Cameron’s dart landed close enough to make him hopeful for about half a second.

Then Lucy’s hit.

And even before he fully registered the distance, he knew.

Not because he was suddenly some dartboard mathematician.
Because of the little breath she let out through her nose.
Because of the way she looked at the board—calm, satisfied, unsurprised.
Because Lucy Corbett had always had a gift for making victory look like the most natural outcome in the room.

He stared at the board for one beat longer, then let out a low, resigned laugh.

“Damn,” he said, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “Thought I had a shot there.”

He hadn’t embarrassed himself.
That counted for something.

Still in training.

That made him grin despite himself.

“Brutal,” he murmured, taking the dart back from her when she handed it over.

And then—

Her hand on his shoulder.

Quick.
Friendly.
Light as anything.

But enough.

Not enough to knock him off balance or send him spinning backward into memory like some idiot.
Just enough to register.
Enough that something warm settled a little deeper in his chest, quiet and real.

Next time, Cam.

That name in her mouth almost got him more than winning would’ve.

He looked at her when she stepped back, the smile still on her face, easy and unguarded in a way he hadn’t expected to get tonight, and for a second he just let himself enjoy it.

No reaching.
No overreading.
No ruining it.

Just this.

Cameron twirled the dart once between his fingers, then pointed it vaguely at her like he was filing an official complaint.

“I want it on record that I improved dramatically in one night,” he said. “That’s the kind of comeback story this town should be talking about.”

His tone stayed light, but the affection under it was hard to miss now. Not romantic in the way that demanded anything. Just warm. Familiar. Honest.

He set the dart back in the holder beneath the board and grabbed both empty bottles from the shelf before she could reach for hers, holding one up slightly.

“C’mon,” he said. “Least I can do after getting publicly coached and privately humiliated.”

He carried them toward the bar and set them down near the register while the bartender gave them the look of a man who’d been ready for them to leave fifteen minutes ago but wasn’t above enjoying the show.

“You two finally done flirting with athletics?” the bartender asked dryly.

Cameron snorted and pushed a hand through his hair.

“She destroyed me, actually.”

The bartender looked at Lucy, then back at him.
“Good.”

Cameron laughed under his breath and shook his head.
“Unbelievable lack of support in this establishment.”

The bartender only jerked his chin toward the door.

“We’re closed, Tate.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Cameron stepped back from the bar and glanced at Lucy, grin still hanging around the edges of his mouth.

The place looked different now with the lights lowered further and the stools up.
Smaller.
Emptier.
The kind of late-night quiet that only existed for a few minutes before a place fully stopped being public and turned back into itself.

He held the door for her when they reached it—not making a production out of it, just an easy old habit reshaped into something gentler.

Outside, the night air hit cool and clean after the beer-and-wood warmth of the bar. Main Street had gone mostly still, storefront windows dark except for a few lamps left glowing in display corners. Somewhere down the block, a truck rolled past slow, tires whispering over pavement.

Cameron let the door shut behind them and slid his hands into his jacket pockets.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

It wasn’t uncomfortable.

That was maybe the strangest part of the whole night.
How little of it felt uncomfortable by the end.

He looked over at her, streetlight catching the side of her face, the loose strands of her hair, the shape of that still-lingering smile.

“Well,” he said, easy and low, “you were right.”

A beat.

“I survived a conversation.”

His mouth tipped crookedly, then softened.

“And I had a good time.”

That part he let land plain.
No joke over it.
No disguise.

Then he rocked back slightly on his heels and nodded down the sidewalk.

“I parked over there,” he said, tipping his chin toward the row of angled spaces near the courthouse square.

The tease slipped back in, warm and easy.

“So I’ll make this very convenient for you if you decide you’re done putting up with me tonight.”

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug, relaxed.

“Clean exit. No dramatic small-town audience.”

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t start toward the truck.

Instead he stayed where he was on the sidewalk beside her, hands still in his pockets, easy in the quiet of the street like he wasn’t in any particular hurry to end the night just yet.

After a second, his mouth pulled slightly to one side again.

“Or,” he added lightly, glancing toward her, “we could go for a walk.”

Lucy stepped out onto the sidewalk and felt the cool air settle across her skin almost immediately.

