“He needs safety.”
Walker planted himself in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed. “He needs to stop turning every-fucking-thing into a joke.”
“And he will. When he’s ready.”
“When’s that gonna be?” His voice had an edge now. “When he’s run out of pranks? When he’s burned every bridge here?”
“When he feels safe enough to stop running.” She shaped another ball of dough, pressing too hard, flattening it. “You push him now, you’ll lose him.”
Walker’s expression darkened. “We said that about Evander. ‘Give him time. Give him space. He’ll open up when he’s ready.’ And he left in the middle of the night.Didn’t even say goodbye. Just gone.” He shook his head. “Boone blamed himself for months.”
So did you, she thought, but said, “You can’t make someone stay who doesn’t want to be saved.”
“Maybe not. But I should’ve tried something different instead of just waiting for Evander to be ready. I’m not making the same mistake with River.”
They stared at each other across the counter, flour and cookie dough and three years of unspoken things between them.
In three years, this was their first real fight about how to help someone. About methods, philosophy, timing. It shouldn’t have surprised her. Walker led with structure and discipline. She led with patience and space. They’d been dancing around this collision since the day she’d arrived.
As if summoned by the mention of his name, the kitchen door banged open, bringing a blast of cold air and River, whose dark curls were dusted with snow.
“It’s freezing out there,” River announced, stamping his boots on the mat. His gaze bounced from Johanna to Walker, taking in their proximity at the counter. A slow grin spread across his face. “Well, well, well. What’s cooking in here besides cookies?”
“Nothing,” Walker said, too quickly, and backed away from her. “What did you break?”
River waved a dismissive hand. “Just one of those glass ball things. And technically, Boone broke it. I merely created the circumstances in which it could be broken.” He hopped onto a stool at the island, watching them with unabashed interest. “You two seem cozy. So are you gonna make out or make cookies? The suspense is killing me.”
The wooden spoon froze in her hand, hovering over the bowl. Beside her, Walker went completely still, his body suddenly radiating tension rather than warmth.
Silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the soft ticking of the wall clock.
River looked between them, eyebrows raised. “Wow. That bad, huh?”
“Don’t you have decorations to hang?” Walker’s voice had that dangerous calm that usually sent the men of Valor Ridge running for cover.
“Nope.” River popped the ‘p’ sound, settling more comfortably on the stool. “Boone fired me. Said I’m a ‘hazard to public safety and Christmas spirit.’” He reached over and snagged a cookie from the cooling rack. “These are good, Doc. Your secret talent.”
“River,” Walker warned.
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I know when I’m not wanted.” He grabbed another cookie, dodged Walker’s swat, and backed toward the door, cackling as he went.
The silence that followed was thick enough to slice and serve with coffee.
Johanna realized she was still holding the wooden spoon midair, like a conductor frozen mid-symphony. She lowered it slowly, setting it in the bowl.
Walker cleared his throat. “Sorry about him.”
“He’s not wrong, though.”
Crap. She hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to cross the line they’d been so careful not to approach since New Year’s Eve. Since the kiss that had been perfect and terrifying and had changed exactly nothing because she’d told him she wasn’t ready.
Walker moved, reaching across the counter. Then he stopped. Pulled back.
“Jo,” he started, his voice lower than usual, rough around the edges.
Another crash outside. This one louder. Followed by Jonah’s shout, baffled and exasperated.
Walker closed his eyes briefly as if praying for patience. When he opened them again, whatever he’d been about to say seemed to have retreated behind his usual reserve.
