It was a disaster from the start. Their noses bumped, and she tilted her head the wrong way, their foreheads knocking together. He adjusted, she moved in the same direction, and then their teeth clicked when their lips finally met. He felt her startled intake of breath against his mouth.
It was clumsy, awkward, nothing like the smooth, practiced kisses of his imagination. Nothing like their past, when they’d fit together so easily, it had scared him.
He pulled back, mortified. “I’m sorry, I?—”
The screen door banged open. Boone stepped onto the porch with Jonah right behind him, both men stopping short.
Walker and Johanna jumped apart like guilty teenagers, though Boone’s knowing smirk suggested the damage was done.
“So that’s happening now?” Boone drawled.
Johanna’s face flushed deep red. “We just—I slipped on the ice,” she said, the lie transparent and desperate. “Walker caught me.”
Boone raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the dry, snow-free porch beneath their feet. “With his mouth?”
“We’re just friends,” Johanna insisted, backing toward thedoor. “Colleagues. That’s all.” She straightened her sweater with trembling hands. “I need to... There are dishes.”
She disappeared inside, the screen door swinging shut behind her with a hollow bang that matched the sinking feeling in his chest.
For the first time in years, Walker Nash had let himself want something selfish. And he’d managed to mess it up in under ten fucking seconds.
eighteen
New Year’s Eve.
Seven days since Christmas morning.
Seven days of careful conversations with Johanna, of “excuse me” and “after you” and pretending that awkward kiss hadn’t happened.
The cold air stung Walker’s nose as he stepped out on the porch and took a deep breath. Beside him, Cowboy sat alert, ears perked toward the driveway where headlights would appear when Boone, Jonah, and Bishop returned from town.
Last year, they’d sat right here counting down to midnight, making plans for a future that had seemed so clear. Now everything felt clouded, uncertain.
The door opened behind him, and Walker knew it was Johanna without turning. The soft tread of her boots on the wooden boards, the faint scent of vanilla and coconut that always clung to her hair.
“I brought drinks,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “Sparkling cider. Better than last year’s.”
Walker turned, taking the offered glass. “Thanks.”
Their fingers didn’t touch during the exchange. They’d been careful about that all week.
Johanna leaned against the railing a few feet away, leaving a deliberate gap between them. Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual braid, and she wore the blue scarf she’d knitted him for Christmas. He’d given it to her earlier when he noticed her shivering.
“Should be a clear night,” she said, looking up at the stars already appearing in the darkening sky. “Good way to start a new year.”
Small talk. They’d been reduced to small talk.
“Yeah.” Walker took a sip of the cider, wishing it were something stronger. “Boone and Jonah should be back soon. Just went to pick up supplies.”
Cowboy stood and stretched, then padded over to Johanna. Unlike his owner, the puppy had no awkwardness around her. He bumped his head against her hand, demanding attention.
She smiled and scratched behind his ears. “He’s settled in nicely.”
“He has.” Walker watched them, feeling a pang in his chest. “Sleeps on the foot of my bed now. For a little guy, he snores like a chainsaw.”
Johanna laughed, and the sound loosened something tight in Walker’s chest. The first real laugh he’d heard from her in a week.
Headlights swept across the yard as Boone’s truck pulled up. Bishop’s head was visible in the passenger window, ears perked up. Jonah sat in the back seat, saying something that made Boone shake his head.
