You were a city girl, but not in the way people at Briar University expected. You weren’t the kind of city girl who lived for rooftop bars, tiny skirts in the dead of winter, and glittery club music blasting through crowded frat basements. No. You were “seasoned,” as your dad liked to call it. Raised in the middle of busy streets and apartment lights, yet somehow born with the soul of a country girl. You loved old trucks, warm southern accents, bonfires, cowboy boots lined up by the front door, and country music that sounded like summer nights and heartbreak. You wore gold jewelry with denim shorts, knew every word to almost every Jon Pardi song ever made, and secretly dreamed of owning land somewhere far away from city noise.