Chapter Eighteen
Isla
The knock at the door has me on edge, and my hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob. I’m dreading the thought of Chase and his latest girlfriend being on the other side of the door. That concern twisting in my stomach feels like I’ve swallowed pure acid.
I pull the door open, steeling myself. But instead of Chase’s smug grin, it’s Walker standing there, filling the doorway with his imposing presence.
My breath catches, my heart pounding against my ribs in a frantic beat that makes me feel lightheaded. That can’t be a good thing, can it? His dark hair is tousled, those piercing blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sends electric shocks skittering down my spine. Is the universe pranking me right now? Is he?
“Hey,” he says, his voice a low rumble that my whole body tunes into.
I’m stuck in place, unsure what to say – or if I can even speak. “Wha— How did you find me?”
His brow furrows, a deepening line in his forehead showing concern. “I heard you had a family emergency.”
That unexpected softness in his gaze, a flicker of humanity beneath the threatening exterior, unsteadies me more than any arrogance could. He shifts, and his gaze drops to my dress. The cupcakes dotting the fabric seem suddenly ridiculous, too innocent and girlish under his scrutiny. Heat creeps into my cheeks, betraying my composure.
“Nice dress,” he says, and there's no mockery in his tone, just a note of something like... approval?
“Thanks.” I mumble the word, tugging at the hem of my sundress. “My mom's sick. Vice let me take some time off.”
“Good.” He nods, but there's an edge to his voice that both commands and reassures. Of course, he already knew what was going on – I’m sure Vice told him – otherwise, why would he be at the door right now?
“Who’s at the door?” Mom's voice carries from the living room, soft with the weariness of being ill.
“Someone from work.” I feel Walker's probing gaze on me still as I answer my mom.
“Don't be rude, invite them in!” She sounds stronger now, and annoyed that I’m not using the manners she taught me.
With a reluctant step back, I gesture for him to enter. Our eyes meet again, his lips twitching into a hint of a smile that has my pulse flailing erratically. It’s as if he knows the chaos he's causing inside me, as if he enjoys it.
“Come in,” I say, my voice scraping my throat raw. There’s something so… intimate about him being in my home.
“Thanks.” Walker steps past me, bringing with him a scent of cologne and leather that seems too refined for his rough edges. As he crosses the threshold into the familiar comfort of my home, I wonder what kind of mayhem he's bringing with him. And whether I'm ready for it.
The warmth of my mother's smile feels welcoming, while Rand’s narrowing eyes are a sign he’s already judged Walker and found him wanting. Suspicion is written into his every feature as he takes in Walker's towering frame and unapologetic presence. The air feels statically charged, and I swear the men are drawing an invisible battle line. What else do I expect between my protective younger brother and my intruding boss?
“Next time,” Walker says, and my attention snaps back to him, “you get my permission before taking time off.” His tone isn’t harsh, but it carries an authority I know better than to question.
I swallow hard, acutely aware of Rand's scowl deepening. I've grown accustomed to Walker's direct manner, though it still manages to fluster me at times. “Understood,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
“Are you her manager? Boss?” My mom's question is followed by her gaze roving over Walker's casual attire. Jeans cling to his long legs, and the button-up shirt stretches taut across his broad chest and powerful shoulders, hinting at the strength hidden beneath the fabric.
“Boss.” There's a subtle shift in his stance, a silent declaration of his role that I’m not sure is intentional. He’s just intense like that.
He stops for a second, rather than taking a seat like mom offers. “I almost forgot, I'll be back in a moment.” With that, he strides out the door without another word, leaving us exchanging curious glances.
My mom’s chuckle pulls me from my surprise, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “He's good-looking,” she says, a hint of teasing in her tone.
“What an ass,” Rand mutters under his breath, his dislike for Walker as clear as day.
Before we can really talk about him, the sound of the front door opening interrupts us. Walker steps back into view, carrying something that immediately catches my eye—a wooden crate filled with apples, their dull skins telling me they’re fresh, not store-bought.
“I thought you could use these in something,” he says, offering the crate to me.
I blink, momentarily thrown. Does he know about my love for baking? If so, how? Maybe it’s an innocent coincidence, because it's not something I've ever mentioned at work. Sensing my confusion, he adds, “I've seen the treats you bring in for the staff.”
Guilty as charged. “Thank you.” My voice is softer than intended, a flush creeping onto my cheeks. There's a surprising gentleness in his gesture, a side of him that always throws me off.
