don't invite challenges.
"It works when you're not trying to win an ego contest," Sol said finally. "And when you're trying to get home in one piece."
Sierra held his gaze for a second. Then she nodded once, like she respected him more.
Kaylee's voice softened a fraction—still playful, but less loud. "So you're not here to start problems."
Sol looked at her. "I'm here because my parents moved."
Kaylee nodded solemnly. "The cruelest fate."
Noelle asked, quieter, "Do you… miss it?"
Sol hesitated. The honest answer was yes. The other honest answer was it's complicated. Texas wasn't just heat and friends. It was familiar. It was his old life. It was also the feeling of being watched for different reasons.
He took a sip. "Yeah," he admitted. "But I'm trying not to be miserable on purpose."
Noelle's expression softened in a way that almost didn't happen. "Good strategy."
Bri's voice was small, but clear. "Montana isn't… bad. It's just… close."
Sol looked at her.
She looked down again, but not as fast this time.
Sierra said, blunt, "Everything you do gets seen."
Sol nodded once. "I'm noticing."
Kaylee pointed a fry at him like it was a microphone. "So if you want to survive, you need allies."
Sol stared at her. "Are you recruiting me?"
Kaylee smiled sweetly. "Yes."
Noelle sighed like she'd accepted Kaylee's nonsense long ago. "Kaylee thinks she's running a rescue program."
Kaylee nodded, serious. "I am. It's called 'Save The New Kid From Bored People.'"
Sierra's eyes flicked to Braden's booth, then back. "That part is real."
Sol followed Sierra's glance again. Braden was watching. Still.
Sol didn't feel fear. He felt annoyance—low and steady.
Then Braden stood up.
Kaylee's mouth tightened. "Don't."
Noelle's shoulders squared slightly, even while sitting.
Sierra's gaze cooled.
Bri's fingers wrapped around her milkshake glass like it was an anchor.
Braden walked over, slow and deliberate, stopping at the end of their booth like he was approaching a stage.
"Texas," he said, voice pitched for attention.
Sol didn't move much. He didn't hunch. Didn't puff up. Just… looked at him.
"What's up?" Sol asked, flat.
Braden's eyes moved over the girls—Kaylee, Noelle, Sierra, Bri—like he was counting points.
"Already got a fan club," Braden said, smirking. "That was fast."
Kaylee's smile turned sharp. "We're not a fan club. We're a support group."
Braden ignored her, focusing on Sol. "You think you can come in here and act like you're better than everybody?"
Sol blinked slowly. "I came in here for a milkshake."
A couple people nearby laughed quietly. Braden's jaw tightened.
Sierra's voice was calm and dangerous. "Go away, Braden."
Braden's eyes flicked to her. "Why you always defending people?"
Sierra didn't flinch. "Why are you always bothering them?"
Braden leaned slightly toward Sol. "You scared?"
Sol took one more sip of his milkshake before answering, like he had all the time in the world.
"No," Sol said. "But I'm tired. So unless you're ordering something, I'd like to go back to drinking my shake."
Braden stared at him, surprised at the lack of performance.
He reached out, not to hit Sol—just to push the edge of Sol's glass, a petty move meant to spill, to embarrass.
Sol's hand moved without thinking.
Not fast like a movie.
Fast like training.
His fingers caught the glass and steadied it, wrist turning slightly—simple control. No aggression. Just prevention. The milkshake barely sloshed.
Braden froze.
Sol met his eyes, calm, voice low enough it wasn't a show.
"Don't," Sol said.
It wasn't a threat.
It was a boundary.
For a second, Braden looked like he wanted to escalate just to prove he could.
Then Ruth's voice cut through the diner like a knife through bread.
"BRADEN."
Everyone went quiet for half a beat.
Ruth stood at the counter with her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed like she could unmake him.
"If you spill anything in my diner," she said, "you're cleaning it with a toothbrush."
Braden's face flushed.
Ruth didn't stop. "And if you're here to bother customers, you can leave. I don't need your money that bad."
Braden looked around and realized the room wasn't on his side.
He backed up one step, forced a laugh that didn't fool anyone. "Whatever. I was joking."
Kaylee's smile was bright and vicious. "You're not funny enough to joke, Braden."
A few people snorted.
Braden's eyes flashed, but he retreated, walking back to his booth like he'd planned to the whole time.
As soon as he was gone, the diner noise returned like someone flipped a switch.
Sol exhaled slowly, realizing his shoulder muscles had tightened.
Sierra watched him. "You kept it small," she said.
Sol blinked. "Kept what small?"
"The situation," Sierra replied. "That's smart."
Noelle's gaze dropped to Sol's hand on the glass. "You didn't show off."
Sol shrugged. "Didn't need to."
Bri spoke softly, almost to herself. "Thank you."
Sol looked at her. "For what?"
"For not… making it worse," Bri said, cheeks pink again.
Kaylee leaned in, whispering like she was narrating a documentary. "Sol just passed the Cedar Ridge Test."
Sol frowned. "There's a test?"
Kaylee nodded seriously. "Yes. You must resist the urge to fight the bored locals."
Sol stared at her. "That's not a test. That's common sense."
Kaylee grinned. "Common sense is rare. Congratulations."
Sol took another sip of his milkshake, but his chest felt warmer now—not from sugar.
From the fact that he'd drawn a line and the world hadn't punished him for it.
Sierra's voice was quieter. "Braden will get over it."
Noelle added, "Or he'll get tired."
Kaylee said, "Or he'll find a new hobby."
Bri's fingers relaxed around her glass.
Sol glanced at all of them—this weird little group that had formed around him in under forty-eight hours.
It didn't feel like fate.
It felt like… choice.
He cleared his throat. "So," he said, trying to sound casual, "is this what you all do? Just… come to the diner?"
Kaylee's smile softened. "We do a lot of stuff. This is just the easiest. No one has to pretend they're cool."
Sierra snorted. "Kaylee always pretends she's cool."
Kaylee gasped. "I am cool."
Noelle's mouth twitched again. "Debatable."
Sol found himself smiling—an actual one this time—and he didn't fight it.
Outside, the sky was going dark. Inside, the diner stayed warm and loud and alive.
And Sol—new kid, Texas hoodie retired, milkshake in hand—felt the small-town gravity pulling him into orbit.
Not because it demanded him.
Because, for the first time since the move, he didn't mind being pulled.