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“Sure,” I say, but I’m anything but sure. I’m not sure I want to be alone with him, or that I trust either of us to keep our distance when I swear it feels like the universe is trying to shove us together.
The weight of his gaze lingers on me like a physical touch, sending ripples of awareness tickling down my spine.
“Nice place.” He’s surveying the cozy space dining area that’s filled with warm light and the lingering scent of cinnamon from this morning's baking; my brother always begs for cinnamon rolls, and mom had even taken a few bites.
“Thanks.” I’m caught off guard by the intensity of his scrutiny. It's as if he's peeling back layers, seeing more than just the kitchen or dining area where I've spent countless hours lost in the art of creating something sweet.
“Shall we?” I gesture toward the hallway, leading him to the next part of the impromptu tour. My childhood room awaits, the door swinging open to reveal pastel walls and white lace curtains dancing gently in the evening breeze.
“How childish.” His eyebrow arches as he steps over the threshold.
“Childish?” I ask, feeling defensive as I cross my arms over my chest. “It's my childhood room, of course it’s childish.”
“Of course,” he says, his lips curving into something that's not quite a smile. “So, why am I here?”
His question dries up every drop of saliva in my mouth, and I blink in the soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the headboard of my bed. He shrugs, a simple lift of his broad shoulders conveying uncertainty that seems so out of place given his usual commanding, sure confidence.
“Why are you here?” I ask, knowing we’re asking about different things.
“It seemed like the right thing to do.” Somehow, in this small sanctuary of mine, it does make sense. “Your turn.”
“Why are you here… in my room?” I ask and he nods. “Because my mom told me to give you a tour.”
I’d swear my answer smothers a spark in his eyes.
*
In the days that follow, Walker remains a constant fixture in our home. He listens to my mother's stories with genuine interest, his rugged face softening ever so slightly at her laughter and asking questions while listening to the answers. He never shies away from lending a hand, whether it's helping Rand with the heavier chores or sitting quietly with mom when she tires.
Rand watches him with a deep resentment in his features, distrust radiating from him like heat from pavement on a summer's day.
But mom? She sees something different in him, something redeemable, and despite Rand's protests, she welcomes Walker's presence.
And as for me? With every hour that passes, the mystery of Walker grows, wrapping around my heart, binding me to him in ways I hadn't expected. He's dangerous, but I can't bring myself to walk away—not from the ex-gang member who walked into my life and turned it upside down.
The sun casts a golden hue over the town as Walker and I meander down the worn path that hug the river's edge. The gentle rush of water cascading over rocks accompanies our silence—a comfortable quiet that allows my senses to absorb the serenity of this place.
The trail leads to the waterfall, and we walk right up beside it on the rocks, enjoying how its mist cools our skin.
“I never thought I'd find something like this here.” Walker’s deep voice is filled with awe as his gaze sweeps across the landscape.
“Sometimes beauty hides in plain sight,” I say, stealing a glance at him. His presence is imposing, intense, and yet he somehow fits seamlessly into the natural world.
We continue walking, making our way to the lake. The surface of the water is smooth and undisturbed, mirroring the sky above. Tall trees stand silently around us, their leaves whispering secrets on the breeze. It feels like a different world—one where the complications of our lives are hushed by nature's calm.
When we finally find our way out, I ask if he’s thirsty and gesture at a little café.
“Starving, actually,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a partial smile that lacks warmth.
As we enter the café, the clink of glasses and low hum of conversation fills the air. We take a seat outside, the wooden chair creaking slightly under Walker's weight. I'm about to suggest the amazing fish and chips they offer, or one of their burgers, when a familiar face catches my eye—Chase. My annoyance flares instantly, prickling at my skin. Why is he here?
And, of course, he starts making his way toward me, some poor woman I don’t recognize in tow. But his bravado falters the moment his eyes lock onto Walker. There's a brief standoff, an unspoken challenge as Walker lifts his chin, silently daring Chase to come close. For once, Chase puts both his brain cells to work and, visibly deflated, turns on his heel and disappears back into the crowd.
“Friend of yours?” Walker's voice is casual, but his sharp gaze tells a different story. He's seen too much; he knows.
“Not at all.” Suddenly self-conscious, I’d swear everyone around us is staring at me. The viral video of my heartbreak flickers through my mind—the reason why I've kept my past with Chase to myself. Everyone has seen it. Everyone knows.
“Let's just get our order,” I say, hoping to shift the attention off me.