The door of Rodeo Bar & Grill shut behind them with a soft thud, sealing off the last of the neon glow and low country music that had filled the room all night. Out here the quiet felt different—cleaner somehow. The kind of small-town quiet that only happened after midnight, when the last trucks rolled through Main Street and the town finally exhaled.

She stood there a moment beside him, hands tucked loosely into the back pockets of her jeans while she let her eyes drift down the block.

Bedford Falls looked exactly the same as it always did this time of night.

The courthouse clock across the square glowed faint yellow. Storefront windows were dark except for the soft lamps left on in display corners. Somewhere farther down the street a wind chime knocked lazily against itself outside a closed shop.

Lucy listened to Cameron talk.

Survived a conversation.

She almost smiled again.

When he mentioned walking, she tilted her head slightly, considering it. Not in a dramatic way. Just thoughtful—like she was genuinely weighing the option instead of brushing it off the way she might have earlier in the night.

Her gaze moved back to him.

Streetlight caught the side of his face, the faint crease near his mouth when he half-smiled like that. The years had settled on him in quiet ways she noticed without trying.

For a second Lucy didn’t answer.

She just looked at him, head tipped up and a little to the side as she thought about it.

Then she stepped closer.

Not far—just enough that the space between them shortened naturally on the sidewalk.

Her hand came up without much ceremony and she gave his chest a light pat, the gesture easy and familiar in a way that surprised even her a little.

“You can walk me home,” she said.

Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

Not flirtatious.

Not heavy.

Just simple.

Lucy stepped back again, already turning slightly toward the direction she needed to go. The faint smile that had settled in earlier still lingered, softer now in the quiet glow of the streetlights.

“It’s only a few blocks,” she added over her shoulder.

Then she started down the sidewalk, knowing perfectly well he’d follow.

Cameron felt the light pat to his chest more than he probably should have.

Not because it was charged. Not because she meant anything bigger by it.

Just because it was easy.

Familiar in that dangerous, quiet way the best things with Lucy had always been—simple enough to look like nothing from the outside, and somehow still enough to knock the air loose in his ribs for a second.

You can walk me home.

His mouth curved before he could stop it.

There was something about the matter-of-fact way she said it that got him more than if she’d made it playful. No buildup. No weirdness. Just Lucy deciding something and moving like the night would naturally make room for it.

Which, apparently, it did.

He watched her turn and start down the sidewalk with that same calm certainty she brought to everything, and the grin tugged a little wider at one corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said under his breath, mostly to himself. “Okay.”

Then he pushed off from where he’d been standing and followed.

He fell into step beside her easily once he caught up, not too close, not hanging back either. Just there. Side by side on a Bedford Falls sidewalk after midnight like maybe it wasn’t the strangest thing in the world that they’d ended the night this way.

The air had cooled enough to take the leftover warmth of the bar off his skin. Somewhere down the block, a streetlamp buzzed faintly. Their steps sounded soft against the concrete, the whole town seeming to breathe slower around them now that most of the lights had gone out.

Cameron slid his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and looked ahead for a second, letting the quiet settle instead of rushing in to fill it.

He’d learned at least that much tonight.

Still, after a few steps, he glanced over at her, the soft glow from the shop windows catching the line of her profile.

“You know,” he said, voice low and easy in the empty street, “that almost sounded like a reward.”

A beat.

“For good behavior.”

The tease sat warm and light between them, not pushing for more than she’d offered, just meeting the mood where it was.

He looked forward again, a small smile still hanging on him.

“I’ll take it.”

They passed the darkened windows of a boutique with a half-finished spring display in the front—mannequins in pale dresses and boots, fake wildflowers tucked around their feet. Across the street, the bakery’s chalkboard sign was still out, tomorrow’s special scrawled in looping handwriting. Bedford Falls had that sleepy, staged quality it always got this late, like the town itself had gone soft at the edges.

Cameron exhaled through his nose, the beer buzz in him mellow now, more hum than heat.

“I used to forget this part was nice,” he said after a little while, glancing up toward the courthouse clock. “Town after everybody goes home.”

His tone was thoughtful, not overly weighted. Just true.

“When I was younger, if it got this quiet, I was usually looking for wherever the noise went.”

He huffed a faint laugh at himself.

“Probably explains a lot, actually.”

That one he left there, dry and easy, more observation than confession.

