Sal taps on the steering wheel to the beat of the country music blasting out of the radio. The windows are wound down to the max, and the tires are speeding along the road a little fast for my liking.

“Is it far?” I’d quite like it not to be far. My legs are sticking to the fake leather seats. That’s going to pinch.

“No. Twenty minutes or so.”

It’s already been twenty-five minutes. How big is this place? Ever since we left Austin, all I’ve seen is the occasional red barn or auto shop and one or two shooting ranges. Otherwise, it’s flat, dry countryside as far as the eye can see.

I’m about to discover my new normal.

Normal. I hate that word. It packs people up in neat little boxes. My mum likes to use it when referring to anybody who isn’t exactly like her.

Me, for example.

“It’s not normal, Milly.” She’d brought it out when I’d run off at sixteen to be a popstar, when I’d given that up to go to college and again when I’d refused to bring any boyfriends home, because, well, none of them were going to last long enough for her to get attached. She might have brought it up once or twice when a video of me breaking my ex-boyfriend’s heart went viral. Then this… Flying across the world to Austin to help Sal run her coffee shop. Carrie is sick, like really sick, and Sal needs help.

And I really need to get away.

Mum thinks people should stay in one place. She’s always lived in the town she grew up in. She met and married my dad there, bought a home there. It’s like she got everything she needed with two minutes’ walk of the town center, cemented her feet to the floor and never moved again.

I will never cement my feet anywhere. You can quote me on that.

I can’t think of anything worse. How can you not want to see the world? Experience all the things? Taste all those delicious mouths that are just waiting to be kissed?

I’ve seen what marriage does to people, how it numbs their sense of adventure. I want to feel.

“Do you have to go in today?” I ask.

She turns to me and smiles, looking exactly like my dad for a split second. Luckily for her, that’s one of the very few things they have in common. “No, honey, you’ve got me all to yourself until tomorrow. Carrie’s got it covered.” Carrie is Sal’s ‘close friend’. I’m pretty sure she’s a lot more than that, but Sal has never been one to share things like that with our side of the family. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

“And when do I start?” I lean down and grab my bag. Thinking about Carrie reminds me that I should call Mum and Dad, tell them I got here okay. I fiddle with my phone while Sal explains how the shift system works.

“So, it’s basically part-time. You start straight away, but we’ll ease you in.” Good. I’m no barista. Sal’s coffee shop is supposedly the best in town, and I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility yet.

Sal packed her bags at eighteen and ran away to America in search of Melrose Place. I don’t know where that is, but she told my dad that it had to be better than home. She met Carrie shortly afterward and they moved to a little town a few miles out of Austin, set up their business and never looked back.

I’ve never quite worked out how moving across the world, settling down and working in the same place for your whole life is any different from what she would have done had she stayed at home, but I guess it’s warmer—a lot warmer. The trails of sweat trickling down my back right now can attest to this fact.

Eventually, love makes everybody cement their feet to the floor.

I twist and turn the ancient buttons in front of me. One of them falls off into my hand. “Doesn’t this car have air conditioning?”

She chuckles. “The air conditioning hasn’t worked on this old thing for years. I keep telling Carrie we need to get a new car but goddammit that woman loves her Pontiac more than me.”

Unbuttoning my blouse in an attempt to get some kind of respite, I lean out of the window, letting my arm catch the gusts of wind as we race on down the road. Being blasted by hot air is slightly more pleasant than wallowing in it.

Precisely seventeen minutes later we draw up in front of their beautiful home. Admittedly you have to drive down the bumpiest, dustiest lane to get there, but it’s totally worth losing all the feeling in your bum.

“Her grandmother left her the land, and we built on it. Six acres.” Sal grabs my suitcase from the boot of the car and stands beside me, admiring her massive house.

Sal and Carrie have the kind of place that I could only ever dream of owning. It’s a mansion compared to what I left behind. Back home, houses are small and stuck together. If you strike lucky, you get an end of terrace with an alleyway that goes down the side. This place has a front porch, a double garage and a garden five times bigger than itself.

