Chapter 5: Four Years Ago in Flagstaff

Autumn is beautiful.

That’s what Logan thought the first time he saw her.

Logan POV — Four years ago, Flagstaff, AZ: That year, he was a sophomore, home in Arizona for winter break. His family lived in the city, grandparents in the countryside. After returning, his dad told him the medical volunteer team was going to the rural towns for free clinics, and his grandparents’ town was included, so the family planned to visit. His mom had grown up bilingual, and he spent so much time with his grandparents speaking Spanish that languages felt like home.

Because the car couldn’t go all the way, they stopped at the foot of the mountain—still about a mile to walk.

It had just rained, the mountain road was muddy—wet pine in the air, red clay sucking at your shoes, thin, clean air making every breath sharp—most female doctors wore shoes with no grip, slipping every few steps, helping each other along.

Autumn POV — Four years ago: On that mountain road, we met.

I had just finished my PhD, and my advisor suggested going to the countryside—it would help a medical student develop compassion—so I went.

But the road was tough, I wasn’t familiar with the volunteer team, and my personality made it hard to ask for help, so I carried my medical kit, slipping with every step, cautiously walking at the end.

At that moment, a not-too-thick branch was handed to me from behind, and a young male voice said, “Doctor, here, use this as a cane. It’ll be easier.”

I turned around and saw a shyly smiling boy. I didn’t refuse, took it and smiled, “Thanks.”

He wore a faded Arizona State hoodie and muddy sneakers, looking both eager and nervous. His kindness warmed me on that cold day.

A not-too-long walk took half an hour. The Carter family wasn’t in a rush, followed the medical team slowly.

At the town, Logan followed his parents home, but his mind kept drifting outside.

The medical team’s temporary clinic was set up in the town’s community center.

Grandpa and Grandma Carter both had high blood pressure, so Logan took them to the cardiovascular station to queue.

He was tall, so I spotted him right away.

The Carter elders spoke Spanish, I couldn’t understand, and there weren’t many translators in the town, just a few running between stations.

When I was struggling, the boy I’d met earlier found a stool, sat beside me, and acted as translator.

He didn’t brag, just quietly relayed everything. He took notes for me, making sure his grandparents’ meds were up to date. I appreciated the help more than he probably realized.

From start to finish, Logan never talked about anything unrelated to medical stuff. Whatever I said, he’d convey to the patient; whatever the patient said, he’d organize and tell me.

I had a good impression of him—shy and polite. After finishing service in their town that evening, I even called him aside to thank him, but I didn’t ask his name.

To me, he was just a brief passerby who helped me—a good person I’d remember.

Next time I saw him was a week later.

Obviously, he never expected to see me again.

It was New Year’s Eve, a junior from the medical team dragged me to a karaoke bar. She was local, said she’d invited classmates, so I went with two other girls. I’d refused her twice before, slow to warm up and afraid of awkwardness, but couldn’t resist her pestering. Entering the place, I first saw him and a group of friends playing games in the lobby—neon mic signs glowing, a sticky floor, a Top 40 queue on loop.

Since my junior pulled me in, I didn’t stop, and he didn’t see me.

At the front desk, I learned the junior had invited other boys, who started making crude jokes about the girls. I regretted coming. I instinctively clocked the exits and texted my junior to stay close; a couple of bystanders frowned, but the guy egging it on smirked.

“Can you not touch me?” I said, a bit harshly.

My voice was loud; all the boys in the lobby looked up.

I met his gaze.

Logan and his friends weren’t far, all looked over.

I awkwardly looked away, stepped back, stood at the edge. That man grinned and withdrew his hand, didn’t bother me again.

But inside the private room, he started approaching and talking again. I didn’t want to respond, he even tried to grope me. I told him off several times, but he got worse. I couldn’t take it, scowled, grabbed a beer and splashed it in his face. One of his own friends muttered, “Not cool, man,” but he still lunged.

The man refused to back down, tried to grab my hand, but I dodged, smashed a beer bottle at him, missed but stopped him, and I ran out.

Then I bumped into someone at the door. Immediately, the person grabbed my hand and ran.

I was still shaken, worried he was an accomplice, swung my free hand at him, and hit his head hard.

He looked incredulous. Logan winced, voice aggrieved, “Doctor, it’s me!”

I froze for half a second, but let him pull me along.

Lots of traffic on the street, flashing lights making pedestrians seem slow.

I gradually calmed down, but my heart was pounding.

Behind Logan, I saw a budget motel.

Later I thought, I probably needed a knight too much at that time, so I boldly asked him, “Want to get a room?” We stopped at a lobby vending machine for condoms—quick, responsible, done.

My first time was with Logan Carter.

I never dated, but experienced that first.

Logan was amazing.

Lying breathless in his arms, I said, “I haven’t tried before, can’t compare, but I think you must be really good.”

He laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his eyes gentle but wild.

Next morning, Logan woke early, but as soon as he touched me, I woke up.

I calmed down, could tell Logan wanted to continue, whether that or something else, but I knew the first ray of sunlight meant we were done.

Before leaving, I stood on tiptoe to hug him, like saying goodbye to an old friend. I remember saying, “I’ll remember you as my first man, thank you for showing me this wild journey.”

I never asked his name.