In the tiny town of Ellerton, Alabama—just a smudge on the state highway map—you could find the Piggly Wiggly, the Baptist church, and if you knew where to look, a tired old barn with “See Beautiful Rock City” in faded, peeling white paint.

That’s where Jamie Burch first kissed Robert Carter.

It was late spring, the dogwoods were already past their bloom and the air was thick with the kind of humidity that felt like you could wring out the air and fill a bucket, and the decision to wear denim was questionable, at best. Jamie had just graduated high school. Robert still had one year left, but he was smarter than Jamie by miles. Everyone said so, including Jamie.

They met in detention. Robert had mouthed off to Coach Cotton for calling Billy Joe Simmons “soft.” Jamie had walked out of history class after Mr Ingram made a slyly racist joke about “the good old days.” Neither of them belonged in that dusty trailer behind the school, but maybe that’s why it stuck.

Their love—or whatever it was—took shape quietly. In truck rides and late-night texts. In glances across the lunchroom and inside jokes that nobody else got. They didn’t say the word “love,” not once. Not out loud. Not there. Not in Ellerton.

Jamie knew what would happen if they did. His cousin Tommy had “looked too long” at the wrong guy at a bonfire party the summer before. A week later, he got out of the hospital, moved to Birmingham, and never came back. Folks said he joined a monastery or something, and his mama wouldn’t even hang his picture on the wall anymore.

Robert didn’t scare easy. He talked about leaving all the time, about going to Auburn and becoming a vet or a writer or both. He made it sound easy. Jamie listened like a man on death row listening to stories about the beach.

But June came fast, and with it, Jamie’s bus ticket to Chattanooga. His uncle had lined up a job for him working freight on the Tennessee River. It wasn’t his dream, but it was money. Jamie told Robert the night before he left, sitting in the barn with the roof open to stars.

“I’ll come back,” he’d said, though he didn’t know if he meant it.

Robert just smiled that sideways smile of his. “No, you won’t,” he said gently. “But I hope you don’t have to.”

They kissed once more, just to remember. And then Jamie left.

They wrote for a while. Texted sometimes. Robert sent a picture of his new puppy. Jamie sent a blurry shot of the Tennessee river at sunset.

After a few months, the messages slowed. College started. Life got busier. One day, Jamie realized it had been months. He thought about texting, but he didn’t.

Years later, Jamie returned to Ellerton for his grandmother’s funeral. The town hadn’t changed. The Piggly Wiggly was still there. The church now had a digital sign. The barn was finally gone—torn down, probably during a storm.

He saw Robert at the graveside, standing next to his parents. Still lean, still sharp-eyed. Still wearing that same stubborn kind of calm.

They didn’t speak. Not really. Just a nod. A quiet understanding.

Jamie left town the next day.

Some loves aren’t meant to last a lifetime. Some are meant to bloom just long enough to prove they were real.

Like dogwoods in Alabama. Beautiful. Brief.

And enough.

And, you just know I can’t neglect the obligatory shameless self-promotion. New Yesterdays is available through the following links: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon , as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available at Libro.fm.