It didn’t mean anything.
Still—his pulse kicked harder than it should have as he drove down Main Street, jaw set. He hated the thought of someone touching her house. Of someone deciding they were allowed to scare her. That kind of violation scraped something raw inside him, hot and immediate.
It made him want to break things.
Or fix them.
Preferably both.
He wasn’t here as Grace’s man. He was just a friend running an errand. A man who happened to know exactly how to make a house secure and had the tools to do it.
The bell over the hardware store door jingled as he went in, the familiar smell of sawdust and oil grounding in a way that surprised him. His shoulders loosened a fraction. This was tangible. Solvable. A problem with a clear beginning and a clear end.
“Luke,” Mr. Wilson called from behind the counter. “Afternoon.”
“Afternoon,” Luke replied, nodding. He scanned the shelves automatically—plywood, glass cutters, sealant. His brain clicked into a familiar, satisfying gear. Measure. Cut. Seal. Done.
Fix the thing. Make it solid. Keep the bad out.
From the back of the shop, a young man emerged carrying a box of screws. Wilson’s son, sleeves rolled up, hands roughened by a summer of work instead of textbooks.
“Hey,” the kid said, offering a polite smile. “Be right with you.”
A year ago, this place had felt different. It had been reeling from the scandal that had rocked the town. Mr. Wilson had aged ten years in a month back then—college fund gone, store on the brink, the future yanked sideways.
And yet?—
Here it was. Still standing. Still open. Still moving forward.
The town had been quick to misjudge Hannah Everett. Friends and neighbors had written her off. Whispered about her. Crystal Lake had soon seen how wrong they’d been.
Luke’s fingers curled into his palms.
Maybe he’d been scared of nothing. Maybe he hadn’t needed to keep his relationship with Grace so clandestine.
What if he’d been with her openly and unapologetically? What if she’d been on his arm at the fall festival, at the bar on Fridays, at the damn grocery store? Would it really have cost him so much to walk down Main Street with her hand in his?
He grabbed a sheet of plexiglass instead of real glass—stronger, harder to shatter—then paused, reconsidered, and took both. Sealant. Screws. A temporary board. Enough to make the place secure tonight. Enough to show up anddo something.
The idea of being there—of standing in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hands busy—sent an unwelcome surge of anticipation through him.
But Grace wasn’t his to protect. She wasn’t his responsibility.
She was a Hart. And he was a Bennett.
His last name came with expectations. Legacy. A council seat with his name practically engraved on it. Maybe a mayoral run someday. His future had been mapped out since birth. He knew what his parents expected. What the whole town expected.
Grace Hart didn’t fit neatly into that future.
And yet his hands were already full of supplies meant for her house.
Luke paid at the counter, barely registering the total.
He walked back out onto Main Street with the materials under his arm, the autumn sun already casting long shadows. Thephysical heft felt right. Purposeful. Like he was doing something that mattered.
This wasn’t about romance. It definitely wasn’t about feelings.
It was about making sure her house was secure. About removing risk. About putting a barrier between her and whatever idiot thought they could scare her.
