“Then why?” Her voice was soft, genuinely curious.
Because you asked. Because you believed I could. Because I want to be the kind of man who deserves that belief.
“Because you were right,” he said instead. “I’ve been hiding. And I’m tired of it.”
Her breath caught. She looked up at him with those wide green eyes, and he had to physically restrain himself from closing the distance between them. His body was screaming at him—touch her, hold her, show her what she does to you—but he forced himself to remain still.
This wasn’t about giving in. This was about choosing.
“The planning meeting is Tuesday,” she said, her voice slightly unsteady. “Six o’clock. Town hall.”
“I remember.”
“You don’t have to come to everything. Just… whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“Sara.” He waited until she met his eyes again. “I said I’ll help. That means all of it.”
Something passed between them—a current of understanding, of acknowledgment. They both knew what he was really saying. That this wasn’t just about setting up booths and coordinating food orders.
This was a test. And he intended to pass it.
“Can I walk you to school?”
The question surprised them both. He hadn’t planned to say it—the words just emerged, propelled by some instinct he didn’t want to examine too closely.
She blinked. “You want to walk me to school?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, I just…” She laughed, a soft, disbelieving sound. “You’re full of surprises this morning.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m still an asshole.”
“I know.” Her smile was fond now, teasing. “It’s one of your more charming qualities.”
They fell into step together, their pace easy and unhurried. The school was a fifteen-minute walk, and he found himself cataloging every detail of the journey—the way her shoulder occasionally brushed his arm, the rhythm of her breathing, the small sounds of pleasure she made when they passed a garden with early-blooming crocuses.
“Flora is going to have a field day,” Sara said as they turned onto Elm Street.
“Flora has a field day every time I leave my house.”
“True. But now you’re walking me to school. She’ll probably start planning the wedding.”
His step faltered almost imperceptibly.Wedding.The word should have sent him running in the opposite direction. Instead,it settled somewhere in his chest and stayed there, warm and welcome.
One step at a time.
“Let her plan whatever she wants,” he said gruffly. “It’ll keep her busy.”
She laughed, and the sound wrapped around him like a physical thing. He wanted to hear it every day. He wanted to be the reason for it.
Focus.
They passed the small fountain in the town square. A few early risers waved at Sara, their curious gazes sliding to him with barely concealed interest. He could practically hear the gossip spreading—Did you see Ben Holloway walking with the new teacher? They looked cozy. Very cozy.
Let them talk.
The school came into view, and she stopped at the gate, turning to face him.
