Page 87 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

"Volunteering with the fire department and the veterans center isn't just about giving back, though that's important. It also integrates the skills I’ve developed, leadership experience, and being part of a team. Those experiences make me feel more valuable, a part of something bigger than me, like the military."

Lily raised her hand. "Do you think someone needs a college degree to be successful?"

I looked up at this question. She was my scholastic kid. I was interested in how he'd handle something that directly related to the choices these students would eventually wrestle with.

"Success means different things to different people," Levi said carefully. "Some careers absolutely require college. You can't be a doctor or engineer without that education. But there are other paths, too. Skilled trades, entrepreneurship, military service, and apprenticeships. The important thing is being intentional about your choices and understanding that whatever path you pick, you'll need to keep learning and growing."

Perfect answer. I caught his eye and smiled, hoping he could see how proud I was of the way he was connecting with my students.

A boy named Jake raised his hand. "What would you tell someone who doesn't know what they want to do yet?" His parents wanted him to go to college, but Jake and I had a few talks because he wants to build cars. He has a natural knack for engines, having fixed my truck already once this year. He heard the problem before I knew it was one. He loved hanging out at Jason’s garage after school, much to his parents' dismay.

"That's completely normal," Levi said, and I saw several students visibly relax. "I didn't know what I wanted to do when I joined the military. I discovered that through the technical training I received. The key is staying open to opportunities and being willing to try things that challenge you."

"One more question," I announced as the clock approached the end of the period.

"Mr. Marshall," Marcus said, "what's the most important thing you've learned?"

I found myself holding my breath. Levi glanced around the classroom, drumming his fingers once on the desk as he took in my biology posters, the faces waiting for his response, and then at me with an expression that made my heart flutter.

"Community matters more than anything else," he said finally. "Whatever career you choose, whatever path you take, surround yourself with people who support your growth and who you're willing to support in return. Find a place where you can contribute something meaningful, even if it's not the biggest or most famous place in the world. Build relationships based on trust and mutual respect. Everything else matters less than being part of something bigger than yourself. You need to find your people."

The students nodded thoughtfully, and I could see them processing this idea. When the bell rang and they filed out with their usual controlled chaos, several stopped to thank Levi and ask follow-up questions about military service or trade work.

After they left, I approached him with a smile that felt too big for my face.

"That was perfect," I said, straightening his collar in a gesture that had become as natural as breathing. "You gave them exactly what they needed to hear."

"They're good kids."

"They are. And you're good with them." I paused, studying his face. Then the thought popped into my head. I wonder if he’d ever thought of having kids of his own. The question surprised me. We'd been together for only a few months, but something about watching him with my students had crystallized thoughts I hadn't considered recently. Hmm, a thought I will have to think about, but for now, I’m thinking lunch and more paper grading.

The rest of the school day passed relatively quickly. It was routine and familiar. Levi headed back to help at the veterans' center while I finished my day with biology students and tons of caffeine. At the end of the day, Levi came over to help me with a bookshelf that I tried to put together on my own.

“I think we can both agree I’m not meant for building bookshelves,” I said as a way of greeting when Levi walked in and paused, looking at the lopsided modern art piece I tried to build.

“Stop building things,” he snickered. “It’s harder to rebuild them after you’ve placed,” he paused, “your particular creative touch on the poor item.” He laughed and kissed the top of my forehead.

We were so comfortable and content, dividing our time between our houses, staying late until sleep begged for attention, and eventually parting ways until tomorrow. It was a life that felt both ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. Ordinary in its daily rhythms, its small domestic rituals, its predictable patterns of work and meals and evening conversations. Extraordinary in how right it felt, how perfectly we'd learned to move around each other, how natural it had become to plan tomorrow around we instead of me.

Later that evening, as we cooked dinner together in my kitchen, I found myself humming without realizing it, tasting and adjusting seasonings with the unconscious confidence I’d developed after learning how to cook, thanks to Kathy and Janet’s expertise.

"You're staring," I sing-songed without looking up from the stove, feeling his eyes on me—something he always did when I hummed while cooking or grading papers.

"I'm appreciating."

"Appreciating what? My messy hair or the splatters on my apron?"

"Both. You."

I turned to look at him, my chest tightening when I noticed his tussled hair and rugged clothes. He’d been helping one of the newer veterans get settled with his service dog. PTSD is a real thing, and Daniel, the service dog, was helping his owner, Ace, through it all.

After dinner, we settled on the couch with hot chocolate and popcorn while we watched Battleship, one of my favorites. Outside, February snow fell in lazy spirals past the window, but inside felt warm and exactly right. I cuddled into Levi’s shoulder with his arm over mine. It was the perfect night.

"Janet stopped by the school today," I said, curling up against his side with my mug cradled in both hands. I tapped my fingers anxiously on the ceramic. "She's planning something for Valentine's Day."

Levi paused the movie. "Define 'something,'" he said, and I laughed at his wary tone. He'd learned to be cautious of Janet's party-planning enthusiasm.

"Dinner at the inn. Nothing fancy, she says, just a nice evening for couples in town." I grinned. "She also mentioned that David is finally coming home for a visit." I sang the last part.