A pickup rolled slowly through the next intersection, headlights washing briefly over the storefronts before disappearing around the corner. Cameron waited until the sound faded before he looked over at her again.

“You still walk everywhere?” he asked. “Or is this just because you like making me earn my gentleman points?”

The line came out with that same unforced charm he wore best when he wasn’t trying too hard—easy, a little crooked, just self-aware enough to stay from feeling slick.

He adjusted his pace to hers without thinking, long stride shortening naturally.

They passed Honey Bee Vintage a block later, its windows dark now, the display inside only half visible in the spill of streetlight. Cameron’s eyes caught on it for a second.

Not long. Just enough.

He remembered leaning on that counter in a stupid baseball hoodie pretending he needed opinions on jackets he couldn’t have cared less about. Remembered the old record player near the front. The smell of worn denim and dust and whatever candle Lucy’s mom used to burn near the register in colder months. Remembered how easy it had felt then to exist in her space without earning it first.

He looked away again before the memory could settle too deep.

The corner of his mouth tugged faintly.

“Still think your shop has the best windows on Main Street,” he said, nodding toward it as they passed. “Don’t know if I ever told you that.”

It was the kind of thing he might not have noticed enough to say when they were younger, even if he’d thought it. Now he said it plainly.

No angle. No hidden plea. Just another small truth the night seemed willing to let through.

He glanced at her again, that easier version of him still intact, the one the evening had given him permission to be.

“Also,” he added, “for the record, I’m counting the walk as proof I handled losing with real maturity.”

His grin came back at that, boyish around the edges.

“Feels important that somebody documents it.”

Lucy walked beside him with that same steady, unhurried pace, hands tucked loosely into the back pockets of her jeans. The night air had cooled enough that the warmth from the bar had completely faded now, leaving that clean small-town stillness that always settled over Bedford Falls after midnight.

Streetlights cast soft yellow circles across the sidewalks. Their footsteps echoed lightly in the quiet.

When he asked about driving, Lucy let out a quiet breath through her nose, the faintest hint of amusement there.

“Not really.”

She nudged a loose pebble off the sidewalk with the toe of her Converse as they walked, watching it skitter toward the curb before glancing sideways at him.

“I did eventually get my license,” she said.

She stepped off the curb at the empty intersection, crossing the street without needing to check for traffic. The whole town felt asleep around them.

“I got it a couple years after you left.”

The way she said it was calm, matter-of-fact. No bitterness. No emphasis meant to make the moment heavier than it needed to be.

Just the truth.

Lucy reached the opposite sidewalk and slid her hands back into her pockets again.

“When I was sixteen I didn’t really see the point,” she continued, gesturing faintly with her chin toward the quiet stretch of town behind them.

“Everything I needed was here.”

School. The diner. Honey Bee Vintage. The river trail. Rodeo.

Bedford Falls had always been a town built for walking.

She glanced at him again briefly, her expression relaxed but steady.

“My parents were thrilled when I finally got it though,” she added. “My mom acted like I’d been personally holding the DMV hostage for years.”

A faint smile touched her mouth.

“But I still don’t drive much.”

She shrugged lightly.

“If I need to go farther than Bedford Falls I borrow their car. Or Danny’s truck if he’s not using it.”

Lucy said it easily, but there was something quiet in the way she carried herself beside him — not guarded exactly, but grounded. Comfortable enough to talk. Comfortable enough to walk with him like this.

Still very clearly her own person.

Still very clearly not giving him more than she meant to.

When they passed Honey Bee Vintage, Lucy noticed his glance toward the window even if he tried not to linger.

The small lamp she’d left on earlier cast a soft glow across the display — worn denim jackets, a pale floral dress, a stack of old vinyl records propped near the corner.

When he mentioned the shop windows, Lucy slowed slightly, her eyes flicking toward the glass for a moment.

“You definitely never said that.”

Her tone wasn’t sharp. Just honest.

She studied the display a second before looking forward again.

“My mom used to do the windows,” she said quietly. “She changed them constantly.”

Lucy’s expression softened just a little.

“She’d rearrange everything at midnight if she decided the lighting was wrong.”

A small breath of amusement escaped her.

“I mostly just try not to ruin her system.”

They continued down the block, the houses beginning to replace storefronts now. Porch lights glowed warm behind trees and picket fences.

