Page 23 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

“Truthful,” I said, pointing to her sneakers. “Those are more brunch-on-a-patio than run-from-a-bear.”

Cassie stuck out her tongue at me, which felt weirdly intimate, like something you’d do with a trusted friend. Not someone you’d just recently met.

The trail narrowed, sunlight dappling through the trees. Our steps fell into an easy rhythm. She walked close, not quite touching, but near enough that I could hear her breathing. Calm. Steady.

I couldn’t help watching her out of the corner of my eye—how she moved, the way she looked up at the canopy like the grasshoppers were humming secrets she wanted to hear. The more time I spent with her, the more she surprised me. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. She had enough opinions already.

“So,” I said, needing to shake the quiet before it turned into something else. “You really weren’t planning on hiking into bear country today?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Just needed to clear my head. Thought a little fresh air and mild exertion would fix the emotional fog.”

“How’s that working out?”

“I got threatened by wildlife and called out for poor footwear. So, great. Ten out of ten.”

We both laughed again. The sound echoed a little through the trees, like even the forest approved.

Cassie slowed a bit, gaze flicking up toward the sky where a hawk circled lazily. “My mom used to hike a lot. Said it was her thinking time.”

I didn’t say anything, just let the moment settle. There was something about the way she said it—light, but with edges she didn’t smooth over.

“She wanted me to teach in Miller’s Pass,” she added, quieter now. “Always talked about me going back, following her footsteps.”

“And do you want that?”

She paused. “I thought I did. But lately...I don’t know. Maybe I want something that’s just mine, instead.”

The way she said it made something shift in my chest.

I nodded, gently. “That sounds like a pretty good reason to keep hiking. Even with bears.”

Cassie stopped mid-step to poke at something on the trail with the toe of her sneaker. “Please tell me that’s just mud and not...evidence.”

I glanced down. “Technically, both. Evidence of a bear with very healthy digestion.”

She shuddered. “I knew I should’ve taken that online Zumba class instead. Less scat, more sass.”

“You say that like bears don’t Zumba.”

She arched a brow. “Now that’s a documentary I’d watch.”

We kept walking, and though her words were light, I caught the way her fingers brushed the bear spray again, as if to double-check it hadn’t vanished. I adjusted my pace, staying just slightly ahead of her. Not because I thought we’d run into anything dangerous. Mostly because I wanted to be the one between her and it—whatever “it” was.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a little softer now. “Was this your thinking trail, too? Or just your bear patrol route?”

“Thinking trail,” I admitted. “Started coming here back when I first moved back to Everwood. After I did a few tours in the military and left the SEALs, I had a lot of baggage to work through. What better way than a few hikes through the woods? No one to answer to except for you and your thoughts. In the end, it’s where I worked out my five-year plan.”

She glanced over, curious. “And did it go according to plan?”

I snorted. “Not unless my original plan included falling off a ladder, fending off community goats, and learning how to bake gluten-free muffins.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Because it’s all true. Everwood has a way of sneak-attacking your plans with quirky chaos and baked goods.”

She smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “Sounds familiar.”

We passed a trail sign; one someone had lovingly decorated with a painted wooden birdhouse and a garland of plastic daisies. I made a mental note to thank Mrs. Dobson for her seasonal flair. This town had a way of dressing up even its warnings.