He was all in.
Publicly. Irrevocably.
And even now—even with his pulse racing and his chest tight and his future balanced on the edge of her answer—he knew one thing with absolute clarity.
He wouldn’t take it back.
Not for anything.
Luke held her gaze, refusing to look away, trying to send everything he could across the distance between them without saying another word.
Please.
Not entitlement. Not expectation.
Just hope.
Please, Grace. I know I don’t deserve it. I know I’ve been late and wrong and scared.
But please.
CHAPTER 41
Grace
The words didn’t makesense at first.
Will you have dinner with me?
This had to be some sort of mistake. It was too big, too public, the loudspeakers echoing the question back at her from every direction.
Luke Bennett had just asked her to dinner. On a stage. In front of the entire town.
The paintbrush was still clutched in her hand, bristles hovering uselessly in the air. The little boy in the chair in front of her tilted his head, half his face still a tiger, eyes confused as he waited for her to finish what she had started.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away from Luke.
The space between them felt impossibly large—filled with folding chairs and strollers and neighbors. The square had gone unnaturally quiet.
Everyone was watching.
She felt their attention like a physical weight. Parents. Neighbors. Colleagues. The mayor. Mrs. Keaton. Mrs. Caldwell. Every person who had ever known her family name and decided what it meant before she opened her mouth.
Luke’s parents were out there somewhere too.
They were all waiting for her answer.
Her chest ached with it.
Because God—she wanted to say yes.
Yes, she wanted dinner with him. Wanted to sit across from him at a table that wasn’t hidden or borrowed or out of town. Wanted his hand in hers on Main Street, unafraid. Wanted to walk through this festival beside him instead of watching him from behind the school’s stall.
She wanted everything. She wanted to argue about whose turn it was to do the dishes. She wanted the quiet intimacy of knowing where he kept the coffee filters. She wanted to be allowed to look at him, talk to him, no matter who could see them.
She wanted him—all of him, not just the stolen hours carved out around fear and rules and endings that had never felt finished.
But—
