Sophia stared at the young man in the driver's seat. He was dressed in a black knit sweater today, and his blond hair was damp from showering, but there was no mistaking the smell of hay on his clothes. A splotch of dirt decorated his cheek.

It was definitely the boy from the café.

Of course it was.

"Oh, no," Sophia moaned. "No, no, no."

He sighed. "Trust me, Toronto; the feeling is mutual."

"You're my ride?"

His lips quirked, and Sophia gave him a warning look. If he said anything dirty right now, she would kick his ass. Gladly.

"I'm Finn," he said. "Finn Hoag. And I take it that you're Sophia." He shoved several textbooks off the dog hair-filled passenger seat. "Now get in. We're late."

Sophia looked at the seat skeptically. "Is that sanitary?"

Finn stared at her. Then he pushed the gear stick down, letting the car begin to roll away. Sophia felt a surge of panic.

"Wait!"

She dove for the car door handle, wincing as her shoulder gave a groan of protest. Finn gave her an infuriating smirk. "Yes?"

"This is ridiculous," Sophia muttered, swinging into the passenger seat. "You could have taken my arm off, you know."

"I think the words you're looking for," Finn said, pushing his foot against the gas pedal, "are thank you, Finn Hoag, you hunk of a man."

Sophia bit down on her tongue. Hard. Oddly, Jenna's childhood advice came to mind. If you don't have anything nice to say, her mother would chide, keep your mouth closed, Sophia. Finn must have been applying the same principle because he began to whistle, his eyes fixed firmly ahead.

They were silent for the rest of the journey.

Sophia was late to class.

In the span of twenty minutes, her day went from bad to worse; she tripped over a bicycle, ripping her new jeans. She spilled a strawberry smoothie all over her white top. And she walked into the wrong classroom. Twice. By the time Sophia found the correct classroom, she was out of breath, smelling vaguely of sweat and spoiled strawberries.

She slid into a seat at the back, pulling out her notebook.

It was a big lecture — almost three hundred people — and Sophia was relieved to find that the subject was familiar to her: SEO analytics.

Sophia had interned at a sustainable footwear company when she was sixteen, where she'd run most of their social media. Her boss — a bare-footed, Lululemon-wearing man named Greg — had given her a crash course in how to rank on Internet search engines.

"Key words," Greg used to say, bouncing up and down on his exercise ball. "That's the key, Soph. Key words at the beginning. Key words at the end. Key words are the key. Remember that."

Now, Sophia wrote so fast that her hand cramped. This. This was what fascinated her about the business; how to get eyes on an up-and-coming jewelry brand. How to make sure a chef's banana cream pie recipe ranked first on Google. It was the gears in the machine, the paint strokes in a painting. Not what you could see, but what you couldn't.

Two hours flew by. Sophia rose, stretching her cramped hand. Three girls walked past, cramming notebooks and laptops into bags.

"I'm only suggesting," one of the girls was saying, "that brands shouldn't sacrifice their voice just to get a few more clicks online."

The shortest one frowned. "You have to admit SEO is essential."

"In moderation. But I don't think—"

"Excuse me!" Sophia called.

All three girls stopped. She rushed forward, trying not to wince as their eyes flicked to the red stain on her top. Mercifully, none of them said anything.

"Sorry," Sophia said. "I'm new here. I'm—"

The short girl's eyes lit up. "Sophia Huntington! Oh, my god. I love your Instagram page. That polka-dotted top you wore to dinner last week? So cute."

She flushed. "Thanks."

"Don't you live in Toronto?" another girl asked.

"Just transferred." Sophia adjusted her bag. "Look, I missed the beginning of the lecture. Would you mind sending me a copy of your notes?"

The short girl beamed. "Of course!"

They exchanged details. The girls introduced themselves — Kaylee, Kylie, and Kendra — and Sophia followed all of them on Instagram. Kylie, the one that had complimented her top earlier, looked as if she might faint.

"What you were saying before," Sophia said, "about brand authenticity. I completely agree. People are smart. If your advertising begins to sound artificial, then people lose faith in the brand. In fact, I think—"

"Oh, that." Kendra waved her off. "That's so boring. I'm sure you wouldn't care."

"No, I do. I—"

"Okay, I'm sorry," Kylie cut in, "but your skin is amazing. What products do you use?"

Sophia felt her gut twist. Oh. She had thought — no, she'd hoped — that Alberta might be different. That people wouldn't automatically discount her opinion, or change the subject to something superficial when she joined the conversation. Not that she disliked talking about skincare; she loved it, in fact. But if you spent your whole life eating grapes, Sophia thought, you got really damn tired of grapes.

Still.

She was being dramatic, Sophia thought firmly. These girls were being nice. She needed to get a grip and stop being so...

Well.

Whatever she was being.

Sophia trailed the girls out to the lawn. She was about to suggest grabbing a bite to eat together when her phone rang. Her mother's face popped up on the screen.

