Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
LUCY
When I opened the door, Cord was already on the porch, shifting from foot to foot like he wasn’t sure if he was early or late or about to walk into something bigger than he expected.
He looked nice—effortless, but intentional.
Clean jeans, Henley that hinted at the fact he could probably lift a car, and that steady, heart-flipping smile aimed squarely at me.
“Hey,” he said, voice a little rough like he hadn’t used it much yet today.
“Hey,” I managed, gripping the edge of the door a little tighter than necessary. This wasn’t just a date—it was the first time he’d be out in public with both of us. The first time we’d be a visible unit.
Before I could overthink it further, Liam shot out from behind my legs like a heat-seeking missile, his plastic firefighter helmet tilted sideways. “Let’s gooooo!”
He sprinted down the steps and launched himself straight into Cord’s personal space like they’d been best friends for years. Cord crouched without hesitation, catching the blur of motion with a grin, high-fiving like it was a regular thing.
Then Liam’s small hand found Cord’s—just reached up and took it, like that was allowed now.
I swear, something shifted behind my ribs. Like a puzzle piece clicked into place that I hadn’t realized was missing.
Cord looked up at me, eyes wide with something close to wonder, and I saw it hit him too. Not the weight of it. The rightness of it.
He’d showed up. Not just for me. For us.
And somehow, it already felt easy. Natural. Like this was just what we did. That terrified me more than anything else—because the last time something felt easy, it hadn’t lasted.
The fall festival took over the town square like some kind of Hallmark-inspired explosion.
Tents lined Main Street, pitched along the sidewalks between the courthouse steps and the library lawn.
The air smelled like kettle corn and spiced cider, with the occasional whiff of hay bales and funnel cakes.
Paper pumpkins dangled from lamp posts. Half the town was here, milling around between the bake sale tables, the craft booths, and the bounce house that was already leaning too far left.
North Alabama didn’t get the full Vermont fall treatment, but the trees were doing their best—branches half-stripped, clinging to a few proud, stubborn leaves the color of rust and flame.
Liam was practically vibrating with excitement in the back seat the moment we parked. “I see it! I see the obstacle course!”
“Shoes on before launch,” I warned, but he was already halfway out of the truck with one sneaker barely hanging on.
Cord met me on the passenger side, offering that crooked grin as he pulled the last strap of Liam’s Paw Patrol backpack over his massive shoulder. It looked ridiculous and utterly adorable. “You ready for this?”
I nodded, trying to convince myself I was. “I think so.”
Liam didn’t wait. He spotted the bright red firefighter obstacle course and bolted, plastic helmet clutched in one hand, yelling something about saving a bear from lava.
Cord jogged after him without hesitation.
I trailed a few steps behind, heart stuck somewhere between pride and panic. Crowds usually made me feel like I was holding my breath. But here—now—watching the two of them together like this? It was… different.
Cord crouched beside Liam at the start of the course, fixing that dangling shoe, pointing out the tunnel he had to crawl through, how to dodge the cones, and where the stuffed bear was waiting to be “rescued” from the mini crate labeled BURNING BUILDING in bold red paint.
Liam hung on every word. Nodded solemnly like he’d just been entrusted with a sacred mission.
Then Cord stepped back, arms crossed and grin wide, and cheered as my kid launched into the course with the kind of energy only sugar and adrenaline could fuel. I was starting to suspect he’d snuck an extra bowl of Lucky Charms while I’d been doing my makeup.
Cord wasn’t performing. Wasn’t babysitting. He was with Liam—present, patient, gentle.
He didn’t flinch when Liam tripped a little or asked a thousand questions. He just encouraged him and kept cheering, and my son—my sweet, occasionally shy little boy—absolutely lit up under his attention.
And me? I stood a few feet away, feeling something twist deep in my chest. Cord hadn’t hesitated. Not once. He didn’t fake it. Didn’t force it. And now Liam was looking at him like a real-life superhero.
How was I supposed to protect my heart from that?
We each had a cup of cider—Liam’s with extra cinnamon, Cord’s plain, mine already lukewarm because I kept forgetting to drink it. The paper cups steamed faintly in the crisp afternoon air—a real gift of weather, given it could easily feel like summer on into November here in North Alabama.
Liam was perched on Cord’s shoulders, chattering about every scarecrow we passed. His little fingers curled in Cord’s hair like reins, but Cord didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he looked like he belonged there—grinning up at Liam’s commentary, steadying his small legs without a second thought.
