“Eventually.” He tightened his arms around her, not ready to share her with the rest of the world just yet.
She smiled against his mouth, then gently pushed him away. “Now. Before Boone sends out a search party.”
“He would, too.” He sighed, but let her go. He grabbed a fresh T-shirt from the dresser while Johanna pulled on her jeans and sweater from the night before. Her movements were quick and efficient, but he caught the slight tremor in her hands as she buttoned her jeans.
“Ready?” she asked, running fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it.
He nodded, reaching for the doorknob. Cowboy rose from his spot in front of the door, tail wagging in greeting.The dog looked from Walker to Johanna and back again, head tilting slightly as if trying to understand the change in their relationship.
“Morning to you, too,” Johanna said, scratching Cowboy behind the ears. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Walker opened the door, letting the dog go first. Johanna followed, and he came last, his hand finding hers as they approached the stairs. Her fingers were cold, but they curled around his without hesitation.
The stairs creaked under their weight, announcing their descent. Walker kept his hand in hers, thumb rubbing small circles on her skin. At the bottom step, he squeezed once, then moved his palm to the small of her back as they entered the kitchen.
River stood at the stove, flipping pancakes and singing something off-key. Boone sat at the table, newspaper open in front of him, a mug of coffee at his elbow. Jonah leaned against the counter, cup in hand, watching River with an expression of mild alarm.
All three looked up as Walker and Johanna entered. Conversation stopped. River’s singing cut off mid-verse.
“Morning, lovers,” River said, a grin spreading across his face. “Sleep well?”
Johanna’s cheeks went red. She tucked her hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture Walker had come to recognize over the years.
Jonah smirked at Boone. “Told you so.”
Boone grunted, turning back to his paper. “Eggs are getting cold,” he said, not quite managing to hide his smile.
Walker pulled out a chair for Johanna, then sat beside her. His knee bumped hers under the table, a small point of contact that sent warmth spreading through his chest. For three years, they’d sat at this same table every morning, careful not to touch, careful not to reveal anything. Now, he couldbrush his hand against hers, could lean in close, could let everyone see what she meant to him.
Jonah set a plate in front of Johanna—bacon, eggs, toast. “Extra crispy, just how you like it,” he said, nodding to the bacon. “Congrats, by the way. Took you two long enough.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled, reaching for her fork.
“Boone’s smirking behind that paper because he won the bet,” River announced, flipping another pancake with unnecessary flourish. “Said you two couldn’t make it through another holiday without jumping each other.”
Walker’s hand was steady as he poured the coffee, but when Johanna touched his wrist, a slight tremor ran through him. Not from fear, but from the newness of being allowed to touch her, to be touched by her, in front of everyone.
“I should get half the winnings,” River continued, sliding pancakes onto a plate. “My brilliant plan is what finally got you two together.”
“Your brilliant plan was grabbing Jonah’s arm and saying ‘let’s get out of here so they can make out,’” Boone deadpanned, not looking up from his paper.
“And it wasn’t like we hadn’t tried the same thing last year,” Jonah pointed out, taking a bite of toast.
Walker cleared his throat. “If you’re all done discussing our personal lives?—”
“Oh, we’re just getting started,” River interrupted, sitting down with his plate piled high with the slightly singed pancakes. “We’ve got months of pent-up commentary to unleash.”
Boone set his coffee down with a soft clink and finally folded the paper. “So. This is happening?” He met Walker’s eyes, the question loaded but not unkind.
Walker took Johanna’s hand, lacing their fingers beneath the table where only she could feel it. “Yes,” he said. “It is.”
Boone nodded, solemn as a judge. “About damn time.” Then he looked away,but not before a quick, rare smile flickered across his face.
The conversation pivoted easily, as if some locked door had been thrown open. Boone launched into a rundown of the day’s chores—fence repair after the last snow, moving feed from the storage barn before the next storm, checking on the new calves up at the North Meadow. River tossed in a joke about Boone’s eternal feud with the fence-line, but even that felt lighter, less like a shield than it had just a week ago.
Johanna’s hand remained in Walker’s under the table, her thumb tracing absent circles along his knuckles. It was a small thing, but it felt like oxygen. He was conscious of every contact, every glance, every shared private moment that no longer had to be hidden or explained away. It was as if his body had remembered something it used to need and been deprived of for too long.
When Boone and River moved on to a debate about winterizing the old tractor—River’s theory was that it needed a new starter, Boone’s that the entire thing was “nothing but scrap held together by rust and white-knuckle hope”—Johanna leaned close to Walker and lowered her voice.