"Sorry." Sophia held up the phone apologetically. "I need to take this."

The girls said their goodbyes. Sophia plopped down on a step, shivering as the cold concrete hit her skin. Then she punched the green accept button. "Hello?"

"Hi, darling," Jenna said. "How's your first day?"

"Good."

"Excellent." Jenna paused. "That's excellent."

Sophia stiffened. Oh, God. This wasn't good. Her mother only used the word "excellent" if things were really not excellent and Jenna was thinking how best to deliver the blow. Sophia gripped the phone.

"Just tell me," she said.

Jenna sighed. "Callie called; Estrella's considering reneging on the contract. They're worried that you're too much of a risk."

A flash of indignation filled her. "I've only been here for a day!"

"But you're losing followers. Quickly."

Sophia gritted her teeth. "Recovering from a scandal takes time. You know that. One Instagram story with a scenic sunrise and some hay bales isn't going to change things overnight."

"I agree, darling," Jenna said, "but it's not my decision."

Crushing frustration swept through her. Sophia rubbed at her temples, wishing for an Aspirin. Or a time machine. Or one of those mimosas that Louise suggested, with more alcohol than orange juice. "So what do I do?"

Jenna paused for a frightening length of time. "I don't know, Soph. I've tried all the usual strategies — issuing an apology, donating to charities — but nothing is working. We need to regain your following. And quickly."

"Okay." Sophia swallowed. "I'll think of something. Something really... wholesome." Like more hay bales. And cows. And possibly a pumpkin patch.

"Good," Jenna said. "I've got my team on it, too. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

Her mother meant resources, not emotional support. Sophia's throat ached. She couldn't remember the last time Jenna had discussed feelings with her. Not since her dad died a few years ago, anyway.

"I will," Sophia said. "Love you."

They hung up the call.

Someone honked. Sophia's stomach tightened as a dusty red pick-up truck pulled up, idling by the curb. Behind her, a pair of giggling blonde students paused on the steps, their heads bent close together.

"That's him, Jess!" one whispered.

"Did you see his cowboy boots?"

"So sexy."

"I saw him compete last year."

"No way! Lucky you."

Sophia rose, ignoring the curious stares of the girls behind her as she started for the truck. Finn didn't look up as Sophia approached. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and he was speaking into his phone with the sort of clipped tone that Sophia reserved strictly for Ophelia, her mother, and annoying telemarketers.

"I know, Gemma," Finn said, shifting the gear stick. "But if you'd just listen—" He cut off, pressing his lips together. "No. Absolutely not." Another pause. "You know what? Let's discuss this when I'm home."

Finn hung up. Sophia buckled her seatbelt.

"Nice top," he drawled, eyeing the red smoothie stain. "Real fashionable."

Sophia ignored this. "Was that your girlfriend?"

"My sister."

Sophia arched an eyebrow. "Did she sell your cowboy hat, or something?"

She wasn't actually expecting Finn to tell her. Hell, Sophia was surprised that Finn had even said six words to her that weren't 'get the hell away from me'. But Finn shrugged, steering the car out of the parking lot.

"Gemma's launching a wine," Finn said. "And she wants to pay someone to advertise it. Influencer marketing, or whatever."

"Smart."

"Sure," Finn agreed, "if we could afford it." He merged onto the highway. "Anyway, I don't get why it's so important to have some puffed-up D-list celebrity hawk your merchandise all over their social media."

Sophia gave him a look. "I happen to be one of those puffed-up D-list celebrities."

"Oh." Finn had the good grace to look sheepish. "Right. Sorry."

"It's okay," Sophia said. "Anyway, your sister's right; influencer marketing works." She crossed her legs. "Like, one study found that it generates ten times more ROI than alternative digital marketing strategies. So you're looking at a major increase in capital without the client having to increase investment further down the line."

For a moment, Finn merely looked at her. Like, really looked at her. Then he let out a low whistle. "What are you majoring in?"

"Business," Sophia said.

"Good. You have the brains for it."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you making fun of me?"

It wouldn't be the first time. When Sophia mentioned that she was majoring in business at a Christmas party last year, a CEO had looked at her in disbelief. "Really?" he'd asked. "You?" Another woman had patted her hand. "Good for you, darling," she'd said. "It's good to push yourself."

Disbelief.

Condescension.

Derision.

Sophia had experienced it all. But Finn shook his head.

"No," Finn said, looking surprised. "I mean that. You're smart, and you obviously have a knack for social media." He fiddled with the aux cord, his eyes flicking between the stereo and the road. "I'm sure you get that a lot, though."

Country music filled the car.

Sophia tensed. Generally, she liked all genres — low-fi, acoustic, indie folk, rock — but there was something about country music that got to her. Maybe it was the nasally twang of the guitar. Maybe it was that every song was about beers, tailgate parties and cut-off jean shorts. For whatever reason, she hated it.

