Page 71 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

“Okay.”

“I mean, really think. Without you or my dad or anyone else telling me what the right choice is.”

“I understand.”

But as she walked away, into the growing night, I wondered if she’d choose me.

Back inside my house, I sat at the kitchen table with the remains of my coffee. I’d meant to be supportive, to give her space to figure things out. But had I done that? Could I have done more, like telling her I loved her? Or would that have been too much?

The truth was, I didn’t know. Because I was in love with her, had been for months, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her leaving.

Although it was only five o’clock, the sun had set and it was well past dark, I couldn’t just sit around here and wallow in what might be. I needed something to do.

Pulling out my phone, Jordan answered on the third ring.

“For...” he didn’t finish. Instead, he mumbled something suspicious under his breath, and I chuckled.

“Still working on that 350, huh?” I knew he was. Randy’s old GMC had been fighting the new engine tooth and nail. “Need some help?” Jordan had helped me fix the tractor a few months ago. I owed him.

“How’d ya know?” Jordan laughed.

“I’m on my way.” I preferred being pinned under an engine to being here alone.

Chapter 19

Snowbound

Cassie

Ithrew myself into teaching with the focus I usually reserved for solving crossword puzzles or organizing the perfect spice rack.

Two days after Dad left, I’d been thinking about that conversation with Levi on his porch. I took slightly different routes around town and politely declined Janet’s dinner invitations because I wasn’t quite ready for her well-meaning but persistent questions about my “plans.”

The ache in my chest was like trying to remember something important but having the words dance just out of reach.

“Are you okay, Miss Grant,” Tyler observed how distracted I’d been during our morning biology lesson, his fifteen-year-old face wearing concern.

I smiled, genuinely. “Yep, just lost in thought. Just working through some things in my head.”

He nodded sagely. The rest of the class hummed in agreement, having done the same thing before, then returned their eyes to their essays. Tyler's was titled, How Mitosis Resembles My Mom's Weekly Meal Prep Process. The kid had a point—sometimes, too many options made everything more complicated than it needed to be.

I stood at a crossroads with multiple appealing paths stretching in different directions. My mind buzzed with possibilities while my stomach did tiny nervous flips. Dad’s visit had been a reminder that life was full of choices, and sometimes my brain couldn’t quite keep up with all of them. And this was the single biggest decision of my life.

“You’re capable of so much more than you realize,” he’d said the morning before he left, sitting at my kitchen table with coffee and parental pride that made my heart warm even when his words made me squirm. “I love seeing you happy here, Cassie-girl, but I also want to make sure you’re not settling when you could be soaring.”

“What if I enjoy where I am?” I’d asked, genuinely curious about his perspective.

“Then that’s wonderful. But make sure it’s a choice you’re making from confidence, not comfort. And not because there’s a chance this thing between you and Levi will work out. Your mom and I, well…what we had was special. I want that for you someday, but for now…”

The distinction had been sticking with me for days. A question worth considering. Was I staying in Everwood because it was right, or because it was safe? And was there really such a clear line between the two?

“Miss Grant?” Lily Chen's voice pulled me back to the present, where twenty-three sophomores were waiting for guidance on their ecosystem observation reports. “Should we focus more on what the organisms look like or how they behave?”

“Both,” I answered, walking over to point at the examples on the board. “Structure and behavior together tell us how something survives in its environment.”

As my students dove back into their work, I found myself looking out of the classroom window at the gray sky that had been promising snow all morning. There was something cozy about the anticipation of a storm—the way it made you grateful for warm spaces and good company. It reminded me of that night when the cottage tree fell, when what could have been a disaster had somehow turned into one of the most perfect evenings of my life.

The memory made me smile instead of making my chest tight. That was progress.