Lily tugged at my sleeve. “Can I get ice cream sandwiches?”
“Yeah,” I said automatically. “Anything you want.”
I’d have bought her a pony if she pointed at one, I was not above the point of bribing her to get her to like me.
We walked toward the frozen aisle, her boots squeaking faintly. She hummed under her breath, something sweet and the sound carved its way right through me.
I was bending down to help her read a label when someone cleared their throat.
“Ethan Walker?”
I turned.
The woman standing there wore the sheriff’s uniform like she’d been born for it, pressed shirt, badge glinting, brown hair in a no-nonsense bun. The eyes though… those were familiar. Warm, crinkling, amused.
My breath caught.
“June?”
Her grin spread slowly. “Lord above. It is you.”
Before I could react, she stepped forward and yanked me into a hug that smelled like peppermint gum and pine.
I froze for half a second, then everything inside me settled.
This was home. This was childhood. This was safety I hadn’t realized I’d missed until it collided into me wearing a badge.
When she pulled back, her eyes were glassy. “Look at you. Taller. Still scruffy. Still that same Walker face.”
My throat tightened. “Hey, June.”
“How are you doing?” she asked softly.
“Why is everyone asking me that?” I muttered.
She raised an eyebrow. “Because if something happened to my brother, I’d be a mess. Anyone would.”
I swallowed hard, the words hitting a place I was trying very hard to hold together with denial.
She didn’t push. June never pushed, not when we were twelve and sneaking cookies, not now when everything in me felt shattered.
She glanced toward Lily, who was crouched, studying the cartoon penguin on a box of fish sticks.
“And how long are you in town?” she asked gently. “I’m guessing you’ve gotta head back to the city soon? Work and all.”
I stuffed my hands into my pockets, keeping Lily in my peripheral vision. “I can stay awhile. I work remote now. I’m an architect for a firm in Montana.”
“Look at you,” she murmured, pride flickering in her smile. Then her radio crackled.
“Rivers, we need you at Hawthorn Ave. Mr. Clement’s calling again about his wife.”
June groaned into her shoulder mic. “Roger that. On my way.”
She squeezed my arm once. “Don’t be a stranger again, you hear? And… Ethan? If you need anything, anything at all, you let me know.”
“I will,” I said, voice thick.
She hurried off, boots echoing down the aisle, leaving me standing there with a kid who wasn’t mine and a grief I still didn’t understand how to hold.