He's giving you a lift, Sophia reminded herself. Be nice.

And she managed it.

All the way until Red Deer, two hours later.

Sophia pursed her lips. "Can we change it? Please?"

Finn looked amused. "You don't like country music?"

"I don't like bad music."

"I can't believe it," Finn said, shaking his head. "You're so Toronto."

"And you're so country," Sophia said, pulling a face. "What do you study at university, anyways? Horses? Cows?"

"Just the cows."

Sophia stared at him. "You're actually being serious, aren't you?" She shook her head. "You know what? I can't listen to this; it's trash." She reached for the dial. "You get radio stations out here, right?"

"Oh, no," Finn said, swatting her hand away. "Nice try, Toronto. My truck, my music."

Sophia frowned. "At least let me change it to rock."

"No."

"Eighties?"

"No."

"What about pop?" Sophia asked hopefully. "I have the new Ella Walker album on my phone."

And all Ella's hit singles. And a Garageband song that Ella recorded when she was twelve years old, which Sophia was saving for blackmail purposes. Finn shuddered, his hand hovering protectively over the stereo.

"Definitely not," Finn said firmly. "Her music is like rubbing sandpaper on your eardrums."

"I know her," Sophia said. "She's one of my best friends."

In Toronto, this would have earned Sophia the right to listen to Ella Walker songs for hours on end. Finn would have begged her for concert tickets and possibly a signed CD. As it was, Finn merely gave her an exasperated look.

"You really do know everyone, don't you? Ella Walker, Kit O'Connell—"

"Hang on." Amusement flashed through her. "Did you Internet stalk me?"

"No," Finn said.

"You totally did."

"Maybe a little." He shot her a curious look. "I saw the photo of you at the Estrella launch party. An interesting outfit choice."

She flushed. "I didn't realize the photographer was there."

"Obviously," Finn said, but his voice was teasing. "Is it true, then? You're addicted to cocaine?"

She smiled wanly. "Ketamine, apparently."

"The hard stuff. I admire it."

"Don't be silly," Sophia said. "There's always room for improvement. I'm considering trying heroin next."

Finn guided the truck off the highway. Rolling hills stretched in every direction, a patchwork of fading green and buttercup yellow. A herd of cows trundled past barbed wire fences. She had the oddest sense of being in a bubble inside the truck, buffeted from the real world. Finn hummed along to the radio.

Sophia tipped her head back against the seat, her whole body melting into the worn leather. She felt strange. Almost...

Peaceful?

Relaxed?

Yes. That was it. For whatever reason, Sophia realized, she didn't feel the urge to try and impress Finn; she could have told him anything, and she wouldn't have cared what he thought. There was something freeing in that.

Case in point.

"They weren't mine," Sophia said. "The drugs."

Finn gave her a curious look. "Who did they belong to, then?"

"My cousin." She rolled the window down, tipping her face towards it. "Sort of, anyway. It's a long story."

"You took the fall for her?"

Sophia shot him a sideways look. "Don't sound too impressed. I left Ophelia alone at the party, so I'm part of the reason she got into trouble. I was meant to be looking out for her." She swallowed, looking back to the window. "Anyway, that's why I'm here. To rebuild my reputation."

Finn arched an eyebrow. "By living in Bashaw?"

"By becoming wholesome."

"No offense, Toronto," Finn said, "but I've met wholesome. You're not it."

She drummed her fingernails — carefully filed, painted with pink gel — on the windowsill. "Well, I need to become it. Otherwise, Estrella's going to pull out of our partnership, and I can no longer afford university."

"Shit."

Sophia blew out a breath. "Yeah."

Finn turned on a dirt road. "For what it's worth, Toronto, I'll help you if I can. Because that's what we do here: help our neighbours. Lending sugar, fixing fences, watering someone's plants..." He shot her a wry look. "I suppose you must find that quaint and adorable, coming from the big city."

Sophia met his gaze. "No. I just find it adorable."

His mouth tipped up, and Sophia's stomach tightened. Finn really was very good-looking, she thought, when he wasn't being a dick. Maybe Tabby was right. Maybe she should date a wholesome farm boy; it would certainly make Estrella happy.

Hang on.

The idea hit her with all the force of a battering ram. That was it. That was the solution. Sophia licked her lips, her heartbeat picking up. It was totally insane, of course, but what the hell? She had nothing left to lose.

Sophia cleared her throat. "Hoag?"

"Yes?"

"I think you can help me," Sophia said. "And I can help you. I have a..." She searched for the right word. "A proposition for you."

"A proposition?"

"A business deal," she clarified. "Of sorts."

"How mysterious," Finn drawled, taking a lazy left turn. "Okay, Toronto; you have my interest. What did you have in mind?"

Sophia took a deep breath. She was going to sound insane. This was insane.

"How do you feel," she began tentatively, "about dating?"