Chapter 3
Grace
Grace had almost convinced herself she’d slept more than four hours and hadn’t spent half the night replaying Luke’s exit in her head.
Almost.
But the moment she stepped into her classroom, any lingering heaviness melted beneath the familiar chaos.
“MISS HART!!”
A chorus erupted, a room full of tiny humans yelling her name like she was a rockstar entering the stage. Someone tugged her skirt. Someone else waved a paper in her face. Another’s hand was suspiciously sticky, and she didn’t want to know why.
Grace smiled and set down her tote.
“Okay, okay,” she laughed, clapping her hands once. “Deep breaths, my loves. We cannot all talk at the same time unless we want Miss Hart’s brain to melt out her ears.”
Giggles erupted.
She moved through the classroom the way she always did—smooth, effortless, instinctively tuned to every child in her orbit.
“Miss Hart, my shoelace came undone!”
“Again? You’re officially knot-defying.” She knelt, tying the lace with practiced fingers.
“Miss Hart, Liam said the G looks like a weird potato!”
Grace turned toward the squabbling boys, fighting a grin. “Well… sometimes Gs do look like potatoes. But let’s make yours look like a fancy potato.”
She slid in between them, guiding little fingers over a sheet of dotted letters. “Curve… curve… and close the circle. You got it.”
“Miss Hart?” Another tug on her sleeve. “Jason took my green crayon.”
Jason held it up like evidence. “It’s mine!”
“No it’s mine!”
Grace crouched eye-level. “You know the rule—all the colors are community crayons. Community means we take turns.”
They both blinked at her, the word community sinking in.
“Okay,” they mumbled in unison and shuffled back to their desks.
Grace straightened, surveying the room.
Construction paper leaves on the wall heralded the town’s upcoming fall festival. Some leaves were green, some were rainbow-colored, one was inexplicably covered in glitter.
She loved every single one.
At the classroom door, Mrs. Ellery—the second-grade teacher—watched the scene with a slow shake of her head.
“You’re a saint,” she said.
Grace snorted softly, dusting off her palms. “I just bribed them with stickers and my soul.”
Mrs. Ellery smiled. “All the parents love you, Grace. You know that, right?”
“Well,” she said, lifting her chin, “I accept all compliments and large donations of coffee.”
Mrs. Ellery laughed and disappeared down the hall, leaving Grace with her little whirlwind of chaos.
Grace breathed in the scent of crayons and glue. This room was hers. Her place. Her life. She’d built it from scratch—her family’s reputation didn’t touch her here, no shadows from her parents, no whispers about her brother.
Here, she was just Miss Hart.
Beloved. Trusted. Wanted.
Grace took the long way home.
Most days she cut straight down Miller Street, but sometimes she wanted to linger. Main Street meant faces she knew. Voices that called her name. The bittersweet kind of belonging she'd had to earn in this town.
The afternoon sun warmed the brick buildings, light glinting off the windows.
The hardware store door stood open, the bell chiming faintly as someone stepped inside.
Morton's Grocery had crates of apples out front, handwritten prices taped crookedly to the wood.
Posters for the fall festival were displayed in more than half the windows on the strip.
And then she saw him.
Shoulders broad beneath his dark blue uniform. Badge catching the light.
Luke.
He stood near the curb outside the municipal building with Mercer, both of them in uniform, talking with Mr. Wilson.
Grace’s heart did the stupid thing it always did when she saw him.
It jumped.
As if her body hadn’t learned yet that this Luke was off limits.
She should keep walking. She should pretend she didn’t see him.
Instead she found herself crossing the street. Like she couldn’t help it. Like she was pulled toward him by something soft and traitorous in her chest.
For a split second, his eyes met hers—dark, steady, too aware.
And for an even smaller slice of time, something flickered there. Recognition. Heat. A memory.
Then it vanished. His face smoothed into something polite. Professional.
Oh. This had been a mistake. She should have kept walking, chin up, eyes forward.
"Grace!" Mr. Wilson said, warm and friendly. "How are you?"
Grace forced a smile. “Hi, Mr. Wilson.”
Officer Mercer smirked at her. “Well, if it isn’t the lovely Miss Hart.”
“Hi,” she said again. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, with her pulse, with the way Luke was right there, ignoring her.
His mouth was curved into a frown.
"Miss Hart," he said at last. Polite. Professional. The same tone he'd use with any citizen on Main Street.