I’m not jealous. There’s nothing more stifling than buying a house. But if I did want one, it would probably need to look like this.

“And she doesn’t mind me staying?” I have fond memories of the few times I’ve met her. She would play board games with me when I was little and take me to the park, but I don’t know a lot about Carrie from an adult’s point of view, other than the fact that she is my aunt’s partner.

“Are you joking? You’re the daughter we never had. Prepare to be smothered.” I haven’t been filled in on the intricacies of Carrie’s illness, but I know it’s bad. Bad enough for my dad to shed a tear, and he never cries. Another member of the household is going to be a burden on the two of them, no matter how much they love me.

I grab my auntie and pull her in for a spontaneous hug. The woman is skin and bones. She works too hard and, as I’m beginning to understand, worries too hard, too. “I missed you, Auntie Sally. Can we go see Carrie right now? I need more hugs.” Carrie is the opposite of Sal. She’s all boobs and bum. The two of them are polar opposites, and yet it works. It has for twenty-five years.

We drag my suitcase into the front hall.

“Do you want a glass of water or something?” Bright, modern paintings adorn every wall, interspersed with landscapes and portraits. The house is open plan, light and bright—and hospital-level clean. There is not a speck of dust in the place.

Are they really going to want me living here? I’m twenty-one on the outside, but those who have had the misfortune to share a house with me might suggest that I stopped maturing at around age seventeen.

I gulp down my water as we close up the house and head off to the coffee shop, and I place the pristine crystal glass on a side-table by the front door as we leave. My disruption to their perfect home has begun, and it’s only the first day.

I’m more than exhausted but too excited to sleep. Leaning in to check myself in the car’s side-view mirror, I’m horrified by what I see before me. There are bags under my eyes big enough to have paid the extra baggage allowance. I look too much like I’ve been on a packed plane for fourteen of the last sixteen hours. Then again, when did I ever look fancy?

* * * *

“Honey, you are a sight for sore eyes. Come over here and give your Aunt Carrie a hug.” She doesn’t look ill. Maybe a few pounds lighter but she’s chirpy enough. She’s brought so much vivacity into the precious few moments I’ve spent in her presence that I’ve never forgotten her—especially that crowning glory of hair forming a perfect halo of curls around her face.

Her arms are outstretched, reminding me, too, that this woman hasn’t worn a bra in her whole damn life—or at least every time I’ve seen her.

“That isn’t normal,” my mum would say behind Aunt Carrie’s back. I was never quite sure if she was referring to the lack of underwear or the fact that Dad’s sister was essentially married to a woman. Both of those things made Mum’s lips tighten with concern. Another thing to add to the list of opinions that I do not share with my own mother.

I barrel into those arms and snuggle into her chest as she hugs me tight. “I missed you, too.” Carrie and Sal get me. They understand why I didn’t want to marry the boy next door, and they get my need for adventure.

We sit at the counter on high stools with padded backs on them. They swivel like office chairs, much to my amusement. The coffee shop is way more modern that I imagined, with wooden counters and industrial pipes. They have one of those enormous blackboards going along the back wall with every coffee combination you could wish for on it. The picture in my mind of a clichéd fifties diner is far from reality. They serve me apple pie and an ice-cold milkshake, which is much more in line with my preconceived ideas.

I stretch the ache of traveling out of my shoulders. The shop is the first place since I got here with any kind of regulated temperature, and it’s glorious. I may just stay right here on this stool for the next year, breathing in the cold, welcome air.

The jingle of the door reveals a smartly dressed old man. He trundles in, tips his hat at us. “Afternoon, Harry,” says Sal, popping behind the counter. “The usual?”

He sits in a window table, takes off his hat—placing it carefully on the tabletop—and grins widely at Sal. “Please.”

“This is Harry, one of our best customers,” says Carrie, winking at him. “In the summer he has a sweet tea and a slice of pie.” Sal slides the tray toward me, and I take it over. Looks like she’s got me working already.

