Mrs. Caldwell stood peering over her hedge, pruning shears in hand. She was in her late sixties and had lived on Maple Street longer than Luke had been alive.
She was also watching him very carefully.
"Afternoon, ma'am," he said automatically.
She tilted her head. "You're parking in the driveway now.”
A beat passed as Luke absorbed her meaning.Now?
"Yes, ma'am," he said at last.
"Well," she said, "that's new."
Luke felt heat crawl up the back of his neck. "I—yeah."
She gave a soft sniff. "You know, we all wondered."
He blinked. "Wondered?"
Mrs. Caldwell lowered the shears and rested both hands on the handles. "Why a police cruiser kept appearing around the corner at night. Same time. Same nights."
His stomach dropped. He forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral even as shame flooded hot and immediate through his chest.
They'd seen him. Of course they'd seen him.
"And why a police officer,” she continued, "kept slipping down the alley like a thief in the night.”
He'd thought he was being careful. Discreet. Professional.
He'd been a coward.
Sneaking through shadows like Grace was something to hide. Like being seen with her would cost him something.
Luke's hands curled into fists at his sides.
Idiot.
It had cost him. Just not in the way he'd thought.
She gestured toward Grace's house. "That girl's a peach."
Luke knew that. He knew exactly who Grace was—had known it the whole time he was treating her like she wasn't good enough to be seen with him.
God, he was such a fucking idiot.
He wanted to punch something. Wanted to go back in time and shake himself until he saw sense.
Grace had been kind. Patient. Generous with everyone in this town.
And he'd repaid her by making her feel like she wasn't worth claiming.
"So when we saw you sneaking around like you were ashamed of her—" She shook her head. "Well. We didn't think too highly of that."
Not just anger. Not just gossip.Judgment.
Luke forced himself to meet her eyes.
Because she was right.