Except that wasn’t true, was it? Mr. Wilson had gotten the laugh. The warmth. The ease.
It was just Grace who got nothing.
She cleared her throat, clutching the strap of her tote. “Um… busy day?”
Luke’s expression didn't change. Didn't soften. Didn't give any hint that last night she'd been wrapped around him, her thighs around his neck, his face between her legs.
“Same as always,” he said.
She stood there a beat longer than she should have, waiting for something—anything—that wasn’t polite distance. A shared look that said this is hard for me too.
Just smile at me, she thought, desperately. Acknowledge me. Please.
Mr. Wilson was looking at her with something like pity now.
Grace shifted her weight. "Well, I should let you get back to—"
“Tom,” Luke said, turning back to Mr. Wilson, "did you ever get that gutter fixed?”
And just like that, she was dismissed.
“Right. Of course. I’ll just—” She gestured vaguely, helpless.
Luke’s gaze flicked back to her. Brief. Blank. Impersonal.
Her cheeks burned.
She turned and walked away, blindly. Not caring where she went, just needing to get away from here.
The bell above the bakery door chimed as she burst into Sugar & Spice. Its warm air wrapped around her like an embrace. Butter. Sugar. Cinnamon.
She exhaled in relief.
“Grace?” Hannah’s voice floated from behind the counter. “You okay?”
She nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Totally fine.”
Hannah tilted her head. “Would a coffee help?”
Grace let out a weak laugh. “I’m just… it’s been a day.”
Hannah’s eyes were soft but sharp. “Sit.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
Grace slid into a chair at the small table by the counter. Hannah poured her a coffee without asking, adding cream the way she liked it, then took the seat across from her with her own mug.
They sat in silence for a moment. Grace stared at the swirl of steam rising from the mug, tried to breathe past the tight knot in her chest.
“So,” Hannah said gently. “What happened?”
Grace opened her mouth, ready with a deflection. A joke. A shrug. Something easy.
Nothing came out.
Hannah waited.
Grace exhaled, the sound shaky. “I’m seeing someone.”
Hannah’s eyebrows lifted. “I had no idea!”
“For months,” Grace added, the words tumbling now. “It’s… it’s not serious. I mean—no, it is serious. It’s just not—” She huffed out a breath. “God, I sound insane.”
“You sound human,” Hannah said. “Keep going.”
Grace wrapped her hands around the mug like it might anchor her. “It’s not…Crystal Lake official. Not yet. It’s…just us. It’s physical.” Heat crept up her neck. “Really physical.”
Hannah looked delighted. She reached out and clinked her coffee cup against Grace’s. “Get it, girl!”
Grace laughed once, breathless. “So that part is great. I mean, like, so great. I can’t even—" She blushed. “Anyway. That’s not the issue. It’s just that—he saw me. Just now. On Main Street. And he just…” Her cheeks burned. “He acted like he didn’t know me.”
The smile dropped from Hannah’s face. “He ignored you?”
Grace tried to explain. “It made sense at first. This town—” She gestured vaguely. “You know how it is. Everyone notices everything. People talk.”
Hannah snorted softly. “Oh, I know.”
“So it made sense at first to… keep it to ourselves,” Grace continued, clinging to the explanation.
“I guess,” Hannah murmured, sounding uncertain.
Grace pressed on, the words spilling out. “When we are together, alone together, it’s perfect.”
“But what about when you’re not alone together?” Hannah asked, not unkindly.
Grace swallowed. She stared down at her coffee.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
It was Luke. Tonight?
Grace’s heart jumped, hopeful and foolish and alive.
His job was so public. Of course he wouldn’t want to deal with gossip until they were both sure it was serious.
But by now they'd been together for months. That was serious.
“What if he’s waiting for me to make the next move.”
She could see it so clearly now—the two of them walking down Main Street together. His hand in hers. No more secrets. No more invisibility.
Hannah studied her for a long moment. "And if you ask him for more? What do you think he'll say?"
Grace thought of Main Street. Of his blank look. And of the way he’d held her the night before, like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.
"I don’t know, but I have to try,” Grace said. "I need to ask for what I want. I think…” she said slowly, testing the words, “I think one of us just has to be brave enough to change things.”
Grace smiled, small but determined. Luke had been brave first. Months ago—one reckless kiss, pressed into her doorway, all heat and want.
She looked up. “It’s my turn.”