Chapter 36
Luke
Luke didn’t start the cruiser right away.
He sat there in the dark, hands resting on the steering wheel, porch light glowing faintly.
The night pressed in around him, quiet and clear. Jake’s comment drifted back to him, uninvited.
It’s not easy. It’s simple.
Luke hadn’t grasped what he’d meant. Not really. He’d thought about logistics and expectations and career paths and family reputation. About how life was infinitely complicated.
But sitting here now, watching the faint outline of Grace’s porch, he understood.
It wasn’t complicated.
He loved her.
That was it.
The truth expanded in his chest. Clarity spread through him.
He loved Grace Hart.
He loved the way she knelt to tie a kid’s shoelace.
He loved the stubborn set of her chin when she thought someone was underestimating her.
He loved the softness she tried to hide.
He loved the chipped mugs in her kitchen and the crooked frames in her hallway and the way she said his name like it mattered.
He loved her.
And along with that realization came… relief.
For months he’d been trying to balance things. His job. His name. His parents. The town. All those expectations he’d grown up with.
He’d been trying to fit into his life.
But it was much more simple than that.
She was the only priority.
Everything else fit around that.
He leaned back in the seat and laughed once under his breath, the sound half disbelieving.
He didn’t have to weigh pros and cons. Didn’t have to wonder if this was wise or strategic or convenient.
He loved her.
And suddenly the future didn’t look like a branching path with careful turns and compromises. It looked like one straight line.
Grace.
Morning coffee. Porch repairs. School pick-ups. Her hand in his. Public. Permanent.
The insidious fear that had knotted his gut for months—what will people say, what will this cost, what if I lose standing, what if I choose wrong—melted away in the heat of what he felt for her.
He started the cruiser, the engine rumbling to life. He looked at the house one last time.
She thought he was doing this because she’d been threatened.
Because he felt guilty.
Because he was being protective.
She didn’t understand.
Hell, he hadn’t understood until about thirty seconds ago.
This was love.
And it simplified everything.
Not easy. Just simple.
He smiled faintly.
God, no. Winning her back wasn’t going to be easy. Earning her trust wasn’t going to be easy. Undoing the hurt he’d caused wasn’t going to be easy.
But it was simple.
He would choose her. Every time. In front of everyone. Without hesitation.
He pulled away from the curb.
He couldn’t wait.
Wilson’s Hardware Store still smelled like sawdust and coffee, the way it always had.
Luke pushed through the door, the bell overhead giving its familiar, tired jingle.
“Afternoon, Officer Bennett.”
Luke nodded automatically. “Hey, Tom.”
Tom Wilson stood behind the counter, gray hair curling out from under a faded Crystal Lake cap.
“I hear you’re Festival Marshal this year,” Tom said. “Town’s lucky to have you.”
Lucky.
Luke gave the polite smile he’d perfected sometime around high school. Growing up in a town where your dad was the chief of police, your mother was on the town council, meant that people had always known who Luke was.
“Luke!”
Mrs. Wilson waved him over from the end of the aisle, a box of furnace filters balanced on her hip. “You still doing those home safety checks this winter?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, stepping in to take the box from her. “We’ll start sign-ups next week.”
“Good,” she said, beaming.
Luke set the box in her cart and nodded.
He extricated himself politely, made his way toward the lumber section.
Porch boards were stacked along the wall, pale and unfinished.
He needed to fix the sag. The way one board dipped when you put weight on it.
She hadn’t asked him to fix it. He was going to anyway.
He grabbed the boards. He added screws. Wood filler. Sandpaper. A small container of sealant.
It wasn’t a big repair. An afternoon’s work, maybe less.
But it mattered.
“Project?” Tom asked from behind him.
Luke glanced up, caught. “Yeah.”
Tom smiled in that knowing way people did when they’d watched you grow up. “Fixing something in town, huh? That’s a Bennett trait.”
Luke’s chest tightened. He was trying to fix something, but he’d been the one who’d broken it in the first place.
He paid, nodded his thanks, and wrestled the boards out the door. The trunk popped open with a familiar click. He slid the lumber in diagonally, adjusted it until it fit. The lid closed with a solid thunk.
He leaned against the cruiser for a second, hands on his hips, staring down Main Street.
This town knew him. Expected things from him because of his family name. Had plans already written with his name on them.
Luke had never questioned it.
Until Grace.
She rearranged his priorities.
He’d told himself he’d been doing the right thing.
It was almost laughable how wrong he’d been.
She didn’t trust him. Not anymore.
He could see it in the way she was when he pushed too hard. Guarded. Careful. Looking at him like she didn’t know where she stood.
Like he might disappear again.
He couldn’t fix everything at once.
But he could fix a porch.
He straightened, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled back onto the street—lumber rattling softly behind him like a promise he intended to keep.