“You know he’s going to treat you like a jungle gym forever now, right?” I asked, falling in beside them on the path between booths.
Cord shrugged. “Could be worse. At least he’s lighter than the gear I usually carry.”
I smiled into my cider and tried not to let my heart show on my face.
We passed a ring toss booth, and Liam practically launched himself off Cord’s shoulders to get a closer look. His eyes locked on a ridiculous blue stuffed dragon dangling from one of the prize hooks. “That one,” he declared, pointing like a general at war.
Cord raised both brows. “A dragon, huh?”
“With wings and everything.”
“Alright,” Cord said, cracking his neck like he was about to enter a championship round. “Challenge accepted.”
It took three tries, a good-natured heckle from the booth attendant, and a muttered “these rings are rigged,” but on the fourth toss, Cord landed it. Bullseye. The dragon was his.
He handed it to Liam with a flourish. “For the bravest firefighter in training.”
Liam hugged it like it was made of gold. “His name’s Blaze.”
“Solid name,” Cord said, fist-bumping him.
I didn’t say anything right away. I just watched them—watched Liam skip ahead with Blaze tucked under one arm, watched Cord trail behind, keeping pace like this was something he’d done a thousand times. Like it was natural.
Like it was easy.
And maybe that was what undid me. Because I’d spent years convincing myself that letting someone in would mean giving something up. Control. Space. Identity.
But this? This felt like breathing again. Like I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath until now.
We’d just settled on a bench with a shared funnel cake, Liam humming happily to himself while tearing pieces off and “feeding” bites to Blaze that were totally going to attract the entire pigeon population of Huckleberry Creek, when Grandma appeared, hands on her hips, eyes with that signature twinkle that meant trouble.
“Excellent. You’re both still in one piece.”
I jumped a little. “What—how long have you been here?”
“Long enough to see you win that fine specimen there,” she said, nodding at the blue dragon now cradled in Liam’s lap. Then she turned to him. “Sweetpea, how do you feel about popcorn, a movie, and a sleepover with your favorite person in the world?”
Liam blinked up at her. “You?”
“Obviously.”
He didn’t even glance at me for permission. Just stuffed the rest of the funnel cake in his mouth and hopped off the bench like someone had just handed him a golden ticket.
Grandma looked over at Cord and me, all innocence and cheer. “I’m stealing your child so you two can go do grown-up things. You’re welcome.”
I blinked. “Wait. What?”
“Popcorn’s already popped,” she said, reaching out to take Liam’s hand. “And I’ve got a fresh pillow with Blaze’s name on it. ”
Liam gave us a jaunty wave as he followed her toward the parking lot. “Bye, Mommy! Bye, Cord!”
Cord watched them go with the kind of slow blink you give an unexpected flashbang. “Did we just get strong-armed by your grandmother?”
I sighed, a laugh escaping before I could stop it. “She’s a pro.”
He looked at me sideways. “Does she always do that? Railroad people?”
“Only when she has an agenda.”
“And what would that be?”
I shrugged, heat blooming in my cheeks. “Depends.”
Was this a setup? A sneak attack sanctioned by Grandma with full confidence that I’d say yes to wherever this night might lead? And if it was… did I mind?
Not even a little.
The fair kept moving around us—kids darting between booths, the smell of kettle corn hanging thick in the air, a bluegrass band plucking notes somewhere near the cider tent—but everything had narrowed to just Cord and me.
Liam was gone. Off on a popcorn-fueled adventure with Grandma, dragon tucked under one arm and no backward glance.
And I was still standing there, hand empty, chest full.
Cord’s fingers brushed lightly against the small of my back. It wasn’t a move. It wasn’t pressure. It was just... there. A quiet reassurance, like he was checking to make sure I hadn’t floated away.
I turned to look at him, and he was already watching me.
“So…” he said, leaning in slightly, voice low and warm, “grown-up things?”
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Like corn mazes and semi-inappropriate jokes? ”
His answering grin was slow and wicked. “Best kind.” Then he reached for my hand—unhurried, giving me the space to say no.
I didn’t.
His fingers laced through mine, palm steady against mine, and I felt something settle in my chest. Not fall. Not flutter. Settle. Like maybe I’d been holding tension for so long I didn’t even realize I was allowed to let it go.
“And maybe dancing under some fairy lights?” he asked.
I blinked. Not because it was cheesy. But because it was so sincere it caught me off guard.
I turned into him, sliding into his arms and smiling up at him. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”