Page 12 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

He held up a hand, solemn. “On my honor. His name was Carl. He wore a bow tie.”

That did it. I broke into a giggle-snort that made me cover my face. “This town is big on poultry-related events, I take it.”

Levi chuckled beside me. “You snort. That’s excellent intel.”

“Do not use it against me,” I warned, trying and failing to compose myself.

“No promises.”

As we drove down Main Street, the storefronts looked welcoming. The florist’s window had tiny twinkle lights woven through buckets of dahlias. The hardware store displayed a neon sign that read, “Fix it or fudge it!”—and I made a mental note to come back just to see what that meant before I picked up my truck and headed out.

Levi didn’t say much, but I felt the way his presence filled the space between us—steady, calm, he was a guy who didn’t need to perform to be noticed. I wasn’t used to that. Most people either pushed their way in or hovered on the edges. Levi just...existed. And somehow, that mattered.

He pulled up in front of the inn, headlights brushing the porch steps. I hesitated before unbuckling.

“Thanks again,” I said. “For dinner. And for not making it weird.”

His smile crooked. “You mean except for the part where I fed you steak and told you goat stories?”

“Those were a bonus.”

He climbed out and circled the truck just as I opened the door. Our hands met briefly on the frame—his rough and warm. It was barely a touch, but something passed between us. Not lightning, not drama—just...a beat. A little one.

“You’re easy to be around,” I said before I could think better of it.

He blinked, just once. “So are you.”

I smiled, then turned toward the steps, heart ticking faster than it should. The porch light flickered once above me, like the town was winking.

Everwood, I thought. What are you doing to me?

The inn’s porch creaked beneath my boots as I stepped up, that full-belly, warm-cheeked contentment settling in somewhere near my collarbone. I paused at the top step, letting the quiet settle over me. Behind me, Levi lingered by the truck, one hand on the door, the other in his pocket, not quite ready to leave.

“Night,” I said, soft but clear.

“Night, Cassie.”

He said it like he meant it—like my name was a comfortable thing to say. I gave a small wave, then turned the knob and slipped inside.

Janet had dimmed the lobby lights, but it still smelled like cinnamon and maybe apple cider, and the lamp on the side table was a gentle nudge toward sleep. I leaned against the door for a beat, pressing my palm to the cool wood.

Will’s had been delicious. The cornbread did, in fact, deserve its own holiday. But it wasn’t just the food.

It was Levi’s quiet teasing, the way he held eye contact just a beat longer than expected. The way he made space instead of filling it with chatter. He didn’t poke or pry, just listened. And smiled. That dangerous, slow-developing smile that snuck up on you like sunrise through lace curtains.

Upstairs, my boots sounded louder than usual on the creaky floor. When I got to my room, I found the lamp already on—Janet’s doing, no doubt. I folded Mom’s scarf neatly on the back of the chair, kicked off my boots, and sat on the edge of the bed.

A flicker of motion outside the window caught my eye.

I stood, tugging the curtain back an inch.

Levi was still out there, leaning against his truck; he didn’t appear to have anywhere better to be. His arms were crossed now; head tipped back like he was listening to the stars. Or maybe just thinking. I watched him for one long moment, something warm and dangerous unfurling in my chest.

Then, as if he felt it, he turned.

His gaze shifted—just for a second—and met mine through the glass.

I didn’t duck.