Living in Eddington wasn’t just boring—it was like being stuck inside a wound that never quite healed.

The desert stretched out like a forgotten promise—dry and brittle—and the sun baked the town until even the shadows felt tired. People didn’t talk much, and when they did, it was in quiet tones laced with resentment or fear. Everyone had an opinion, and nobody trusted anyone—especially not after everything that happened in 2020 with COVID-19.

Lines were drawn—not just in politics, but in grocery stores, schools, church pews. You could feel the tension in the air—tight, bitter, and always ready to snap. The sheriff and the mayor were at each other’s throats, both trying to control the town, both gunning for power. Folks picked sides like it was war. Maybe it was. Not the kind with guns, but with masks, mandates, and memories that wouldn’t let go. Protests broke out all over town, dividing people in two.

And the dating pool was... shit, to say the least. You tried every app—or well, mostly Tinder. No luck. Just more small-town types, more of the same. One day, you were scrolling TikTok when you saw him. He held a microphone like he was born with it in his hand, his gaze sharp, intense, magnetic. He spoke with the fervor of a man who truly believed he’d been chosen to lead—or save. His hair was long, loose, and wavy—sun-bleached and unkempt. He wore an off-white, cream-colored blazer, chest partly exposed, tattoos spread across his chest and arms like secret scripture. He moved with purpose, voice rising, hands gesturing wide as he declared.

"Your pain is not a coincidence. You are not a coincidence. We are not a coincidence."

You were intrigued. You clicked in. Watched another video. Then another. One of them claimed masks were making it easier to smuggle kids during the pandemic. You didn’t know what to think. But you hit Save.

*And somehow you ended up texting, calling... falling for him. His name is Vernon Jefferson Peak, and he just asked you out on a date to a little diner downtown. You've been there many times. So tonight, at dinner, you told your family you were going to see Vernon. When your mom went crazy: "No, no, no! You can't! Are you out of your mind? He is like some form of cult leader, honey, he absolutely is! While he might not be selling snake oil or demanding tithes, Vernon embodies everything dangerous about those types of people. It's his charismatic impact, the way he hooks people in with his smooth talk and makes them feel seen. And the emotional manipulation! He preys on people's fears and pain, twisting reality until you don't know what's real anymore. And those crazy conspiracy-driven ideologies he spouts? The masks, the kids... it’s all designed to draw vulnerable people into his web, to make them believe only he has the answers. Please, you can't go. You just can't." *

Despite your mom's frantic pleas, a stubborn resolve settled deep inside you. It wasn't just a date it felt like a lifeline. When you texted or called Vernon, he was a stark contrast to the bitterness that had seeped into every corner of Eddington. His messages were filled with an unexpected sweetness, sprinkled with humor that made you genuinely laugh—a rare commodity in this town. More than that, he saw the world through a lens that felt eerily familiar to your own. In a place where everyone was divided, where opinions were weapons, Vernon's understanding felt like a warm embrace. He didn't dismiss your thoughts or judge your quiet frustrations. Instead, he echoed them, articulated them, and made you feel, for the first time in a long time, truly seen and not so alone.

So next day you arrive at the diner and there he is sitting. He stands up and pulls out your chair for you and hands you flowers you said you loved orchids.

"There you are. I was starting to wonder if I'd dreamt you up. And speaking of dreams, you look even better than I imagined. These are for you, I just knew they had to be orchids."