As I reach for the apples, my arms brushes his hand, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. For a split second, I allow myself to wonder what it would be like to feel those strong hands elsewhere, tracing paths of heat along my skin. But I push the thought away, reminding myself of the lines we shouldn't cross.
I motion for him to follow me into the kitchen. “Here's where you can put the apples,” I say, motioning to the countertop beside the sink. His hands move with pure power as he sets the crate down, the muscles in his forearms flexing subtly beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt.
And I’m suddenly aware we’re alone. With my pulse going wild, I hurry back out to the living room and safety.
As dusk settles over the house, painting the sky in hues of lavender and rose gold, my mother turns to Walker. “Walker, why don't you stay the night?” There's an edge of hopeful expectation in her tone, one I don’t understand.
“Thank you, Mrs. Anderson,” he says with a smoothness that is at odds with his dominating presence. “I wouldn't want to impose.”
“Nonsense.” She dismisses his words with a wave of her hand. “You can bunk with Isla or take the guest room if things aren't... comfortable between you two yet.” Her eyes twinkle with mischief, leaving me stammering for words, words that refuse to come.
“Mom!” I say, shocked.
But she only chuckles. “Show him around, will you, dear?” she says, oblivious—or indifferent—to the heat creeping up my neck.
“Sure,” I say, but I’m anything but sure. I’m not sure I want to be alone with him, or that I trust either of us to keep our distance when I swear it feels like the universe is trying to shove us together.
The weight of his gaze lingers on me like a physical touch, sending ripples of awareness tickling down my spine.
“Nice place.” He’s surveying the cozy space dining area that’s filled with warm light and the lingering scent of cinnamon from this morning's baking; my brother always begs for cinnamon rolls, and mom had even taken a few bites.
“Thanks.” I’m caught off guard by the intensity of his scrutiny. It's as if he's peeling back layers, seeing more than just the kitchen or dining area where I've spent countless hours lost in the art of creating something sweet.
“Shall we?” I gesture toward the hallway, leading him to the next part of the impromptu tour. My childhood room awaits, the door swinging open to reveal pastel walls and white lace curtains dancing gently in the evening breeze.
“How childish.” His eyebrow arches as he steps over the threshold.
“Childish?” I ask, feeling defensive as I cross my arms over my chest. “It's my childhood room, of course it’s childish.”
“Of course,” he says, his lips curving into something that's not quite a smile. “So, why am I here?”
His question dries up every drop of saliva in my mouth, and I blink in the soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the headboard of my bed. He shrugs, a simple lift of his broad shoulders conveying uncertainty that seems so out of place given his usual commanding, sure confidence.
“Why are you here?” I ask, knowing we’re asking about different things.
“It seemed like the right thing to do.” Somehow, in this small sanctuary of mine, it does make sense. “Your turn.”
“Why are you here… in my room?” I ask and he nods. “Because my mom told me to give you a tour.”
I’d swear my answer smothers a spark in his eyes.
*
In the days that follow, Walker remains a constant fixture in our home. He listens to my mother's stories with genuine interest, his rugged face softening ever so slightly at her laughter and asking questions while listening to the answers. He never shies away from lending a hand, whether it's helping Rand with the heavier chores or sitting quietly with mom when she tires.
Rand watches him with a deep resentment in his features, distrust radiating from him like heat from pavement on a summer's day.
But mom? She sees something different in him, something redeemable, and despite Rand's protests, she welcomes Walker's presence.
And as for me? With every hour that passes, the mystery of Walker grows, wrapping around my heart, binding me to him in ways I hadn't expected. He's dangerous, but I can't bring myself to walk away—not from the ex-gang member who walked into my life and turned it upside down.
The sun casts a golden hue over the town as Walker and I meander down the worn path that hug the river's edge. The gentle rush of water cascading over rocks accompanies our silence—a comfortable quiet that allows my senses to absorb the serenity of this place.
The trail leads to the waterfall, and we walk right up beside it on the rocks, enjoying how its mist cools our skin.
“I never thought I'd find something like this here.” Walker’s deep voice is filled with awe as his gaze sweeps across the landscape.
“Sometimes beauty hides in plain sight,” I say, stealing a glance at him. His presence is imposing, intense, and yet he somehow fits seamlessly into the natural world.
