Page 28 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

But as we walked past Eleanor’s bakery, warm bread and sugar drifting through the open door, something unexpected happened.

Damien reached out and—so casually it almost didn’t register—gave a soft tug to the end of my braid.

It was instinctive. Unthinking. Familiar.

I stopped walking. Blinked at him. My breath hitched in the quiet space between us.

He immediately dropped his hand and cleared his throat, suddenly fascinated with the bakery window display. “Sorry. Didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” I said, too quickly.

We stood there, both staring at a tray of scones like it had the answers to life’s biggest questions.

My heart thumped in my chest like it had found a new rhythm—faster, uncertain, hopeful.

Because that one small gesture said more than his carefully constructed sentences ever could.

He wanted to be close.

Even if he didn’t quite know what to do with that feeling yet.

I looked over at him. He looked over at the same time.

And we both looked away again, flustered.

It was ridiculous.

It was awkward.

It was perfect.

“Okay,” I said, pulling my glitter board tight to my chest like a shield. “Let’s go figure out how many twinkle lights we can get away with before you start hyperventilating.”

Damien smirked. “The fire marshal’s number is already on speed dial.”

And somehow, walking side by side into the town square, the gala plans in motion and feelings tangled like fairy lights, I knew this was only the beginning.

Not of a project.

But of us.

Cedar Springs’ town hall was packed.

The weekly meeting usually drew a modest mix of business owners, council regulars, and folks who came for the free coffee and polite gossip. But tonight, the place buzzed. The folding chairs were all full, and even the standing-room spots near the back were crowded with people leaning in.

I stood at the front beside Damien; hands folded neatly in front of me like I knew what I was doing. My stomach was doing a full three-act panic play, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at me.

Damien, of course, looked like he’d been born to stand in front of a crowd. Calm. Unflappable. Navy sweater. That infuriatingly composed expression.

Eleanor James stepped up to the mic, wearing one of her signature floral scarves and a glint in her eye that said she had something planned.

She tapped the mic twice. “Ladies and gentlemen of Cedar Springs, I’ll keep this short—but tonight, we have something worth pausing for.”

The room quieted. Coffee cups stilled. Even Hazel—two rows back—perked up with a suspiciously proud smirk.

“As you all know,” Eleanor continued, “our beloved Ruby Bloom suffered a setback recently. A very wet, flower-murdering setback.”

A soft chuckle rolled through the crowd. My cheeks burned.

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