Page 7 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

Will's Steakhouse greeted us with the comforting scent of sizzling butter and charred spices. The walls were covered in vintage license plates, old-timey lanterns, and a truly offensive collection of singing fish plaques. Cassie's eyebrows lifted as she took it all in.

"This place has...personality."

"Quaint Everwood charm," I said. "Or what happens when Will gets unsupervised access to eBay?"

A hostess named Sherry, who'd been my third-grade babysitter and still pinched my cheek if I got within range, spotted us and waved like we were overdue for a family reunion. "Levi! Look at you, bringing someone new to dinner!"

Cassie turned to me slowly. "You didn't tell me this was a whole-town event."

I scratched the back of my neck. "In Everwood, two people eating at the same table constitutes breaking news."

Sherry leaned on the podium, all grins and gentle mischief. "I'll put you two in the corner booth. Romantic, but not suspicious. Unless ya want it to be, I can pull down the 'cone of silence' if need be."

"Just the booth, Sherry."

Cassie shot me a side-eye. "Do you come here often enough to have a designated seating preference?"

"Let's just say I've endured enough awkward set-ups in that booth to know the angle of the lighting makes everyone look 15% more dateable."

That got a genuine laugh from her—quick, warm, unguarded.

We slid into the booth while Sherry dropped off menus and a pair of waters with lemon wedges "for class." I saw Cassie's gaze linger on the hand-carved menu holder shaped like a moose.

"This moose is staring into my soul."

"He's judging your choice of sides. Go with the baked mac and cheese, and you'll earn his respect."

She tilted her head at me, grinning. "You're dangerously good at this small-town banter."

"Only skill I've got. That and wrangling raccoons out of attics."

The waitress, Belle—seventeen, with a pink streak in her hair, and the speed of someone double-shifting for prom fund money—appeared to take our order. Cassie asked for a ribeye, medium, with baked mac and cheese and sautéed green beans. Belle scribbled with one hand while texting under the table with the other.

"I'll have the same," I said. "You don't have to order the cornbread," I whispered loudly. "Goes without sayin' here at Will's."

Belle nodded, already halfway to the kitchen before I finished.

Cassie sipped her water. "You really know everyone here, don't you?"

"It's part of the charm-slash-hazard. If I sneeze, three people call to bless me and one drops off chicken soup."

She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. "I can see how that might feel...claustrophobic."

I shrugged. "It's a tradeoff. Sure, there's no privacy. But there's also no pretense."

We sat in the easy hush that sometimes falls when words don't need hurrying. Outside the window, fairy lights twinkled along the eaves. A kid pressed his face to the glass beside us, peering in like we were part of a diorama. Cassie waved at him. He bolted, giggling.

She turned back, her smile soft but surprised.

"Everwood," I said. "Where the locals come preassembled with curiosity and casserole recipes."

She chuckled, nodding. "Starting to think this place might grow on me."

By the time the cornbread hit the table—steaming, golden, with a crisp crust that crackled under butter—Cassie looked fully converted to the Church of Will's Steakhouse.

"You weren't kidding," she murmured, breaking off a piece and letting it melt against her tongue. "This is...possibly a religious experience."

I grinned. "Told you. Everwood's finest sacrament."