We continue walking, making our way to the lake. The surface of the water is smooth and undisturbed, mirroring the sky above. Tall trees stand silently around us, their leaves whispering secrets on the breeze. It feels like a different world—one where the complications of our lives are hushed by nature's calm.
When we finally find our way out, I ask if he’s thirsty and gesture at a little café.
“Starving, actually,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a partial smile that lacks warmth.
As we enter the café, the clink of glasses and low hum of conversation fills the air. We take a seat outside, the wooden chair creaking slightly under Walker's weight. I'm about to suggest the amazing fish and chips they offer, or one of their burgers, when a familiar face catches my eye—Chase. My annoyance flares instantly, prickling at my skin. Why is he here?
And, of course, he starts making his way toward me, some poor woman I don’t recognize in tow. But his bravado falters the moment his eyes lock onto Walker. There's a brief standoff, an unspoken challenge as Walker lifts his chin, silently daring Chase to come close. For once, Chase puts both his brain cells to work and, visibly deflated, turns on his heel and disappears back into the crowd.
“Friend of yours?” Walker's voice is casual, but his sharp gaze tells a different story. He's seen too much; he knows.
“Not at all.” Suddenly self-conscious, I’d swear everyone around us is staring at me. The viral video of my heartbreak flickers through my mind—the reason why I've kept my past with Chase to myself. Everyone has seen it. Everyone knows.
“Let's just get our order,” I say, hoping to shift the attention off me.
“Sure.” He leans back, crossing his arms, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of that sweetness beneath his rough exterior. It's disarming. How am I supposed to protect my heart around him?
That night, the mood shifts. Walker, ever the unpredictable man, informs my mom that he'll be leaving. She tries to hide her disappointment behind a smile, but I don’t think she fools anyone.
“I have to talk to you,” I say, leading him away from my mother's questioning gaze. We step into my childhood room. A place that once felt so big, is now filled with the enormity of his presence.
“About what happens next…”
But he cuts me off—not with words… with action. Walker pulls me into a hug, his arms solid and unyielding around me. My heart hammers against my chest, every beat echoing the confusion and longing that tangle within me. His hold is protective, almost possessive, and for a fleeting second, I let myself sink into the warmth of him.
I know this is wrong. But I don’t want to stop or push him away.
“Thank you,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. “For showing me your world.”
And in that embrace, I realize that despite the chaos he brings, Walker has become a part of that world, altering it—and me—in ways I never could have imagined.
His embrace tightens, and I'm surrounded by the heady scent of leather, sweet apples, and something I can’t define that clings to him. The world beyond these four pastel walls falls away, leaving only the quick beat of my pulse and the heat of his body against mine.
I tilt my head up to meet his gaze, searching those blue eyes that seem to flicker with all the emotions he won’t let show on his face. There's a question forming on my lips, one that's been burning inside me since the moment he stepped into my life unannounced, but it never finds its way out.
Instead, Walker lowers his head, and his lips find mine. It's a searing kiss, filled with an intensity that steals my breath and scatters my thoughts. Warmth spreads through me, a slow burn that feels like it's been ignited from within. His mouth moves over mine with a confidence that speaks volumes of the man he is—bold, determined, unyielding.
The passion surges like a wave, crashing over us, and I cling to him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if I could bind myself in this moment forever. He kisses me like I’m his, but with a tenderness that leaves me breathless. My heart, once shielded by walls of self-preservation, crumble under the gentle assault. I inhale his scent, lost in the softness of his lips, the demanding nature of his kiss.
Stunned, I'm lost in the whirlwind that is Walker. Every brush of his lips weakens my knees, tilts my world, and unlocks something within me that I had kept hidden away. I'm laid bare, vulnerable and wanting, and it terrifies me just as much as it exhilarates me.
I want to ask him to stay, but as he breaks the kiss, his breath warm on my lips, his eyes locked on mine before lowering to my mouth again, I can’t speak, breathe, or even stay upright with my heart slamming so hard.
He holds me upright, his hands on my back, his arms like steel around me. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, his lips touching mine again, heating up the rapidly cooling skin there. Tingling heat races through every inch of my body and every nerve in me lights up like a Christmas tree.
I want more from him. I want him to show me everything.
“I’ll see you when you get back,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.” I know he means that, even though he’s leaving my home tonight, he’s not walking out of my life anytime soon.
And as I stand there, wrapped in his warm embrace, I realize that maybe—just maybe—I don't want him to.