WE PULL UP TO a little log cabin that isn’t much bigger than a single-family home. The porch is oversized, probably half the size of the cabin itself, and stretches along the front. Whiskey barrels of flowers in all sorts of colors line the walkway to the steps that lead up to the porch, solar lights stuck inside the simple but cozy landscape that immaculately dresses up the front.
Walker shuts off the ignition and then grips both hands on the steering wheel. He takes in the surprising amount of cars lined up in rows.
“It’s pretty busy,” I note, hoping to ease his nerves if he didn’t make reservations. “I’m always good with take-out, you know.”
“We have a seat.” He says it like it’s silly to consider he didn’t call ahead.
“Then what’s the matter?”
“You want to sit here and ask questions?” he grins. “Or go in and eat?”
“You know me,” I say, opening my door over his objection. “I’m always ready to eat.”
His joke was a distraction, but from what I don’t know. I push it away and take his hand as he comes to my side, ignoring his annoyance that I opened my own car door, and step onto the gravel. He doesn’t let go.
My hand enclosed in his palm, we walk along pots of daisies. His cologne is different tonight, more outdoorsy. It’s more rugged than usual, and while I love it, I wish he hadn’t worn it. It’s hard enough to keep my hands off him.
A button-up shirt is tucked neatly into a pair of jeans, a pair of work boots free of grease on his feet. I’ve only seen men like this on television or in magazines growing up, and I get it now. There’s something primal, something instinctive, about being with a man like him. Like he could catch a fish if I were hungry or fix my car if I were stranded. I’m no damsel in distress, my father ensured I’d always have the tools to take care of myself, but I can’t deny how much I adore the feeling of being . . . safe.
As he looks at me over his shoulder, a private smile sliding across his lips in the same way Dominic looks at Camilla or Lincoln looks at his wife, I realize it may be something else too. Something deeper, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever find.
A hostess is set up just outside the front door. She checks Walker’s name and leads us inside. Candles glow everywhere, the lighting soft and sweet as we get situated at a table along the wall in the back.
“This place is adorable,” I tell him, studying the fishing scene on the wall above us. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“This was my mom’s favorite place. I haven’t been here since she died. Didn’t even know it was still open until I called this morning.”
My heart melts at his words, that this is the place he’d choose to take me for dinner. A place that means something to him. “I’m honored.”
“I hope you like meat and potatoes.”
A waitress approaches, takes our drink orders and hands us menus. With a little too much attention placed on Walker for my liking, she struts away. He seems to notice my annoyance.
“She seems nice,” he says, burying his head in the menu.
“I might have to walk her to her car if she keeps it up.”
“Do you have a bat I don’t know about?” he snickers.
“So funny,” I say, rolling my eyes for effect. “What are you ordering? What’s good?”
“Well, being that I haven’t been here in forever, I’m going with the steak cooked medium and a baked potato with extra butter and no sour cream. You?”
“Probably the chicken breast. But if you like steak,” I say, setting my menu down, “one of these days I’ll take you to Hillary’s House. They marinate them with kiwi, I think. Like they rub it on there and lets it sit overnight. It’s delicious.”
“Is that around here?”
“No,” I blush, realizing what I’m doing—considering spending time with him in the future. “It’s in Savannah.”
He fidgets in his seat and I do the same in mine.
“I didn’t mean to insinuate anything,” I say. “I just . . .”
“Have you given more thought to your brother’s offer?”
“Yeah. I’m still not sure.” The struggle that sweeps through me every time I think I have the right answer to Graham’s offer pelts me again. There’s a wide swath of pride that makes me want to wear a sign that says he asked me, just so people know. Then there’s reality.
Going to work for him would feel like a failure despite the victory it also carries. It means I gave up on my dream. It means I need him to be successful. It means I’d be stuck there for the rest of my life because I could never quit. I could never fail or bail on Graham.
There would be no more random travel, no more doing anything that’s not on my schedule.
No more Walker.
“It’s a pretty great offer,” Walker notes, his words weighed carefully.
“Yeah, it is. I’m not totally sure it’s the right choice for me.”
Our drinks are placed in front of us, our orders sent to the kitchen. Walker pays no attention to anything but me.
“I took over my father’s company,” he says, stumbling through the sentence. “I remember a lot of people,” he says, clearing his throat, “thought it was stupid to want to do it for a living. But there’s a part of me that really likes being able to carry on that tradition.”
“I get it.” Those three words seem to mean something to him, his body actually softening as I watch. “I totally understand why you wanted to do that. Especially after he passed. It gives you a connection to your history. That’s important. Your kids may even want to work it someday.”
“I can’t imagine that.”
“I can,” I laugh softly. “I can see a little Walker in bib overalls bopping around the lobby. It would be so damn adorable. But you’d need to keep little Walker away from little Peck. I can only imagine the shenanigans those two would get in.”
Walker laughs the freest sound I’ve ever heard come from him. “It’s little Lance that you’d have to worry about. Trust me.”
I take his hand and lace our fingers together. “I told Graham I’d let him know this week.”
“Do you want to go?”
“Do you want me to go?”
He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to keep you from doing what you want to do. I don’t want to play a part in that decision.”
“You don’t think I’m taking into consideration leaving you when I think about going to Georgia?” With a final squeeze, I withdraw my hand. “I don’t want to make things weird or put pressure on you or jump in too fast, but . . . the thought of leaving makes me really, really sad.”
“Then don’t go.” Something changes and he roughs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to go. Okay? I have to say it because if I don’t and you leave, I’ll never forgive myself for not telling you how I feel. But . . .”
“But what?” My forehead creases, my heart thumping in warning that this isn’t a normal “but.” “But what, Walker?”
“Nothing. I don’t want you to leave.”
Our plates are put in front of us, the scents of basil and garlic floating through the air. We pull our attention to our meals, avoiding the elephant in the room.
I’m ready to take a bite when Walker speaks.
“I want you to know that I want to be with you,” he says, his eyes shining. “Only you. No other women. I want you to come to church and Nana’s and let me take you to dinner and for you to bring me lunch at work just so I can kiss you in the middle of the day.”
“Does this mean I’m fired?” I joke through tears that start to fall down my face at his sweet words.
“This means you’re promoted,” he laughs, shrugging. “I don’t know what the fuck it means, to be honest. It’s just me telling you how I feel so you can make whatever decision you want to make off it. There are things we’ll have to figure out, but none of that matters if I let you go without you knowing. Right?”
“Right.” I get up from my seat and walk around the table and slide into the chair next to him. He folds me into his arms, pulling me to his chest, and holds me in the middle of the restaurant. The clinging of silverware and hushed conversations of the other patrons suddenly don’t exist. It’s just me and Walker. “This is my favorite place in the world.”
He holds me for a long moment, letting his sturdiness be the rock he seems to know I need. When I pull away a few moments later, he clears his throat. Something about it makes my skin prickle and I furrow my brow in anticipation of his words.
“I’m going to be leaving town for a few days coming up,” he says, wrestling with each word. “I’ll be gone a couple of days, a few at most. But I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?” I go back to my seat, my food forgotten.
“I just have a few things to take care of that are overdue. I’ll explain when I get back. I just wanted you to know.”
“Okay.” A sense of uneasiness settles over me, but is washed away with the simple way he touches my cheek. “Can I do something now that you’ve asked me to stay and promoted me?”
“What’s that?” he smiles.
“I want to buy new towels for the shop.”
He shakes his head, picks up his fork, and goes into a long lecture about frivolous spending that’s both irritating and so freaking adorable I can’t quite handle it.