5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Hailey
The Big Wood Volunteer Fire Department knows how to throw a party.
Red, white, and blue bunting hang from every available surface, and the smell of barbecue smoke hangs in the air like a delicious fog.
Kids dart between clusters of adults, their laughter punctuating the steady hum of conversation and country music playing from speakers mounted on the firehouse wall.
Hovering at the edge of it all, I clutch a paper plate with a hamburger I'm too nervous to eat. I'm still not used to these community gatherings where everyone seems connected by invisible threads of shared history.
"Hailey! Hailey! HAILEY!"
Olivia's voice cuts through the crowd noise before I spot her, barreling toward me at top speed. Her dark curls bounce with each step, and she's dragging Walker behind her, his expression a mix of amusement and apology.
"You came!" Olivia crashes into my legs, nearly toppling my untouched burger.
"Careful, Liv," Walker says, catching up.
He's wearing a faded blue t-shirt that makes his eyes look impossibly bright. "Hey, Hailey."
"Hey." I manage a smile that I hope doesn't betray the flutter in my chest. "Nice party."
"Standard Big Wood fare. Food, flags, and firefighters showing off their equipment to impress the single ladies." His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
"Daddy, can I get a hot dog?" Olivia tugs at his hand.
"Didn't you just eat a hamburger?"
"That was like a hundred minutes ago," she says with dramatic exasperation.
Walker sighs. "Fine. One hot dog. Want anything, Hailey?"
I lift my plate. "I'm good, thanks."
As they head toward the food table, I take a breath.
This is fine. Just a community barbecue.
Just Walker in a t-shirt that fits him too well.
Just normal small-town stuff.
"You came!" Becky appears at my side, startling me.
"I wasn't sure you would."
"I figured I should show my face. Everyone's been so nice."
"Everyone's just happy to have a school nurse who doesn't have one foot out the door." She nudges me with her shoulder.
"And look, you've already got a fan club."
She nods toward Olivia, who's pointing emphatically at the hot dog she wants while Walker patiently waits.
"She's a great kid."
"She is," Becky agrees. "And her dad's not bad either."
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't." She grins. "Oh, heads up, story time's about to start. Jace is reading this year, and he takes it very seriously."
Across the lawn, chairs are being arranged in a semicircle around a decorated "storyteller's chair." Children begin migrating that direction, Olivia among them, now clutching a hot dog in one hand and Walker's fingers in the other.
"Come on," Becky says. "It's tradition."
I follow her to the edge of the gathering, where adults stand watching as Jace, the father of the twins Eli and Wren, who I recognize from school, takes his seat with exaggerated ceremony. He's holding a worn copy of Where the Wild Things Are and wearing a paper crown.
"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."
"You underestimate your appeal, nurse Hailey." His voice has dropped slightly, and something in his tone makes my stomach flip.
Our hands rest on the bench between us. I don't know which of us moves first, but suddenly our pinky fingers are touching. Just barely. The contact sends an electric current up my arm.
I laugh nervously and move my hand to tuck hair behind my ear. Walker doesn't laugh. Instead, he looks at me with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe, like I'm the only person in a world full of people.
"I should probably check on Olivia," he says, but doesn't move.
"Probably," I agree, equally stationary.
The bonfire crackles, sending sparks spiraling up toward the star-filled sky. Around us, conversations continue, but they seem distant, like we're in our own bubble of firelight and tension.
"Daddy!" Olivia's voice breaks the spell. She runs up, marshmallow smeared across her cheek. "Jace says he'll tell us a scary story!"
Walker raises an eyebrow. "Not too scary, I hope."
"The perfect amount of scary," she assures him with complete confidence.
"Well, in that case." He stands, then turns to me. "Duty calls."
"Go ahead. I should probably find Becky, anyway."
But I don't leave. Instead, I watch as Walker joins the small group gathered around Jace, Olivia nestled against his side. There's something about seeing him like this—relaxed, laughing, completely devoted to his daughter that makes my chest ache with a feeling I'm not ready to name.
An hour later, as the party winds down and families begin drifting toward their cars, I finally gather my things to leave. Olivia is still with Jace and Delaney hanging on every word of what appears to be an epic tale involving pirates.
"Heading out?" Walker appears beside me, hands in his pockets.
"Yeah, early start tomorrow."
"I'll walk you to your car."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
I look back and see Olivia sitting with Delaney and nod, turning toward my car.
We walk in silence through the parking lot, now half-empty. My sensible sedan sits under a streetlight, looking particularly unexciting.
"Thanks for coming tonight," he says as we reach my car. "It meant a lot to Olivia."
"Just Olivia?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
Walker takes a step closer. "No. Not just Olivia."
The air between us feels charged, dangerous. I should get in my car and drive away. I should maintain professional boundaries. What I should do is remember all the reasons this is a bad idea.
Instead, I stand perfectly still as Walker reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my face. His fingers linger against my cheek.
"Hailey," he says, my name a question.
I answer by closing the distance between us. Our lips meet, tentative at first, then with growing urgency. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, and mine tangle in his hair. The kiss is electric, months of suppressed emotions finally breaking free. His mouth is warm, insistent, and I forget everything. Where we are, who might see, all the complications that wait on the other side of this moment.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathless. Reality crashes back in, and I take a step backward.
"We shouldn't," I whisper.
Walker just watches me, his eyes dark in the dim light. "Too late," he says softly.
And he's right. It is too late. Whatever line we weren't supposed to cross, we've left it far behind.
"Goodnight, Walker," I say, fumbling for my car door.
"Goodnight, Hailey."
I drive home in a daze, my lips still tingling. By the time I reach my house, my mind is spinning with the feel of Walker's mouth on mine, and with Olivia's odd comment about her mother crying over letters.
Unable to sleep, I grab my laptop and open a browser window. It feels invasive, searching for information about Walker's dead wife, but Olivia's words won't leave me alone.
I type "Walker Ellison Wife Big Wood TN" into the search bar. The first result is a wedding announcement from eight years ago. "Walker Ellison and Riley Reid united in marriage." No photo, just a brief notice. They would have been so young.
Next, I find a brief obituary from three years ago. "Riley Reid, age 27. Survived by her daughter, Olivia." No mention of a husband. Strange.
I dig deeper and find a local news article about a car accident around the same time. "Two fatalities in Highway 16 collision." No names listed, just that the accident occurred late at night and both victims were pronounced dead at the scene.
My stomach knots as I stare at the screen. Something doesn't add up. If Riley died in that accident, who was the second person? And why wasn't Walker mentioned in her obituary?
I close my laptop, feeling suddenly like an intruder. Whatever happened between Walker and his wife is his business. He'll tell me if and when he wants to.
But as I finally drift toward sleep, Olivia's words echo in my mind: "She'd hide in the kitchen when Daddy's letters came."
Letters. Not emails or texts or phone calls. Letters, like someone writing from far away. Or from somewhere you can't make phone calls.
Like prison.
I push the thought away. That's ridiculous. Walker is the most gentle, caring person I've ever met. There has to be another explanation.
But sleep eludes me. My mind is caught between the memory of Walker's kiss and the growing certainty that there's something he isn't telling me.