But it was simple.
He would choose her. Every time. In front of everyone. Without hesitation.
He pulled away from the curb.
He couldn’t wait.
Wilson’s HardwareStore still smelled like sawdust and coffee, the way it always had.
Luke pushed through the door, the bell overhead giving its familiar, tired jingle.
“Afternoon, Officer Bennett.”
Luke nodded automatically. “Hey, Tom.”
Tom Wilson stood behind the counter, gray hair curling out from under a faded Crystal Lake cap.
“I hear you’re Festival Marshal this year,” Tom said. “Town’s lucky to have you.”
Lucky.
Luke gave the polite smile he’d perfected sometime around high school. Growing up in a town where your dad was the chief of police, your mother was on the town council, meant that people had always known who Luke was.
“Luke!”
Mrs. Wilson waved him over from the end of the aisle, a box of furnace filters balanced on her hip. “You still doing those home safety checks this winter?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, stepping in to take the box from her. “We’ll start sign-ups next week.”
“Good,” she said, beaming.
Luke set the box in her cart and nodded.
He extricated himself politely, made his way toward the lumber section.
Porch boards were stacked along the wall, pale and unfinished.
He needed to fix the sag. The way one board dipped when you put weight on it.
She hadn’t asked him to fix it. He was going to anyway.
He grabbed the boards. He added screws. Wood filler. Sandpaper. A small container of sealant.
It wasn’t a big repair. An afternoon’s work, maybe less.
But it mattered.
“Project?” Tom asked from behind him.
Luke glanced up, caught. “Yeah.”
Tom smiled in that knowing way people did when they’d watched you grow up. “Fixing something in town, huh? That’s a Bennett trait.”
Luke’s chest tightened. He was trying to fix something, but he’d been the one who’d broken it in the first place.
He paid, nodded his thanks, and wrestled the boards out the door. The trunk popped open with a familiar click. He slid the lumber in diagonally, adjusted it until it fit. The lid closed with a solid thunk.
He leaned against the cruiser for a second, hands on his hips, staring down Main Street.
