Page 64 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

“Nonsense. Everyone dances. You just haven’t had the right partner yet.”

She left before I could argue further, but not before unzipping the garment bag just enough to reveal a flash of deep blue fabric that looked suspiciously like it might actually fit me.

The rest of my day was punctuated by similar “casual” visits. Before I left for school, the crochet cult descended. Dot from the bakery stopped by to mention that she’d heard the music would be lovely— “Perfect for slow dancing,” she added with a meaningful look. Mrs. Henderson handed me a small bottle of perfume that she claimed was “extra”, but still had the price tag attached, when I picked up my usual morning coffee from the diner.

By the time Kathy appeared at my classroom after school with a makeup bag and an expression of determined helpfulness, I’d figured out what was happening.

“This is an ambush,” I said, watching her set what appeared to be a professional cosmetic kit on my desk.

“This is community spirit,” she corrected, waving a tube of mascara like a baton. “Leave the papers behind. We’re going back to your place so I can work my magic. You have beautiful eyes, but they could use a little help.”

Obedient to the commands of my principal, I drove straight home, leaving my satchel beneath my desk for the night. I was showered and dressed less than an hour later, and Kathy was ready to go to work.

“Kathy, I appreciate whatever this is, but I’m perfectly capable of⁠—”

“Of what? Hiding in your little house reading labs while the rest of us have fun?” She fixed me with the kind of look that had probably terrified generations of high school students. “Cassie, honey, you’ve been through a lot these past few months. You deserve an evening of music and dancing and forgetting about everything except enjoying yourself.”

It was hard to argue with that logic, especially when she was wielding an eyeliner pencil with the confidence of someone who’d clearly done this before.

“Besides,” she added, her voice taking on that particular tone mothers used when they were about to reveal their real agenda, “Levi will be there.”

“So?”

“So, nothing,” she said innocently. “I just thought you might like to know.”

An hour later, I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror, wondering who the woman looking back at me was. The dress Janet had brought was perfect—a deep royal blue that brought out my eyes and fit like it had been made for me, which it probably had been by someone in town who’d somehow acquired my measurements through mysterious small-town channels.

My hair, which usually lived in a practical ponytail, had been coaxed into soft waves that actually stayed where they were supposed to. Kathy’s makeup artistry had transformed my face into something that looked like me, but more polished, more confident. More like someone who belonged at a Winter Social instead of grading papers in sweatpants.

I almost didn’t recognize myself. And surprisingly, I liked what I saw.

The Everwood Community Center had been transformed into something from a fairy tale. White lights were strung everywhere, casting a warm, magical glow over tables covered in crisp linens. The stage at one end of the room hosted a small band whose members I recognized from around town—Mac from the diner on guitar, Sarah the librarian on fiddle, and surprisingly, Tim the tow truck driver behind a drum kit.

The whole thing was so perfectly, charmingly Everwood that I felt my last bit of resistance melt away. This wasn’t an ambush. It was a gift.

“Cassie!” Emma Martin appeared at my elbow, looking adorable in a red dress and shiny shoes. “You look so pretty! Are you going to dance with Mr. Marshall?”

“I—what? How do you even know about⁠—”

“Everyone knows,” she said matter-of-factly. “Mom says you two are courting, like in the old movies.”

Before I could process this revelation, a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned to find Levi standing behind me, and the sight of him in a navy-blue button-down shirt and turquoise bolo tie made my mouth go dry.

“Hi,” he said, his voice carrying that slightly rough edge that made my knees weak.

“Hi yourself.”

He looked good. Really good. The dark blue shirt brought out his eyes, and his hair was styled just enough to suggest he’d made an effort without looking overdone. But it was the way he was looking at me—like I was something wonderful he hadn’t expected to find—that made my heart do complicated acrobatics in my chest.

“You look...” he started, then stopped, seeming to search for words.

“Different?” I suggested, suddenly self-conscious about the dress and the makeup and the hair that had taken Kathy twenty minutes to perfect.

“Beautiful,” he said simply. “You look beautiful.”

Before I could fumble through a thank you, Janet appeared beside us with the efficiency of a social coordinator who’d been planning this moment for weeks.

“Wonderful, you’re both here,” she said, as if there had been any doubt. “Cassie, you’re at table three. Levi, what a coincidence, you’re also at table three.”