Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Heather
N ot sure why my heart is stammering so much. It’s just a reunion. I’ll eat some food and mingle a bit and then go back home to curl up on the couch. It’s not like I can get away with not showing up especially since everyone knows I’m back in Lawson Ridge now.
Stepping into the gymnasium, the place is decked out in streamers and balloons, echoing the colors of our alma mater. I smooth down the fabric of my dress—not too fancy, not too casual—and take a deep breath, scanning the crowd for any hint of the past.
“Is that Heather Sullivan?” a voice squeals from behind me. I turn to see a group of former cheerleaders, their faces lighting up with recognition.
“Guilty as charged.”
As we reminisce about the absurdities of our teenage years, my gaze keeps drifting to the entrance, searching for... well, searching. That's when I see him.
Lincoln Montgomery hesitates at the threshold. His dark hair is just as unruly as I remember, but it somehow suits the sharp angles of maturity that now defines his face. He is wearing a simple button-down shirt that does nothing to hide the evidence of disciplined physicality underneath.
“Excuse me.”
“Lincoln!” someone calls out, and he turns, offering a half-smile that didn't quite reach those deep, soulful eyes.
It is a practiced gesture, one that seems to appease the reuniting alumni while keeping his own emotions safely guarded.
But his gaze isn't for them; it roams restlessly until it lands somewhere unexpected—on me.
An old friend claps Lincoln on the shoulder, striking up a conversation. Lincoln gives a polite nod, his responses measured and thoughtful, but there is a tension in his shoulders, an anticipation that suggests he is still looking for something—or someone.
I try to steady the flutter in my chest as I drift further. It is like wading through a living memory book, each face a page from a chapter long closed.
Lincoln's eyes meet mine across the sea of bobbing heads and rekindled friendships. Surprise flickers over his features, mirroring my own unexpected jolt. And just as quickly as our connection sparks, it is broken, both of us looking away.
I navigate through clusters of chatting alumni, past the catered buffet that no one seems to be eating from, and sidestep a couple locked in an enthusiastic — if slightly off-key — rendition of our school anthem.
My goal is the relative sanctuary of the quieter end of the gymnasium where Lincoln now stands.
He is alone, seemingly absorbed in the pages of an old yearbook propped open on a display stand.
“Looking for incriminating photos or just reliving the glory days?” I ask, approaching him with a cautious smile.
Lincoln's head snaps up, his guarded expression melting into something softer, more genuine, as he recognizes me. “Heather Sullivan,” he says, his voice rich. “I’m sure there are plenty of pictures in here of our most popular student.”
“Speak for yourself,” I tease back. “I seem to recall a certain someone being quite the hero on the basketball court.”
“Ah, well,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, “those were simpler times, weren't they?”
I pretend to be interested in a photo of our junior year homecoming float. “Remember the time you accidentally glued yourself to the papier-maché throne?”
“Accidentally?” Lincoln gives an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll have you know that was a strategic move to ensure royalty didn't topple mid-parade.”
“Of course. How could I forget Dr. Montgomery's tactical prowess?”
“Dr. Montgomery?”
“Word travels fast in small towns. So, Houston, huh? How's the big city treating you?”
“Busy, very busy. But there's something about working with the kids at the hospital that makes the chaos worth it.”
“Sounds like you found your calling.” I mean it. Even back then, Lincoln had a way of making people feel safe, like everything would be okay.
“Maybe I did. And you? Lawson Ridge lured you back after all these years?”
“Seems it did.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “After my divorce, I needed somewhere familiar... somewhere to start over. And what better place than home, right?”
“Right. There's a certain comfort in the familiar.”
“Brave or foolish, the jury's still out on that one.”
“Knowing you, I'd bet on brave. So, what's your biggest project these days?”
“Mostly developing apps that help streamline business processes. It's all about efficiency and user-friendly design now.” I shrug, a half-smile on my lips. “Not quite saving lives, but it pays the bills.”
“Hey, making life easier for people is its own kind of heroism. And speaking of saving lives, the hospital keeps me on my toes. Pediatric anesthesiology isn't exactly a walk in the park.”
“Sounds intense.”
“Intense but fulfilling. And when I'm not at the hospital, I volunteer. It's eye-opening—helps put things in perspective.”
“That's...incredible, Lincoln.”
He shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting in a humble smile. “Sometimes it feels like just a drop in the ocean. There's so much need in the world. But yeah, each smile on a child's face after surgery—it makes everything worth it.”
“Must be tough though. To carry all that with you.”
“It can be. It's not just about the procedures.
It's the connections—you're part of their most vulnerable moments.
And sometimes...it doesn't go the way you hope.
Sorry, didn't mean to darken the mood.” He clears his throat, looking away briefly before his gaze returns to mine.
“What about you? Any dreams you're chasing back here in Lawson Ridge?”
“Actually, yes. I've been toying with the idea of starting my own company. Building apps that make a difference, maybe even in education or mental health.”
“Sounds like you're the one changing lives now.”
“Maybe in a small way.” I shrug, feeling a sudden rush of vulnerability. “But it's scary, you know? Stepping out on my own, especially after...everything.”
“Everything?” His voice is soft, inviting me to open up.
“Let's just say my marriage wasn't the supportive partnership I hoped it would be.”
Lincoln reaches out, his hand hesitating in the air before gently touching my arm. “I’m sorry, Heather. You deserve someone who sees your strength and stands beside you.”
Our eyes meet, and for a heart-stopping moment, I see the reflection of my own longing in his gaze. The desire for connection, for understanding—for something that might have been and could still be.
“That means a lot, coming from you.”
“Always.” His thumb brushes against my skin.
“Lincoln, I—” My sentence is cut short as a boisterous voice erupts from behind me.
“Lincoln Montgomery! Is that really you?”
His eyes shift over my shoulder toward the source of the interruption. A tall man with a linebacker’s build and an infectious grin claps a hand on Lincoln's shoulder, jostling us apart.
“Mike Henderson. It's been years.”
“Too many, my friend!” Mike booms, oblivious to the moment he just trampled. “You've got to tell me everything. Houston treating you well?”
“Ah, yeah, it's been good,” Lincoln replies, shooting me a look that mingles apology with reluctance.
“Sorry, Heather.” His eyes linger on mine for a split second longer than necessary before he turns back to Mike. “Want to meet at Page Turners tomorrow around three for coffee?”
“I’d love that. See you then.”
I watch them for a moment, Mike animatedly slapping Lincoln's back as they wander away, their heads bent in conversation.
I catch Lincoln glancing back once, his deep eyes finding mine. Our gazes hold.
Instead of sticking around, I slip out of the gym and head home, still on a high from seeing Lincoln again.