All Chapters of Half Wild, Half Yours: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The neon buzz of the dive bar’s sign flickered above my head as I stepped inside, ducking slightly beneath the weathered doorframe. It smelled like stale beer, damp wood, and the kind of fried food that sinks into your clothes and doesn’t let go. One of those Portland staples—gritty, loud, unapologetically local. Exactly the kind of place Ophelia loved. Me? I stuck out the second I walked in. High-waisted denim shorts, sun-bleached and a little frayed. A soft, cropped tank the color of ocean foam. Cowboy boots. No contour. No smoky eye. Just freckles scattered across tan skin like constellations from chasing too many sunrises in too many cities. My hair hung in loose, sun-lightened waves down my back, roots dark and untouched. I hadn’t worn anything else since California. Or maybe Utah. Honestly, I couldn’t remember. The music hadn’t started yet. Just the low hum of chatter, clinking glasses, and random bursts of laughter from the tables crowding the stage. There was a small pla

“¡Por fin!” Ophelia called out as she appeared at my side, swiping a napkin across her hands like she’d just escaped a war zone. “Sorry, the line was ridiculous. And drunk girls kept trying to braid my hair and tell me their life stories. I’m a magnet, I swear.” I turned toward her, already smirking. “What took you so long? Did you start a side hustle in there?” She rolled her eyes. “Please. Just surviving. Some girl named Brandi insisted we were soulmates because we both like lip gloss and astrology. She invited me to brunch tomorrow. I don’t even know what city she lives in.” That made me laugh. Classic Ellie. People loved her instantly—something about her spicy energy and unapologetic honesty. Average height but never unnoticed, she rocked her curves in a blood-red mini dress and hoops big enough to double as bracelets. Her dark, wavy hair framed her face perfectly, and she had that glow that said she knew her worth. And if she didn’t? She’d fake it ‘til she did. “Anyway,”

Teddy followed me out to the curb, where my van waited under the glow of a flickering streetlight. Her powder-blue paint shimmered like something out of a retro postcard, and even after all the miles, she still looked like home. Teddy slowed when he saw it. “Wait. This is yours?” I walked up to her side door, patting the metal like a loyal dog. “Yep. My baby.” He let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s a whole house on wheels.” I grinned. “Exactly.” He leaned closer, peering through the front windows. “You could, like, live in here.” I slid open the side door and gave him a look. “Well… yeah. I do live in here.” He blinked at me, clearly thinking I was joking—until I didn’t laugh. “You’re serious.” I nodded. A pause, then I saw it hit him—like the words finally landed in his brain. “You live in your van,” he said slowly. “And travel.” “That’s right.” His expression changed—curiosity flickering into something closer to awe. “That’s… am

I woke up to the low hum of farm equipment in the distance and the scratchy thrum of birds arguing in the trees. My cheek was pressed into Tyler’s warm fur, his body curled against mine like we were sharing secrets in our sleep. For a second, I forgot where I was. Then I remembered the ache in my calves, the itchy sting of old sunburn on my shoulders, and the faint smell of soil and diesel leaking in through the van’s cracked window. Right. The farm. I blinked at the muted light pouring through the curtains I’d strung up across the van’s windshield. Tyler yawned, then flopped dramatically onto his back like he was just exhausted from all the hard emotional support he gave me. I smirked and scratched his belly. “Thanks for the therapy, doc.” Somewhere in the haze between last night’s walk home and now, I remembered curling up in my van, wrapping my arms around his big golden body like he was a teddy bear and not seventy pounds of fur and attitude. I’d parked out

Finally—my day off. I clipped Tyler’s harness into the bike carrier I rigged myself, kissed his golden retriever head, and hopped onto my bike. The morning sun was warm but not punishing, and the wind felt like freedom against my cheeks as I pedaled down the gravel road. Tyler sat like a king in his padded seat behind me, his tongue flopping out, tail wagging under his service vest. I’d scoped out a coffee shop a few miles away when I first came here and decided today was a good day to visit. One lavender iced drink and a little questionable BookTok escapism? Yes, please. When we rolled up, I propped my bike against the rail and unhooked Tyler. He trotted at my side like the professional he was, vest snug and eyes alert. His leash stayed tucked in my bag—I always had it just in case—but he never needed it. People watched us curiously as we stepped inside, probably because he was better behaved than most humans. The smell of espresso and steamed milk wrapped around me