God, she looked good.
She slowed when she saw them. Her gaze skimmed the scene—the teenager, the broken glass,him.
Luke straightened without meaning to.
He lifted a hand. A small wave. Automatic. Familiar.
For a second—just a second—her eyes met his.
Blank.
Polite.
Professional.
Like he was Officer Bennett handling a routine call and nothing more. Like he was a stranger to her. Like there was nothing there worth reacting to at all.
And then she looked away.
Luke’s hand froze midair.
Grace kept walking. She didn’t even acknowledge him beyond that brief, impersonal glance.
Luke’s hand remained suspended a beat too long before he dropped it back to his side.
“Officer?” the mother prompted.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll want to contact your insurance within twenty-four hours.”
His voice sounded normal. Calm. Controlled.
Inside, something hollowed out.
Grace had never looked at him like that.
Her face used to light up when she saw him. Even in public, even when he’d given her nothing to work with. There had always been that flicker—warmth, recognition, something unmistakable.
Now there was nothing.
Good. That was…good.
This was what he’d wanted.
Distance. Discretion. No scenes in the middle of town.
He’d told her what he could offer. He’d been honest.
He handed the teenager her copy of the report. “Drive carefully.”
“Yes, sir.”
Luke stepped back toward his cruiser, staring after Grace’s retreating form down the sidewalk.
She didn’t look back.
She was proving a point. That’s all this was. Hurt pride.
Women didn’t like being turned down. But the fall festival?
