Page 17 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

Her eyes sparkled with something new—mischief, maybe. Or trust.

“Too late,” she said, starting toward the exit. “Pretty sure she’s already plotting your duet with a goat.”

“Again?”

We stepped out into the sunlight, the fresh mountain air bracing after the heavy quiet inside. Cassie glanced back once, the prison’s walls shadowed behind her. I watched her take a deep breath.

The prison’s gift shop was trying very hard to be charming. Someone had made a valiant effort with a pine-scented candle and a display of “Haunted History” mugs, but it still smelled faintly like dust and regret.

Cassie paused by the postcard rack, flipping through faded photos of stone walls and stern-looking wardens. “You ever actually bought anything in here?” she asked, holding up one with a ghost graphic and the caption Do Time in Montana.

“Only when my neighbor’s kid needed a last-minute birthday gift.” I pointed to a snow globe with a tiny noose inside. “He loved it. His mom, not so much.”

She shook her head, smiling. “Everwood is...different.”

I grinned. “We try.”

Cassie moved on to a shelf of prison-made soap—lavender bars stamped with little license plate shapes. She picked one up and sniffed. “Not bad. If you ignore the existential dread.”

“I hear the peppermint one helps ward off ghosts.”

“That’s what the milk was for last night,” she shot back, and I laughed, surprised by how easily she volleyed now. She was loosening, letting herself enjoy the ridiculous charm of it all, even if her scarf was still wound tight.

“Look,” I said, pointing to a guestbook on the counter. “You can rate your ghost experience.”

She leaned over, reading aloud. “‘Felt a chill, heard a whisper. Might’ve been the wind or my ex-boyfriend’s bad energy.’” She blinked. “Five stars.”

“Everwood attracts only the finest hauntings.”

She grinned, then paused. “You said earlier that your mom’s trying to keep me here. Is that just matchmaking, or…”

I shrugged, leaning on the counter beside her. “A little of both. Small towns do that. We get attached fast.”

Her fingers brushed a keychain shaped like a jail cell. “And you? Are you...attached?”

“To you?” I asked, risking a smile.

“To this place,” she corrected, but her cheeks flushed pink.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I am. Everwood’s not perfect. But it’s where I belong. Born and raised.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, slow and thoughtful, letting the truth of that sink in.

Outside, the wind kicked up a swirl of leaves against the truck. I opened the door for her, and as she climbed in, she glanced at me over her shoulder.

“Thanks for the tour, Levi.”

“Anytime.” I hesitated, then added, “Even if you’re just passing through.”

The drive back was easy. Comfortable silence broken by the occasional joke about haunted soap and goat-themed fundraisers. But when we pulled up in front of the inn, Cassie lingered in the passenger seat, her fingers tracing the seam of the seat.

“You know,” she said, “I might have to come back here. That gift shop still owes me a decent magnet.”

I looked at her, steady. “You’ve got time. No rush. And Miller’s Pass is just a few hours away.”

She nodded, smiled, then slipped out and shut the door. I watched her climb the steps, pause at the porch, then glance back.

A look passed between us—warm, quiet, unsure. But hopeful.