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Chapter thirty-two

D amien

I spotted him before Ruby did—leaning casually against the lemonade table like he belonged there.

Nathan. The kind of man who looked like he’d walked off a cologne ad: tousled hair, button-down rolled just right at the sleeves, and that golden-boy smirk that made you instinctively check your collar for wrinkles.

“Let me guess,” I said under my breath as I walked up behind Ruby. “He played guitar in college and made everyone cry at bonfires?”

Ruby didn’t turn around. Her shoulders shook with a laugh. “Only the ones who fell for him.” Then she added, with a teasing glance over her shoulder, “Which I didn’t. Not really.”

Not really.

I arched a brow, stepping closer to her side, my hand brushing against hers. She didn’t pull away. That small contact grounded me more than I cared to admit.

Nathan noticed. His smile didn’t falter, but there was a flash of recognition in his eyes—a subtle flicker of ‘ah, so this is the guy.’

“You must be Damien,” he said, extending a hand.

I shook it firmly. “You must be Nathan. I’ve heard things.”

Ruby made a strangled sound that might’ve been a laugh or a groan. Probably both.

Nathan grinned. “Don’t believe everything you hear. Unless it’s flattering.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I kept my voice light, but my jaw ticked slightly. I wasn’t threatened—not truly. But I was learning something new about myself in real time: I didn’t like unknown variables where Ruby was concerned.

He wasn’t here to steal her away. That wasn’t it. But he reminded me that she’d had a whole life before me, filled with people and stories and moments I’d never touch. Maybe that was what dug under my skin—not jealousy, but the echo of everything I hadn’t been around to protect her from.

Ruby nudged me lightly. “Don’t worry, Doc. Nathan’s just here for the opening. Right?”

Nathan chuckled. “Right. Just here to admire the garden, get lost in the poetry, and dance badly at the party.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Hazel called, carrying a tray of cookies past us. “The dance part. Not the poetry. I leave that to Eleanor.”

Nathan winked at her. “Save me a spin.”

Hazel fanned herself dramatically. “Oh no. Not another one with charm. Cedar Springs can’t handle it.”

The group dispersed slowly as folks moved on to other preparations, leaving me and Ruby momentarily alone under the archway we’d hung lanterns from earlier that morning. The sun filtered through the vines, casting golden patterns across her face.

“He seems nice,” I admitted.

Ruby tilted her head. “That sounded painful.”

I smirked. “It kind of was.”

She laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You don’t have to worry about him.”

“I’m not worried,” I said. Then, quieter, more honest: “I’m still learning how to be soft and sure at the same time.”

Ruby’s expression softened. She reached up, her fingers grazing my jaw. “You’re doing better than you think.”

I leaned into her touch. “He rattled me for a second. Not because I think he’s a threat. But because he reminded me that I haven’t always shown up for you the way I wanted to.”

Her brows drew together, surprised. “Damien, you’ve built a life with me from the ground up. I don’t need perfect. I need present. And you’re here. That’s everything.”

I pulled her into a hug, resting my chin on her head. She fit so perfectly against me, like a puzzle piece I hadn’t known was missing until I found it.

“Think there’s a version of me,” I murmured, “that doesn’t get defensive or broody every time a smooth-talker shows up?”

“Nope,” she said immediately, voice muffled against my chest. “But that’s okay. I like my grump with a side of growth.”

I chuckled, tightening my hold on her. “I like my chaos with a dash of grace.”

She pulled back slightly to grin up at me. “Look at us. Trading affirmations like a couple of reformed self-help junkies.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’ll get matching T-shirts made.”

“You’d wear a matching T-shirt?” she asked, eyes wide.

“For you? I’d wear glitter.”

“Damien Cole in glitter. Be still my heart.”

We laughed again, the kind that loosened something tight in my chest. For all the change I’d undergone since coming back to Cedar Springs, it was moments like these that proved to me I hadn’t just built something new—I’d become someone new.

And I liked him. I liked who I was when I was with her.

A voice called from behind us. “Hey, if you two are done gazing soulfully, we’ve got paper lanterns to string and a lemonade stand collapsing under the weight of too much charm.”

Hazel, again. That woman had impeccable timing.

Ruby squeezed my hand before stepping away, already calling back, “Coming!”

I followed her into the bustle of pre-opening chaos, where townspeople were fluffing centerpieces and Marge was aggressively labeling things with a roll of stickers that read “Floral Station: DO NOT MOVE.” Somewhere in the mix, Nathan stood chatting with Eleanor about the town’s history.

I watched Ruby from across the garden as she moved through the crowd with ease and joy, that spark in her eyes shining brighter than ever. My earlier doubts began to fade, like morning fog giving way to sun.

Nathan might’ve known her once. But I knew her now.

And this time, I wasn’t going anywhere.

…

The morning air was crisp, laced with the scent of newly tilled soil and something sweet—probably the lemon scones Hazel insisted on baking at sunrise. I stood near the garden archway, adjusting a banner that refused to hang straight, when footsteps approached from behind.

“I figured I’d find you hiding out here,” Nathan said, his voice as casual as ever, though his eyes held something quieter. “You’re not who I expected.”

I turned slowly, not defensive, just... cautious. “That right?”

Nathan nodded, folding his arms, gaze flicking across the painted benches and vibrant planters that lined the wellness path. “I figured you’d be... colder. Sharper. A little more heartless.”

I gave a dry chuckle. “Well, give it time. I’m still a work in progress.”

He smirked. “Yeah, but you’re real. And solid. And she needed that more than anything.”

There was a pause. One of those rare silences that didn’t need to be filled. Then I stepped forward and held out my hand. “She makes people better. Always has. I just try to live up to her version of me.”

Nathan shook it, firm and steady. “Then you’re already ahead of most.”

He glanced once more toward the community center where Ruby was likely organizing hydrangeas into color-coded bins. “She’s lucky,” he added.

“No,” I said quietly. “We both are.”

Nathan smiled, that same relaxed confidence still tucked into the corners of his expression. But there was respect now, too. And a kind of camaraderie that surprised me.

“Well, I should hit the road,” he said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “Places to be. Other towns to unexpectedly drop in on.”

I grinned. “Try to give them more notice next time.”

“No fun in that.”

As he walked away, I watched him go, something in my chest settling. It wasn’t competition I’d felt—it was the weight of measuring up to Ruby’s past. But now, I understood I didn’t have to be anyone else. Just present. Just honest.

Hazel came bursting around the corner like a wind-up squirrel in a sundress. “There you are!”

I arched a brow. “What did I do now?”

She huffed. “Nothing yet. But it’s time to change into your good shoes.”

“My good what?”

“The mayor just pulled up with a news crew. And if you think I’m letting you be filmed in those dusty sneakers, you’ve got another thing coming, Doc.”

I looked down. Yep. Definitely covered in soil and remnants of a paint spill I hadn’t noticed. “Hazel—”

“March,” she ordered, pointing dramatically toward the guest cottage. “There are loafers by the door and a clean shirt hanging on the porch swing. Ruby said to tell you she left a boutonniere, but you’re not allowed to ask what flower it is until after you’re mic’d up.”

I started laughing, helpless to stop. “You people run this town like a sitcom.”

Hazel flashed a grin. “Sweetheart, this is the season finale. Don’t blow it.”

She took off down the gravel path, probably to rally the others.

I exhaled, rolled my shoulders, and started toward the porch. Whatever came next—press, mayors, awkward dancing—I was ready.

Because for the first time in a long time, I knew exactly where I belonged.