Page 18 of Big Risks

"Welcome, young adventurers!" he announces, and the children giggle.

Walker appears beside me, close enough that I can smell his aftershave. "Jace waits all year for this," he whispers.

"I can tell," I whisper back.

As Jace begins reading, Olivia breaks away from the children's section and marches purposefully toward us. Without hesitation, she climbs into my lap, settling in like it's her designated spot.

"Um, hi there," I say, surprised.

"Shh," she replies, eyes fixed on Jace. "It's story time."

Walker gives me an apologetic look, but I shake my head. It's fine. More than fine, actually. The warm weight of this little girl in my lap feels strangely right.

Jace is halfway through the story when Olivia tilts her head back to look at me.

"You smell like apples," she whispers.

"It's my shampoo."

She nods sagely. "Mommy smelled likes apples too when she cried on the day the mailman came."

That hits me like a bucket of ice water. I freeze, unsure of how to respond.

"What do you mean, baby?" I ask carefully.

"I dunno." She shrugs, already half-distracted by Jace's animated reading. "She'd hide in the kitchen when Daddy's letters came."

I glance at Walker, but he's focused on Jace, unaware of our conversation. My mind races with questions I have no right to ask.

The rest of story time passes in a blur, Olivia's words echoing in my head. When Jace finishes with a theatrical bow, the children applaud wildly, and Olivia slides off my lap.

"Can I go play with Ace now?" she asks Walker.

"Stay where I can see you," he answers, and she's off like a shot.

An awkward silence falls between us. I struggle for something normal to say, something that doesn't involve asking about his dead wife and mysterious letters.

"She really likes you," Walker says finally.

"I like her too. She's..." I search for the right word. "Extraordinary."

His smile is soft. "Yeah, she is."

As darkness falls, the firefighters light a massive bonfire at the center of the field. Families gather around it, roasting marshmallows and talking in hushed voices as the flames cast dancing shadows across their faces.

Somehow, Walker and I end up sitting side by side on a log bench, a respectable but not excessive distance between us. The firelight softens his features, turning him from handsome to something almost otherworldly.

"So," he says, "been in Big Wood for a bit. What’s your verdict?"

I consider this. "It's growing on me. Like a particularly stubborn form of moss."

He laughs, the sound warm against the cool evening air. "High praise indeed."

"The school’s clinic is busier than I expected."

"Small towns, big accidents. Plus, I think people just like having an excuse to see you."

I roll my eyes. "Right. Because sprained ankles and scraped knees are such fun reasons to visit."

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