Page 37 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

And maybe, deep down, I had.

Because something about the peeling paint seemed charming and homey.

The road to Bob’s cottage curved gently out of town, narrowing as pine trees thickened around us like sentinels standing guard. Levi rolled down his window, and the breeze swept in, carrying pine, damp moss, and that sharp, clean scent you only get when you’re nowhere near traffic.

He pointed just ahead. “There she is.”

I leaned forward as the cottage came into view—a squat little structure tucked between two hulking pines, its roof dappled with patches of sun and shadow. The porch welcomed me, and ivy had started to creep up one corner, making a slow but determined takeover bid. It was quiet, wrapped in stillness.

Levi pulled up to the front and killed the engine. “You ready?”

“Not remotely,” I said, but I climbed out anyway.

The porch creaked underfoot as we climbed the steps. Levi tested the railing with a hand. “A little wobbly. But I can fix it.”

I ran my fingers along the weathered wood, surprised by how solid it felt beneath the surface wear. “It’s got personality,” I said.

“Is that your polite way of saying ‘fixer-upper’?”

“No, she’s got a solid foundation and a delightful story to tell.”

He crouched to retrieve a key from beneath a flowerpot that had long given up on flowers, then unlocked the door. It groaned open, and we stepped inside.

Dust danced in slants of late-afternoon light. The living room was small, with a stone fireplace at one end and worn floorboards that creaked with every step. But there was charm here—under the quiet and the cobwebs, a heartbeat.

Levi moved ahead, flipping light switches that didn’t respond. “Electric’s off, but easily turned back on. Just off for the summer. But everything’s intact. Plumbing works, water heater’s good. I checked it last month when Bob asked me to winterize.”

I wandered into the kitchen, where an old farmhouse sink sat beneath a wide window. The counters were scratched but sturdy, and a lone ceramic mug sat upside down near the edge, like someone had left it behind in a hurry.

“I could see myself here,” I sighed with contentment. My fingers trailed over the window ledge. “I mean... not immediately. It needs a little work. A lot of cleaning. But there’s space, light, and a tale I can’t wait to hear.”

I closed my eyes for a second, letting the late-afternoon sun warm my face through the glass. And just like that, I was eight years old again, standing on a rickety step stool in my parents’ kitchen while Mom attempted to flip pizza dough in the air “like the real pros do.”

It had gone about as well as you’d expect.

Eight lopsided lumps of dough ended up everywhere—on the floor, stuck to the cabinets, one perfectly folded over the toaster. The last one sailed up and didn’t come down. We stared at the ceiling in silence until Dad emerged from the garage with a ladder and a paint scraper, muttering something about “just ordering delivery next time.”

Mom laughed so hard she cried.

And I laughed too, because in that moment, surrounded by chaos and flour and the smell of shredded mozzarella, the world had felt full.

I opened my eyes, blinking back the memory. The kitchen in this cottage wasn’t fancy. It didn’t have granite countertops or shiny appliances. But it had space for moments like that. It didn’t care about perfection, just togetherness.

“I think I could make something here,” I said softly, more to myself than to Levi.

Levi leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “It’s not the suburbs. But it’s got soul.”

I nodded, still looking around. “And dust. So much dust.”

“We’ll add that to your to-do list. Right under ‘Name the spiders.’”

I glanced back at him, a reluctant smile tugging at my mouth. “You’d help me fix a few things?”

His brow arched in answer. “Course I would. What kind of fishing-partner-turned-friend would I be if I let you battle this place solo?”

I turned in a slow circle. The cottage whispered, Start here.

By the time we stepped back onto the porch, the sun was slipping lower, painting the trees in soft amber light. The breeze rustled the pine needles above us, calling me home.