Page 4 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

It was him.

The man from the garage—not Jordan, the other one. His short brown hair, clean-shaven face, and the smirk on his lips made me want to smile. Yep, it’s the same man. He leaned against a red pickup, chatting with someone holding a fishing pole and a to-go cup, as if that was a typical pairing. His stance was easy, like he had all the time in the world. Like the air in Everwood moved slowly around him.

He laughed at something the other man said, then looked my way.

Our eyes met, just for a second. He didn't stare. Didn't smile. Just gave a nod—a subtle, grounded nod that said, You're fine. You made it. Keep going.

I blinked first. Of course I did.

When I looked again, he'd turned back to his friend. Conversation resumed like I was just one more thread in a town full of them.

I stepped into the diner. The bell over the door chimed. The warmth hit first—heat, French fries, and the low hum of a jukebox playing something country and old enough to be vintage. Booths lined the windows, a waitress in leopard-print leggings balanced three plates like a magician, and a baby in the corner gurgled at a string of holiday lights someone had already put up. Or left up. It was only the beginning of October, after all.

This wasn't a stop. It was a slice of someone else's life, and somehow, I'd wandered into the middle of it.

I ordered a coffee to go, then slid into a booth and waited.

Everwood wasn't where I was supposed to be.

But maybe it was where something else—something real—was about to begin.

Chapter 2

Tow Trucks and First Impressions

Levi

The garage was quiet except for Jordan humming off-key to something old and twangy, a socket wrench clicking in a steady rhythm in his hand. I leaned against the bay door, sipping the last of my lukewarm coffee and pretending I wasn't already itching for an excuse to ditch.

Then came the low rumble of Tim's tow truck. Jordan didn't even glance up.

"Either that's the part I ordered for that Suburban, or someone's about to become Everwood's latest attraction."

I straightened, just in time to see Tim hop out and wave like we hadn't just seen him yesterday. Then the passenger door swung open, and out she stepped.

Red hair—long, wind-tossed, and wildly defiant. She moved like someone determined not to be impressed by her own bad luck. Her boots hit gravel with a thunk that made Jordan pause mid-wrench.

"Well," he said, under his breath. "Looks like fate got tired of waiting and dropped her off at the curb."

"Fate's got great timing," I muttered, but I didn't take my eyes off her.

She was small, sure, but not fragile. There was a steel thread running straight through her spine, even if her hand shook just the tiniest bit when she reached for the suitcase. I stayed back in the shadow of the shop—close enough to watch, far enough we didn't all crowd her. I knew that look. Pride mixed with exhaustion. It's a cocktail we've all had to choke down at one time or another.

Jordan elbowed me, grinning. "You've got that look again."

"What look?"

"The 'maybe I'll fall in love at the garage' look. Don't do it, Levi. We're still recovering from the yoga instructor debacle."

"She wasn't a yoga instructor," I muttered. "She sold artisanal birdseed."

"Same difference. I'm still finding millet in my glovebox."

The redhead talked to Tim, then Jordan, then she disappeared toward the street, suitcase bumping along like a reluctant dance partner. She didn't glance back once.

"She's headin' toward Janet's," Tim said, watching her retreating figure with the vague reverence of someone watching a comet.

"Only place in town I'd dare send anyone to. Remember the couple I sent to Dawn's place a few weeks ago? Janet's still giving me crap about it. Jordan smirked. "And it looks like you're playing 'Welcome Wagon.'"