Page 21 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that you recruiting for the town council?”

He laughed, and the sound felt like a balm. “Just speaking from experience.”

I didn’t respond, not directly. Instead, I looked out over the lake, letting the last sliver of sunlight paint the water in gold. My fingers curled tighter around the coffee mug, now empty but still warm.

I didn’t know yet if I was ready to give up on Miller’s Pass. But maybe, just maybe, I was ready to admit I was no longer running toward it.

Not if something steadier—something real—was already here.

The air cooled as twilight deepened, brushing my arms with a chill I hadn’t noticed before. I folded them over my knees, but I didn’t move. Levi sat beside me, hands resting loosely on his legs, his gaze fixed on the horizon like he could read the answers there.

I glanced over. “You’re quiet again.”

“Just taking in the moment,” he said with a half-grin. “It’s a good one.”

It was. A moment I’d overlooked in all my planning—it snuck up and settled into my bones.

I ran a thumb over the seam of my jeans. “I always thought I needed a plan. A goal, a timeline. Some structure to hold the chaos.”

“And does it?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” I said. “But lately, it just feels like I’m dragging something behind me that doesn’t quite fit anymore.”

He was quiet again. He never disappeared into silence; he just made room in it. I appreciated that.

Levi picked up one last stone and held it out to me. “Your turn.”

I took it, surprised by the gesture. The stone was smooth and flat. Skipping-perfect.

“I’m terrible at this,” I warned.

“Doesn’t matter. Just try.”

I stood, brushing off my jeans, then took a breath and hurled the stone with a flick. It plopped straight into the water without a single bounce. I groaned. “Told you.”

He chuckled, rising beside me. “Effort counts.”

We stood there, side by side, watching the ripples fade into the lake’s surface. I wanted to say something—to put words around the strange ache forming in my chest—but all I managed was, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this,” I said, motioning toward the lake, the blanket, the thermos between us. “For letting me talk. For not making it weird.”

Levi’s expression softened. “It’s not weird. It’s real. And I’m glad you did.”

I met his eyes, and for a second, the world around us stilled. Just the sound of the lake, the creak of trees shifting in the wind, and him. Right here. Uncomplicated, but not simple.

He broke the moment with a gentle smile. “Ready to head back?”

I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah.”

We packed up in silence, folding the blanket between us. When our hands brushed, I didn’t pull away right away. He didn’t either.

As we walked back to the parking area, dusk settling around us like a blanket, I realized I wasn’t leaving the lake with answers. But I was leaving with something better—a possibility.

Not certainty. Not a decision. But the faintest sense that maybe, just maybe, my future didn’t have to look the way it’d been mapped.

Maybe it could look like this. Like Everwood. Like standing beside someone who listens before speaking. Like skipping stones and getting it wrong—and still being glad you tried.