Page 3 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

"Want me to call ahead?"

"No, it's okay. I'll walk." Walking felt like something I could control.

I opened the back door and pulled out my suitcase. The handle stuck. The wheels clunked over every crack in the sidewalk. It felt poetic, if poetry came with squeaky wheels and poorly timed emotional spirals.

I passed the diner, pausing long enough to catch my reflection. Wind-tangled hair, cardigan askew, expression set somewhere between determined and dazed.

"This is not the plan," I muttered. But plans bend. Sometimes, they have to snap first. And sometimes...they roll into a town with pinecones on the welcome sign and no idea what's coming next.

I didn't mean to keep talking to her out loud. It just slipped out.

"Well, Mom," I said softly, pausing under the flashing "open" light outside the diner, "you did say I'd need to learn how to roll with things."

If she were here, she'd give me that look—the one with the raised eyebrow and the half-smile, like she was waiting for me to figure out the obvious. She used to say I treated plans like sacred scrolls. "Cassie, life's not a syllabus. It's a group project with pop quizzes and no snacks."

I smiled despite myself.

A memory crept in—her standing in the kitchen, covered in flour and swearing the bread dough was "possessed." The loaf never rose. She warmed up some frozen rolls left over from Thanksgiving and declared victory because at least the smoke alarm didn't go off that time.

That's what I missed most—the ridiculous, imperfect, perfectly human moments.

The ache hit, sharp and quiet. But it didn't knock me flat like it used to. It settled in beside me instead, like an old friend who lets you be silent and doesn't try to cheer you up immediately.

The inn came into view: a whitewashed three-story Victorian house with window boxes clinging to stubborn October blooms and gingerbread lining the edge of the roof. The porch light glowed warm against the twilight. A brass bell jingled as I stepped inside.

The lobby smelled like cinnamon and lemon polish: comfort and clean laundry. A woman popped up from behind the counter, her hair piled into a bun that seemed determined to escape.

"You must be Cassie, the one Jordan warned me about." Her voice was cheerful, like she'd been waiting just for me.

I blinked. "That obvious?"

"Only to someone who knows a girl in transit when she sees one." She reached into a drawer and pulled out a brass key. "Room two. Flowered wallpaper, lace curtains, and a view of the diner in case you decide comfort food is the answer to life."

"Isn't it always?"

She laughed. "I'm Janet, by the way. You look like you could use a moment to breathe. Cookies are in the oven. When you're ready, I'll point you to the diner. Can't miss it, since you passed it on the way here. Best burgers in Everwood. Unless you feel adventurous, we've got a few other places to eat."

My shoulders eased. "Thanks."

"No thanks needed. Just breathe."

The room she led me to made me want to call someone and say, "Guess what?" I landed somewhere good. There was a patchwork quilt on the bed, a vase of dried lavender on the nightstand, and an armchair by the window with a crocheted blanket folded just so.

I closed the door behind me and sank onto the bed. My suitcase sat unopened, a quiet reminder that nothing had gone to plan. But for the first time, that didn't feel like failure.

It felt like the start of something else. Something...not planned.

And maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing.

By the time I changed into clean jeans and pulled Mom's scarf around my neck, the town outside had shifted entirely into evening. Warm porch lights glowed. The wind carried the scent of pine and something buttery from the diner across the street.

I hesitated at the door of the inn, hand on the knob.

"You've got this," I murmured, more out of habit than certainty.

The street was quiet, not empty—just content. A couple walked past, hand in hand. Laughter echoed faintly from somewhere near the hardware store. The town didn't feel like it was trying to impress me. It just...was. And that, oddly, made it harder to dismiss.

As I neared the diner, a movement across the street caught my eye.