“You the new girl?” asks Harry. His smile reveals hardly any teeth. I guess he’s been drinking sweet tea for a while now.

“She’s my niece,” replies Sal. “She’s come all the way from England just to serve you, Harry. She a singer, you know…famous back home.” I clench my jaw. I guess I’m not going to get away without anybody mentioning it.

He chuckles and holds up his glass. “Welcome. It’ll be sweeter on my ears to hear someone singing along to the radio in tune for once.”

“You’d do well to remember who makes you your pie every day,” says Carrie, huffing in fake annoyance. You can sense the homeliness in this place. I didn’t expect any less from the aunties. They’re big old softies. With any luck, it’ll make it easier to fit in. Small communities like this tend to be tight knit, and I’m not exactly everybody’s cup of tea.

The door jingles again and this time it’s a middle-aged woman. She appears to be melting from the sweltering heat, sweat dripping from every pore. “Delivery, ladies.” Carrie and Sal head to the back of the shop to bring in the boxes and I move around to behind the counter.

“What do you think, Harry? Do I look like I know what I’m doing?” He nods and laughs.

“Sure do. Any chance of a refill?” He holds up his glass and I look around for the pitcher of iced tea. “In the ‘frigerator behind you,” he adds, helpfully.

I bend down to grab it and the door jingles again. That’s going to get really annoying really quickly. Whirling around, pitcher in hand, I come face to face with a handsome cowboy. It’s the Stetson and the plaid shirt that seals the deal, but the sapphire-blue eyes and blond stubble on that perfectly square jaw don’t hurt, either.

I’d packed up and left home so quickly when Sal had called two days before that it hadn’t even occurred to me that there would be cowboys here. Handsome cowboys, at that.

“Hi!” I say, flashing my best customer-service smile. “Just a second and I’ll be with you.” I pop around the counter and serve Harry his drink then give my full attention to my gorgeous new customer. Fingers crossed he’s a regular too. “How can I help you?”

He looks me up and down, blushes, stuttering out the quietest words. “Is Sal here?”

“She’s in the back.” The cowboy smiles nervously, shakes his head and backs out of the store. I turn to Harry. “Was it something I said?”

“More like something you wore.” Harry stares up at my chest.

Crap. My hands fling to cover my breasts. My blouse is unbuttoned down to my navel from when I was in the car. I’ve been showing a considerable amount of British boob since I got here. No wonder Harry has such a big grin on his face. I throw him a look, and he has the decency to bow his head.

“Oh my God.” Sal and Carrie walk back through. “Why didn’t you tell me I had my boobs out for the lads?” I ask, my teeth gritted, turning around and buttoning myself back up. This was not how I’d intended to start my life here.

“I didn’t even notice,” says Sal, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I’m sure nobody saw.”

“I scared away one of your customers.”

Carrie’s eyes widen. “Who?”

“One of the Booth boys—Evan, I think,” answers Harry.

Jaws drop and Sal and Carrie share an ‘oh shit’ look. “What’s so bad?” I ask. “Who are they?” Have I fucked up already?

“The Booths pretty much own this town. They’re spread out far and wide, seven kids in the last generation, each of them with several of their own now. Evan is the third oldest of the middle child, Mark. They’re like royalty around here.” Considering how she’s describing them, her voice lacks any respect.

I bite my lip. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, you didn’t,” interrupts Carrie. “And they’re used to us, anyway. It’s not as if Sal and I are their favorite people, either. I grew up here, so we’re tolerated. You’re my niece, as far as I’m concerned, so you belong here, too. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She pulls me in for a reassuring side-hug.

“We’ll apologize on Sunday.” Sal grins at me. “Once a month we’re invited to the Booth family home for buffet and grill.”

“Lunch at the royal palace? I’m going to need a new dress.”

Sal looks me up and down, squinting at my jean shorts. “You’re not wrong, actually. We’re going to need to cover you up a little. People are a little more…conservative over here.”

Cover up? In this heat? I thought we’d be stripping off. Looks like my new normal is going to be something else entirely.