The meeting dissolved into chatter—logistics, booths, traffic flow—and Luke nodded along, adding where he was needed.
The fall festival always drew everyone.
Kids in costumes. Teachers volunteering. Music on the green.
Grace would be there.
She’d be somewhere in the crowd, existing just beyond his reach.
And he would be walking down Main Street alone.
Keeping her secret had kept everything else intact.
His reputation.
His standing.
His future.
The town had just proved it.
And yet?—
What good was being celebrated by the town if the woman he wanted couldn’t stand beside him while it happened?
Luke sat at his parents’dining table, fork moving mechanically through mashed potatoes he couldn’t taste.
Across from him, his mother beamed.
“Festival Marshal,” she said again.
His father nodded, pride barely contained. “That’s a big deal, son.”
Luke swallowed. “It’s mostly ceremonial.”
“That’s not the point,” his mother said briskly. “It’s an honor. People notice things like that.” She reached for the gravy boat, still smiling. “Your grandfather would’ve been so proud.”
“I heard Eleanor Matthews pushed for you,” his father added. “The town trusts you.”
“They do,” his mother added quickly. “And rightly so.”
Luke pushed a piece of carrot around his plate.
“You’ve worked hard for this,” his father said. “Kept your nose clean. Stayed focused.”
Luke set his fork down.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” he said.
His mother's eyebrows lifted. His father's chewing slowed.
“Oh?” his mother asked, voice careful.
"Grace Hart," he said.
His mother set her fork down slowly, like she was defusing a bomb.
"Grace Hart," she repeated.
