Page 75 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

At least snow problems had solutions. Good tires, patience, common sense. Not like whatever was going on between Cassie and me.

Main Street was mostly empty except for a few folks who had to be out. Mac was shoveling the sidewalk in front of the diner with the stubborn determination of a man who was going to serve coffee no matter what the weather did. I waved as I passed. Some things were too important to close for a blizzard. Coffee included.

Cassie’s street hadn’t seen a plow yet. I parked as close as I could get and waded through snow that came up to my knees, my boots breaking through the crust into the soft stuff underneath.

The building looked solid—no ice hanging off the gutters, no obvious problems. But when I got to the front steps, I could hear music coming from her house. Something soft and fun.

I knocked on her door, three gentle raps.

“Just a minute,” came her voice from inside.

When the door opened, Cassie appeared wearing oversized sweatpants and a flannel shirt, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked happy and content.

“Hey,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture I recognized as a nervous habit. “What are you doing out in this weather?”

“Making sure everyone survived the storm,” I said, which was true but not complete. “How are you holding up? House staying warm?”

She stepped back to let me in, and I took in the space that had become familiar over the past few weeks. Everything looked cozy, with the soft lighting and the way she’d arranged her donated furniture to create something that looked homelike.

“I’m fine,” she said, closing the door behind me. “Heat’s working, power never went out. I’ve got enough food for a week.”

Her smile reached straight through me, gentle and reassuring. It was like a warmth melting through winter’s edge.

“That’s good,” I said, unwinding my scarf and hanging it on the hook by her door. “Mind if I check a few things? Make sure everything’s running right after the storm?”

It was a thin excuse, and we both knew it, but she nodded anyway, apparently glad for the company.

I went through the motions of checking the guest house—ran the faucets, checked the windows, looked at the heaters—while she made coffee. She needed something to do with her hands, I could tell. The apartment was fine. Warm, dry, everything working. But something was different with Cassie.

“Everything looks good,” I reported, accepting the mug she offered. “You shouldn’t have any problems even if the power goes out.”

“I know, you checked it before my dad came, remember?” she said, laughing, settling on the opposite end of the couch from where I sat. “Thanks for checking. For coming by.”

We drank our coffee in silence. Outside, a breeze was picking up, snow flurrying off the branches of the trees.

“How long do you think before the roads clear?” she asked, smiling slightly, making small talk.

“A day or two, probably. Depends on when the county crews can get to the back roads.” I studied her profile, noting how the tension she had carried the last few days had melted from her shoulders, and how she seemed to be holding herself taller. “You look...content.”

She turned to face me, and her smile was soft but radiant. “I've been thinking about what you said. About whether this is something worth staying for.”

My heart did a complicated dance between hope and caution. “And?”

“I know.” She set down her coffee mug and curled her legs up on the couch, but instead of the defensive posture I expected, she was open, relaxed. “Dad came and said all the things I thought I wanted to hear about opportunities and potential. But sitting there, listening to him paint this picture of the life he thought I should want...” She shook her head, laughing softly. “All I could think about was how much I'd miss Tyler’s terrible biology puns and Mrs. Henderson bringing me soup when I'm sick and the way the mountains look when the morning light hits them just right.”

The knot in my chest was unwinding. “So, you're staying?”

“I'm staying.” Her eyes found mine, bright with certainty and something else that made my breath catch. “But first, I need to do something. Will you drive me somewhere?”

“In this weather? Cassie, the roads⁠—"

“I need to see the cottage,” she said, and there was determination in her voice, but also peace. “I need to say goodbye to who I was when I lived there so I can fully embrace who I am now. Ready to commit.”

The drive was treacherous but manageable, my truck cutting through snow that sparkled like scattered diamonds in the sunlight. Cassie was quiet beside me, but it wasn't the heavy silence of someone wrestling with a decision. She was present, content, occasionally pointing out how beautiful the storm had made everything.

“I used to be afraid of storms,” she said as we crawled down the mountain road. “Mom always said they were nature's way of clearing the air, making space for new growth.”

“Smart woman.”