When Cameron joked about documenting his graceful loss, Lucy laughed again — softer this time, but real.

“Oh, I noticed.”

She slowed slightly at the next intersection out of habit before stepping across the street again.

“I’ll make sure it goes in the town archives.”

Lucy tilted her head toward him, that faint teasing smile returning.

“Cameron Tate. Graceful in defeat.”

She nodded once like she was officially recording it.

“Historic moment.”

Then she kept walking, hands still in her pockets, shoulders relaxed.

And even though she was clearly letting the night stay easy between them — clearly allowing the conversation, the walk, the quiet familiarity that still existed — Lucy carried herself with the quiet certainty of someone who knew exactly where the lines were.

She wasn’t pushing him away.

But she wasn’t moving them either.

Cameron laughed under his breath at that, the sound low and easy in the quiet street.

“Graceful in defeat,” he repeated. “That really oughta be carved into something.”

He glanced over at her, catching the teasing tilt of her mouth before looking ahead again.

“Maybe a plaque. Outside the baseball field.”

The line landed light, but he liked the way she’d said his name with that mock-official tone, liked the fact that she was still here beside him at all. The night had settled into something loose and clean between them now, and he was careful with it in the way you got careful with things you actually wanted to keep.

Her saying she got her license after he left sat with him for a second.

Not as a wound. Just as a marker. A quiet little reminder that life in Bedford Falls had kept moving in all the ordinary ways while he’d been gone. Lucy learning to drive. Her mom still fussing over window displays. The town continuing to be itself whether he was part of it or not.

He nodded once, a faint smile still lingering.

“Your mom does seem like the type to take window displays personally.”

A beat.

“In a respectable, slightly terrifying way.”

That got another soft huff of amusement out of him, and he tucked his chin briefly against the cool night air before glancing back toward Honey Bee Vintage over his shoulder. The glow from the lamp in the window had already softened into the rest of Main Street behind them.

“I can see it, though,” he said. “The midnight rearranging.”

Then, after half a beat, more honestly:

“You didn’t ruin it.”

He kept his tone easy, plain. Not pressing too hard on the sentiment. Just giving it to her.

“The windows, I mean. They look like yours now.”

That felt true in a way he couldn’t quite explain better than that. Her mother’s care still lived in them, maybe, but the shop had Lucy’s hand all over it now—steadier, cooler, a little more worn-in around the edges. Like she’d taken something loved and made it fully her own without needing to announce it.

They turned down the next block where the storefronts gave way more fully to houses, the town thinning into porches and parked cars and dark front lawns silvered faintly by streetlight. Somewhere nearby a sprinkler clicked lazily on and off. Cameron kept his pace even with hers, hands still in his pockets, shoulders loose.

He didn’t miss the way she held herself.

Comfortable. Open enough to let the night be good. Closed enough that the lines still stood exactly where she wanted them.

He respected it. More than that, he liked that she didn’t blur them just because the evening had gone well. There was something about that steadiness in her that made the whole thing feel more solid, not less.

After a few quiet steps, he tipped his head slightly toward her.

“You always did make Bedford Falls sound bigger than it is.”

It wasn’t a joke this time, not exactly. More a quiet observation.

“When you talk about it, I mean.” He glanced ahead at the sleeping houses, the dim porch lights, the empty sidewalks. “It never sounded small when it was you.”

He smiled faintly to himself after he said it, like maybe he hadn’t meant to make that one quite so honest. Then he added, easier, “Probably why I used to spend so much time hanging around the shop when I had zero business being there.”

That was warm enough to carry the truth without making it heavy.

He kicked lightly at a crack in the sidewalk as they walked, then looked over at her again.

“Danny still driving that same truck?” he asked. “The one that sounded like it was losing a fight every time it started?”

The question came casual, lived-in, the kind of thing you asked someone when you were allowed to know the supporting cast of their life a little. He wasn’t trying to reach too deep. Just staying with her where she was letting him stand.

A porch light blinked on across the street as they passed, motion-triggered and brief, throwing a pale wash over the sidewalk before dimming again. Cameron glanced toward it, then back to Lucy.

“And for the record,” he added, with that crooked charm warming his voice again, “I’m choosing to hear ‘historic moment’ as admiration.”

He gave her a sidelong look.

“Don’t correct me. I’m enjoying it.”