He kept his speed down as drove through Main Street.
The town was already gearing up.
Orange bunting fluttered between lampposts. A flatbed truck idled near the gazebo while a couple of volunteers unloaded hay bales, laughing as one tipped.
The fall festival.
Normally, he thought of it as duty. This year, something else stirred. He imagined Grace there. On his arm.
Not tucked away. Not catching her eye with a surreptitious nod. Not texting her that he would visit her bedroom later.
No.
He’d walk her through the square in full view of everyone who’d ever whispered her name. Let the town see exactly who he was with.
The image came fully formed—her coat buttoned against the chill, her hair caught in the glow of the string lights, laughing as he steered her through the crowd with his arm around her.
For the first time, the future didn’t look like a list of ambitions he was expected to check off. It looked like something he wanted.
He turned on Maple. Grace’s house sat halfway down the block. The sight of it did something steadying to his chest.
Home.
The word came unbidden, instinctive—and he didn’t correct it.
He didn’t drive past and park around the corner. He parked in the driveway. Got out.
He was going to walk straight up those sagging front steps. Past the crooked railing. Right to the front door. Right to Grace Hart.
He smiled to himself.
And he hoped that on the weekend—under lights and leaves and the watchful eyes of Crystal Lake—Grace Hart would be at his side.
"Afternoon, Officer Bennett."
Mrs. Caldwell stood peering over her hedge, pruning shears in hand. She was in her late sixties and had lived on Maple Street longer than Luke had been alive.
She was also watching him very carefully.
"Afternoon, ma'am," he said automatically.
She tilted her head. "You're parking in the driveway now.”
A beat passed as Luke absorbed her meaning. Now?
"Yes, ma'am," he said at last.
"Well," she said, "that's new."
Luke felt heat crawl up the back of his neck. "I—yeah."
She gave a soft sniff. "You know, we all wondered."
He blinked. "Wondered?"
Mrs. Caldwell lowered the shears and rested both hands on the handles. "Why a police cruiser kept appearing around the corner at night. Same time. Same nights."
His stomach dropped. He forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral even as shame flooded hot and immediate through his chest.
They'd seen him. Of course they'd seen him.
"And why a police officer,” she continued, "kept slipping down the alley like a thief in the night.”
He'd thought he was being careful. Discreet. Professional.
He'd been a coward.
Sneaking through shadows like Grace was something to hide. Like being seen with her would cost him something.
Luke's hands curled into fists at his sides.
Idiot.
It had cost him. Just not in the way he'd thought.
She gestured toward Grace's house. "That girl's a peach."
Luke knew that. He knew exactly who Grace was—had known it the whole time he was treating her like she wasn't good enough to be seen with him.
God, he was such a fucking idiot.
He wanted to punch something. Wanted to go back in time and shake himself until he saw sense.
Grace had been kind. Patient. Generous with everyone in this town.
And he'd repaid her by making her feel like she wasn't worth claiming.
"So when we saw you sneaking around like you were ashamed of her—" She shook her head. "Well. We didn't think too highly of that."
Not just anger. Not just gossip. Judgment.
Luke forced himself to meet her eyes.
Because she was right.
She was absolutely, devastatingly right.
He had been ashamed. Not of Grace—never of Grace—but of what people would think. Of what it would cost him. Of losing the carefully constructed image he'd built his entire life around.
And in the process, he'd lost the only thing that actually mattered.
"People who don't know Grace might think she was like her parents,” she said. "But people who do know her? We adore her." A pause. "Can't say the same for a man who treats her like garbage.”
Luke closed his eyes briefly.
God.
The shame was almost physical. A weight pressing down on his chest.
He'd spent months telling himself he was protecting his reputation. His career. His family's name.
All the while, he'd been destroying it. Destroying his own integrity.
And worse—so much worse—he'd been hurting Grace.
Making her feel small. Unworthy.
Luke opened his eyes and forced himself to look at Mrs. Caldwell.
"You're right," he said, voice rough. "I was—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I was an idiot."
Mrs. Caldwell's expression didn’t soften.
"I hurt her.” His voice cracked. "And I hate myself for that."
The silence stretched.
Then Mrs. Caldwell smiled—small, approving. "I'm glad to see you doing the right thing now."
He nodded, throat thick. "So am I."
Mrs. Caldwell returned to her roses, conversation clearly over.
Luke stood in the driveway a moment longer, chest tight and full and aching all at once.
He looked at Grace's house.
At the place he'd once entered only under cover of dark.
At the home belonging to the woman he'd convinced himself was a liability.
She wasn't.
She never had been.
She was the best thing in his life.
He couldn't undo the past. Couldn't take back the nights he'd left before dawn or the times he'd looked past her on Main Street or the way he'd made her feel like she had to settle for scraps.
But he could do better now.
He would do better.