Luke swallowed hard. Reputation mattered. Stability mattered. Not making waves mattered.
Grace volunteered on half the committees in town and it still wasn't enough. Not for Mercer and Sullivan. Not for his parents. Not for Crystal Lake's long memory.
Luke had to remember that.
The town council seat his mother had already started quietly positioning him for didn't leave room for complications. That was just reality. That was just how this worked.
Mercer nodded at the file. “Anyway… now we actually have to investigate petty vandalism instead of just knocking on the Harts’ door. Takes all the fun out of the job.”
Another round of laughter. Luke frowned.
Sullivan finally looked up. “You good, Bennett?”
“Fine,” Luke said.
Mercer stretched. “Not that I would mind knocking on Miss Hart’s door. She was doing crosswalk duty at the school. Lookedgood.”
Luke stared at his coffee. It suddenly tasted bitter enough to choke him.
Keeping things quiet mattered. Protecting what he’d built mattered.
He wasn’t about to snap at Mercer over an offhand comment. Grace wasn’t hisgirlfriend. She wasn’t his responsibility.
This was exactly why keeping things quiet had been the right call.
Exactly why he hadn’t wanted to be seen with her in public, why he hadn’t wanted questions, speculation, assumptions. Once people started talking, they didn’t stop.
He wasn’t ashamed of her. He was just being practical.
Anyway, now they were over. Grace had ended it.
This was better. Simpler.
Luke wrapped his fingers around his mug, ignoring the sting of heat against his skin.
He was going to miss the sex—sure.
That didn’t mean he was willing to risk everything he’d built just to be with her.
Some things you kept private.
Some things you outgrew.
He didn’t care that she hadn’t texted. Didn’t care that she wasn’t checking in.
They were over. What did he care?
Luke was halfwaythrough explaining insurance protocol to a red-faced seventeen-year-old and her mother when he saw her.
The accident itself was barely worth the paperwork. A dented bumper. A cracked taillight. A teenager who had misjudged the four-way stop on Alder and clipped another vehicle at low speed.
The movement on the sidewalk caught his attention.
Grace.
She was walking home from school, tote on her shoulder, hair pulled back the way she wore it when she’d been wrangling first graders all day.
Something tightened low in his chest.
