He'd told her no because he was afraid of what people would say.
Now he was going to stand in front of the entire town—in this uniform, wearing this sash, with a microphone in his hand—and ask her to dinner.
The difference was: she'd asked in private, in the safety of her bedroom, when rejection would only hurt her.
He was going to ask in public. In front of everyone.
She'd risked her pride for him.
Now it was his turn.
He straightened his tie one last time. Took in the dress uniform, pressed and sharp. The sash that cut across his chest. He looked like the facade he’d spent his life molding himself into.
But he'd never felt more like himself.
The town had demanded so much from him his entire life. Be respectable. Be appropriate. Be careful. Be a credit to the name.
Grace had demanded nothing.
She'daskedonce—bravely, so fucking bravely—and when he'd said no, she hadn't argued. She hadn't begged.
She'd walked away.
She had standards. She had self-respect. She'd walked away when he failed to meet them.
And Luke was going to spend the rest of his life regretting that. And proving to her that that he’d changed.
He picked up his keys.
Luke was going to choose her.
In front of everyone.
And if she said no—if she told him it was too late, that he'd hurt her too badly, that she didn't want him anymore?—
He'd deserve it.
But he had to ask.
He had to be as brave as she'd been.
Luke checked his watch.
Time to go get his girl.
Or humiliate himself trying.
Volunteers were still makinglast-minute adjustments—straightening bunting, shifting hay bales, checking extension cords. The air smelled like kettle corn and cider and something fried he couldn’t quite place. The crowd was steadily growing, kids darting everywhere.
Orange lights hung slack between the lampposts, unlit but catching the autumn sun as they waited for nightfall. Someone was testing the sound system—a crackle, then silence.
Luke scanned faces as he walked.
How many times had he done this—paced these same streets, telling himself he wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, just doing his job, just passing through?
He’d been looking for her. He could admit that to himself now. His eyes had paused on every similar silhouette, every woman with dark hair.
God, he’d been stupid. He’d spent months pretending he wasn’t hoping to catch sight of Grace Hart when she was all he wanted to see.
