Page 16 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

I leaned on the railing beside her, letting our shoulders nearly touch. Not quite. But close enough to feel it. “Some towns change you. Some just let you slow down.”

Her expression softened, the wind tugging at a strand of hair that brushed my arm. “And which is this?”

“Little of both, maybe.”

For once, she didn’t deflect with a joke. Just nodded, quiet, thoughtful. And for the first time, I wondered if she could see herself staying—not because of my matchmaking mother, but for this. This view. This stillness. Maybe even this moment.

We stood there a little too long, and neither of us minded.

Back on solid ground, Cassie lingered near the cellblock while I rattled off trivia about prison escapes and guard dogs with a flair that would've made my high school drama teacher proud.

“Let me guess,” she said, eyeing a plaque on the wall, “you were voted Most Likely to Lead a Historical Tour Dressed as an Outlaw?”

“Second place. First went to a guy who stole a mascot costume from the high school and ran the mile in it. Although when the sheriff put him in the back of Everwood’s one patrol car, he claimed he’d just borrowed the costume. No Shakespeare in the park in town, so that kind of thing passes for entertainment.”

She laughed again—different this time. Unguarded. Forgetting for a second that this was temporary.

“I was definitely not that fun in high school,” she said, peering into a cell. “More the ‘perfect attendance and mild anxiety’ type.”

“Tragic. We could’ve been best friends. I was the quiet guy who fixed everyone’s science projects and got roped into prom setup.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Let me guess—mood lighting and structurally sound balloon arches?”

“Exactly. Romance with safety precautions.”

Cassie leaned against the bars of an old cell door, her arms folded. “So, what’s the appeal of this place? The prison, I mean.”

“Grit. Ghosts. Plaques that nobody reads.” I stepped beside her. “Also, it’s weirdly peaceful. I’ve always felt like the place is tired of being scary and just wants to be part of the scenery.”

She looked up at me then, eyes soft but wary. “And you? You tired of being scary?”

“Never was.” I nudged her shoulder with mine. “You just think I’m brooding because I don’t talk as much as Tim.”

“That’s a low bar.”

We both laughed, the sound echoing off the stone. She turned to the next cell, peeking in and seeming to be cataloging memories that didn’t belong to her.

“Does it bother you?” she asked, suddenly quieter. “Everyone thinks they know you better than you know yourself?”

I thought about it. Shrugged. “Not really. You learn to stop explaining yourself after a while. Either people see you or they don’t.”

Cassie looked at me like she saw more than I was letting on, which—annoyingly—might’ve been true.

“Still,” she said, tugging her scarf a little tighter, “I bet you’re full of secrets.”

“Only the fun kind.”

“Like?”

I leaned in, lowering my voice. “I can do a perfect chicken impression.”

Her grin broke instantly. “Liar.”

“I swear. But I only perform under extreme duress—weddings, barn dances, awkward small-town fundraisers.”

“Tragic. If only there were a fundraiser coming up…”

I groaned. “Don’t give my mother ideas.”