Page 78 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

The thought came without hesitation, without the careful hedging I’d been doing for months. I loved him. I loved his quiet strength and his terrible jokes. I loved how he made me feel both safe and brave.

I loved that he was out there right now, probably covered in smoke and mud, helping solve some crisis because he was the kind of person who helped.

The afternoon stretched long and quiet, filled with domestic tasks. I did laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and started a slow-cooker dinner that would be ready whenever Levi made it back into town. Normal things, routine things, the small daily choices that added up to a life.

Around four o’clock, my phone rang. Levi’s name on the screen made my heart skip.

“Hey,” I answered. “How’d the fire call go?”

“Long,” he said, and I could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Old barn about ten miles out caught fire from some faulty wiring. No injuries, but it took most of the day to get it contained.”

“I’m glad everyone’s okay.”

“Yeah, me too.” He paused, and I could hear truck doors slamming in the background, the sounds of volunteers packing up equipment. “I’m just heading back into town. I’m a mess—covered in smoke and soot and probably shouldn’t be around polite company.”

“Good thing I’m rude company,” I said, making him laugh despite his obvious tiredness.

“Want to grab dinner somewhere? Might be late, though. I need to shower off about six layers of barn fire first.”

“Actually,” I said, surprising myself with the words as they came out, “could you come by my place? I’ve got dinner in the slow cooker, and there’s something I want to tell you.”

“Everything okay?”

The concern in his voice made my chest warm. “Everything’s perfect. I just have news.”

“Good news?”

“The best news,” I said, meaning it completely.

An hour later, I was sitting on my front porch steps despite the December cold, wrapped in my winter coat and watching the street for Levi’s truck. The sun had set behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of blue and black speckled with stars. The stars and the lights of Main Street made Everwood look picture-perfect.

I’d lived in a lot of places, but I’d never felt this particular kind of anticipation. The warm expectation of sharing good news with someone you love.

When I saw his truck turn the corner, my heart did something complicated and wonderful in my chest. The vehicle was mud-splattered and obviously well-used, practical and reliable, just like the man who drove it. He parked in front of the guest house and climbed out, and even from a distance, I could see that he wasn’t exaggerating about being a mess.

His usual work clothes were streaked with soot and dirt, his face smudged with evidence of the day’s work. His boots were caked with mud, and his hair was flattened from wearing a helmet all day. He looked exhausted, gritty, and absolutely wonderful.

He also looked surprised to see me sitting outside.

“You’re going to freeze,” he said by way of greeting, walking up the front path with the careful gait of someone whose body had been through a long day of hard physical work.

I stood up from the porch swing, brushing snow off my coat as I moved to face him. “I wanted to catch you before you came in,” I said, standing up and brushing snow off my coat. “Didn’t want to wait another minute.”

Something in my tone must have signaled that this was important, because he stopped at the bottom of the porch steps and looked at me with full attention despite his obvious tiredness.

“What’s going on?”

“I turned down the Miller’s Pass job,” I said simply.

He went very still, processing the words. “You did?”

“This morning. Called them and declined the offer officially.” I stepped down from the porch, closing the distance between us until I was standing close enough to see the relief and hope cross his face.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “It was a good opportunity.”

“I’m sure.” I reached out and took his hand, ignoring that it was dirty from putting out the fire, ignoring that he probably thought he was too messy for this conversation.

His fingers closed around mine.