Mrs. Keaton pursed her lips—not disapproving. Assessing.
“Well,” she said after a moment, “that railing’s been leaning for years. Nice of you to take care of it.”
Luke smiled politely. “Happy to.”
She nodded once. Then—to Grace—“You’re lucky to have someone handy around.”
Then she walked on, dog bobbing smugly.
Grace stared after Mrs. Keaton, unease creeping up her spine.
“I thought people—” she began.
“Grace,” Luke said gently, “people already liked you.”
She let out a short breath. “You don’t know that.”
“You should hear what they say when you’re not around.”
Her chest tightened despite herself. “What do they say?”
“That you’re kind. That you’re good with kids. That their grandkids adore you. That you stay late without complaining.That you make that classroom feel safe.” His mouth curved faintly. “That you show up.”
Grace’s fingers tightened around her coffee mug.
“They didn’t think less of you,” he continued. “They thought less of me.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Because I was sneaking.” His jaw flexed. “Because it looked like I was ashamed of you.”
The words landed heavy.
“They noticed?” she asked quietly.
Luke huffed a humorless breath. “Oh, they noticed.”
Grace looked away.
All those nights. The back door. The shadows. The silence.
She had thought it was humiliating when people hadn’t known. It felt worse now.
She wasn’t sure what was happening on her face, but Luke said, “Grace, no. Whatever you’re thinking, no.”
He left his work, stepped in close to her.
“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Grace,” Luke said. “I’m the one who was the idiot.”
This was new. This version of him — in daylight, sleeves rolled, tools scattered at his feet — was unfamiliar to her.
Dangerously easy to believe.
“For the record,” he added, quieter now, “even if being with you lowered my standing… I’d take that hit.”
Grace held his gaze.
A month ago, that sentence would have undone her.
