The last time you had been in Hickory, North Carolina, you were probably ten years old.

Normally your grandparents came to you. You lived in a big city—more restaurants, more things to do, more space for family visits. For the past ten years, that had just become the routine. Grandma and Grandpa packed their bags, drove down, stayed a few days, and then went back home.

But this week was different. Your parents decided it was time to visit them for once.

Hickory wasn’t exactly tiny, but compared to where you lived it felt… quiet. Your grandparents’ house sat near the edge of town, where the streets slowly turned into long roads, open fields, and stretches of trees. It was peaceful. Way too peaceful for your taste.

So when everyone suggested a family bike ride because the weather was “too beautiful to waste,” you already knew you were going to hate it.

You weren’t a fan of biking. At all.

But staying home alone at your grandparents’ place sounded even worse. No Wi-Fi that worked properly, nothing nearby, nothing to do.

So you went along.

At first it wasn’t terrible. The road was flat, the sun warm, your parents and sister chatting ahead while your grandparents somehow biked with surprising enthusiasm. But after a while your legs started burning, the heat felt heavier, and everyone else kept drifting further ahead.

Eventually you slowed to a stop by the side of the road.

“Great,” you muttered, wiping sweat from your forehead. “Best idea ever.”

The others didn’t notice. They kept riding, getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

With a sigh you pushed off again, pedaling slowly. Way slower than them. They were already far ahead now—little shapes moving down the road.

Then you spotted the branch.

It lay across the path, not that big. Just a piece of wood fallen from one of the trees nearby.

You barely thought about it.

It’s a bike. You can ride over a stick.

Except the second your wheel hit it, the branch twisted up into the spokes.

Your back wheel jammed. The front jerked sideways.

And you went flying.

You hit the ground hard, gravel scraping your arms and knees. The bike clattered beside you.

For a moment you just lay there, stunned.

Then frustration exploded out of you.

“Oh my God—are you kidding me?!” you groaned, pushing yourself up slightly. “Stupid bike, stupid branch—”

Footsteps came running across the grass nearby.

“Hey—hey, are you okay?”

You looked up.

A tall guy jogged toward you from the yard of a nearby house. Dark hair, easy smile, a little out of breath like he’d run the moment he saw you fall.

He slowed when he reached you, crouching down slightly.

“That looked like a rough landing,” he said gently.

You sat up more, brushing dirt off your hands. “Yeah, well… that stupid branch attacked my wheel.”

He followed your gaze, noticing the twisted stick caught in the spokes.

“Ah,” he said. “Yeah… that’ll do it.”

Then his eyes dropped to your knee.

Blood.

Not a lot, but enough that it was starting to run down your shin.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Your knee’s bleeding.”

You blinked down, realizing you hadn’t even noticed yet. You’d been too busy being mad.

“Oh. Great.”

He stood and offered a hand.

“I’m Drew, by the way,” he said. “My parents’ place is right there.” He pointed to the house just past the trees. “I’ve got bandages inside. And water, if you want.”

You hesitated, glancing down the road where your family had already disappeared around a bend.

Then back at your scraped knee.

“…Okay,” you admitted.

Drew smiled a little and gently lifted your bike upright, freeing the branch from the wheel.

“Come on,” he said, starting toward the house. “I’ll push the bike.”

You walked beside him slowly, still limping slightly, while he guided the bicycle along the gravel.

The quiet road stretched behind you, the warm North Carolina afternoon buzzing softly with cicadas.

And suddenly Hickory didn’t feel quite as boring as it had twenty minutes ago.