Page 42 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

“What?” she asked, catching me staring.

“Nothing. Just... this is nice.”

“Even with the overcooked pasta?”

“Especially with the overcooked pasta.”

After a dessert of bakery brownies with vanilla ice cream, we cleaned up together, falling into an easy rhythm of washing and drying, bumping hips when we reached for the same dish towel, her humming something under her breath that might have been a song or might have been pure contentment.

“Coffee?” she asked, already reaching for a small gift box on the counter. “Janet brought this over earlier—apparently, she decided I needed to experience 'proper Montana coffee culture' and loaded me up with gourmet blends. There's something called 'Glacier Peak Dark Roast' that smells like it could wake the dead.”

“My sister's been waiting for an excuse to show off her coffee snobbery,” I said. “She special orders that stuff from a roastery in Missoula.”

“Well, I need someone to appreciate it with me. One cup?”

We took our coffee to the living room, where she'd managed to create a cozy seating area with Bob’s couch and a pile of quilts that looked like they'd been inherited rather than donated. She curled up in the corner, feet tucked under her, and I took the other end, careful to maintain the space between us even though closing it would have been the most natural thing in the world.

“This coffee is incredible,” she said, inhaling the steam from her mug. “Your sister has excellent taste.”

“She'll be thrilled to hear that. She's been trying to convert the whole town to her coffee standards for years.”

Cassie smiled, then grew quiet for a moment, staring into her mug like it held answers to questions she was still figuring out how to ask.

“You know,” she said finally, “two weeks ago, I never would have imagined I'd be sitting here, in my own cottage, drinking gourmet coffee and planning to teach at Everwood High.”

“I’m glad you changed your direction.”

She was quiet for a long moment, considering. “You know, when I first came to Montana, I had this very specific plan. Miller's Pass, where my mom grew up, where she worked for a few years before she met my dad. She always talked about going back there someday, maybe finishing her career there. After she died, it felt like... like fulfilling that dream was the most important thing I could do for her memory.”

“But?”

“But being here in Everwood… changed something,” she said with a rueful laugh. “When I met you, and your mom, and this whole town that just... welcomed me. I guess all the time I’ve been here, I was wondering if maybe I'd been so focused on living my mother's dream that I'd forgotten to figure out what my own dreams looked like.”

I set down my coffee, giving her my full attention. “I know it was a hard decision.”

“The hardest,” she admitted. “I still feel like I’m betraying her somehow. Like choosing Everwood over Miller's Pass meant I didn't love her enough or respect her memory.” She looked up at me, and I could see the lingering uncertainty in her eyes. “Do you think that's terrible?”

“I think,” I said carefully, “that your mom would want you to be happy. And I think sometimes the best way to honor someone's memory is to become the person they raised you to be, not necessarily to follow the exact path they imagined for you.”

“That's what my dad said when I called him this afternoon and told him I was staying here.” She smiled, but it was a little wobbly around the edges. “He told me that Mom fell in love with Miller's Pass when she was young because it represented possibility and growth and building something meaningful. And that Everwood represents all those same things for me.”

“Smart man.”

“He is.” She tucked her feet further under her, settling deeper into the couch. “The thing is, I know I made the right choice. Being here, getting to know this place and these people, accepting your mom's job offer—it all feels right in a way that Miller's Pass never quite did, even when I was planning my whole future around it.”

“No second thoughts?”

“None,” she said, and the certainty in her voice made something warm unfurl in my chest. “Well, except maybe wondering if I'm crazy for making major life decisions based on truck breakdowns and small-town hospitality.”

“If you're crazy, then this whole town is crazy for being glad you made that decision.”

“Including you?”

The question hung between us, weighted with more meaning than the simple words carried. I looked at her—hair escaping from its bun, eyes bright with coffee and candlelight, wearing an expression that was equal parts vulnerable and hopeful—and felt every careful boundary I'd been maintaining start to dissolve.

“Especially me,” I said quietly.

Her smile was radiant, transforming her whole face. “Good. Because, as I told your mother, I’m still new at this whole teaching thing. I'm pretty sure I'm going to need someone to help me figure out how to be a real teacher.”