She didn’t look toward the gazebo when the microphone crackled to life.
Didn’t need to.
She knew exactly where Luke would be standing—center stage, polished and proud, belonging to everyone.
And she would stay right here, behind a folding table with washable paints, where she belonged.
Grace focused on the child in front of her, dipped her brush into orange, and told herself—firmly, ruthlessly—not to expect anything of Luke.
Not anymore.
Grace’s brushwas mid-stroke on a little boy’s cheek, an almost-finished tiger in orange when the microphone crackled.
“Hold still,” she murmured.
The crowd was already quieting, the energy of the square shifting as heads turned toward the makeshift stage.
She kept her eyes on the paint tray. She knew this part.
Luke Bennett would welcome everyone, thank the volunteers, say something about tradition and community. People wouldclap. Someone would whistle. He’d smile that golden smile and ignore her the way he always had.
She dipped her brush back into orange.
“If I could get everyone’s attention for just a minute.”
His voice carried, confident and unmistakably Luke.
“Thank you all for coming out today,” he said. “The fall festival is one of Crystal Lake’s best weekends. It’s about neighbors, families, and showing up for each other.”
Applause rippled. Grace focused on rounding the curve of the boy’s cheek, finishing the tiger face.
“But before we officially kick things off,” Luke continued?—
—and then stopped.
The pause snagged her attention like a hook. She glanced up despite herself.
A scattering of the crowd stood between them. She had to lean slightly to see through a gap.
Luke was looking directly at her.
He stood on the raised platform, police uniform crisp and dark against the pale wood, the sash he wore catching the afternoon light. He looked… good.
He cleared his throat and adjusted his grip on the microphone.
Grace’s stomach tightened.
“For most of my life,” Luke said, “I’ve cared a lot about doing what was expected of me. About keeping things neat. About not making waves.”
Grace’s fingers curled around the edge of the folding table, the plastic biting into her palm.
“I told myself that was responsibility.” He didn’t drop the eye contact. “That it was the right way to be.”
Her heart was beating harder, her pulse felt too fast.
“But it was just fear,” Luke said.
The square seemed to tilt around her, like the ground had shifted a fraction of an inch beneath her feet.
