12. Violet
Chapter 12
Violet
F resh coffee and cinnamon lingers in the air, a mixture of cozy small-town and early morning comfort. As I approach Steamy Sips, the small coffee trailer by the town square, I tuck my hands into my hoodie sleeves. I’ve craved her coffee every morning since Aunt Maggie doesn’t bother with coffee. I’m not sure how she’s doing life, if you ask me. Coffee is a necessity. It’s kind of like having air to breathe. I need coffee to function properly.
Cami moves inside the trailer like a woman on a mission, flipping lids onto cups and chatting with a few regulars at the window. The trailer is adorable—a stainless airstream with Steamy Sips hand-painted to look like steam curling from the “S” in Sips, and flower boxes overflowing with tiny white daisies beneath the order window. It feels like a place that has a heartbeat all its own.
“Morning, Violet,” Cami greets me as I step up, and she teases me. “Rough night at the bar brawlin’?”
“Very funny,” I groan, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“You’re all everyone is talking about this morning,” she says with a smirk and a knowing smile .
“Not that big of a deal,” I sigh. “That’s a typical night at a Nashville bar.”
Before I can order what I want, boots scuffing against gravel catch my attention.
A deep, familiar voice that’s low and warm says, “You making her one of those caramel things? Put hers on my tab.”
I turn, and Walker and Jack stand together, holding fresh cups of coffee. No man should look that good without even trying.
The way his dark hair always looks just a little too tousled, like he ran his fingers through it one too many times. The way the sun catches his whiskey-colored eyes, turning them into something rich and deep, something that makes my stomach feel a little unsteady if I look too long.
And don’t even get me started on the beard. Neatly trimmed, just enough scruff to make my fingers twitch with the ridiculous, dangerous urge to remind myself what it feels like.
He’s wearing that soft, worn-in flannel, the one that stretches over broad shoulders and sleeves rolled up just enough to show strong forearms. It’s nothing fancy—just him. Simple. Effortless. But damn if it doesn’t work.
It shouldn’t matter. He’s my friend . He made that clear that was all he wanted from me. And I’ll give him that. Besides, I shouldn’t get mixed up with my boss.
But damn, Walker looks so good. Too good. Like he owns the damn morning. Not fair. I’m pretty sure he stayed longer at the bar than I did. Morning came fast today, and I’m still not fully awake.
“Morning,” I murmur to both of them. "Thanks, Walker. You don't have to do that."
“Morning,” Jack nods.
“Didn’t peg you for a caramel guy.” I arch a brow at Walker .
His lips curve slightly. “I’m not. Black.” He lifts the cup slightly as if to prove he’s too rugged for sugar and cream.
“Black is the only fuel I need,” he says to Cami. “I had to fuel up after taking Mack to school. Parenting a teenager isn’t for the weak.”
Cami snorts from behind the counter. “You’re just mad Mack called you old this morning.”
Walker shoots her a flat look. “She said I have ‘dad energy.’ That sounds worse than being called old.”
I laugh, watching Walker’s eyes soften when he talks about his daughter. Definitely a green flag.
It makes me so curious to meet Mack. I wonder if she has the same whiskey eyes as him? Or if she’s funny and playful like him?
I watch Walker and Cami banter effortlessly, and the tension he usually carries eases with each teasing remark. There’s something about how his shoulders loosen, the quiet pull of a smile at the corner of his mouth—it makes me realize just how rare it is to see him this unguarded. He carries the weight of so much, always steady, always in control. But right now? Right now, he’s just a man, laughing with a friend. And I love watching him like this.
“Black for me, too,” Jack adds, joining the conversation with a smirk, as is his way around Cami. Those two always seem to give each other hell every chance they get.
Cami snorts. “Yeah, well, maybe if you had a little sweetness in your life, you’d be more pleasant to be around, Jessop.”
Jack gives her a flat look. “You saying I’m unpleasant?”
She hands me my hot caramel latte with a smirk. “I’m saying you’re the human equivalent of black coffee. Strong. Bitter. A little too much for most people.”
I can’t stop laughing, and to my delight, Walker fights a smile, shaking his head as he takes a slow sip of his coffee .
This latte is heaven. There’s sorcery in these things. I swear it.
Warm, velvety, and just the right amount of sweet—the caramel melts into the rich espresso, smooth and golden, coating my tongue with buttery warmth. The first hit is bold, the coffee strong and a little bitter, but then the caramel kicks in, swirling with the creamy milk, softening every sharp edge until all that’s left is comfort.
“You’re lucky you make damn good coffee, Cami,” Jack mutters before turning to us. “I gotta run. Later.”
“Bye, Jack. Good to see you,” I call as he waves and heads toward his truck.
“You heading anywhere?” Walkers asks me.
I hesitate. “Nowhere important.”
“You need a refill?” Cami nods at Walker.
He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. Just keeping Red company.”
“Oh, Red ,” Cami smirks, wiping her hands on a rag. “Don’t let me stop you two from flirting awkwardly in public.”
Walker exhales through his nose. “We are not?—”
“See you later, Cami,” I cut in, grabbing Walker’s sleeve before he can argue and make things even more weird between us.
And just like that, I find myself falling in step beside him, coffee in hand, wandering the streets of Bridger Falls.
Bridger Falls is waking up for the day. Storefronts glow with warm yellow lights, shopkeepers flip signs from CLOSED to OPEN, and a few locals sweep the sidewalks in front of their businesses and wave as we pass, giving us curious looks.
Walker and I walk side by side, unhurried, like we’ve done this a hundred times before. And that’s how it seems to be with Walker. He’s a mystery but feels familiar at the same time.
We pass the old pharmacy, its awning faded but still standing strong, flapping in the breeze. Handwritten notes advertising “homemade salves” and “two-for-one root beer floats” fill the display window.
“You ever had one of those floats?” Walker asks, pointing his cup towards the window.
I shook my head as I sip my coffee. “Nope.” It tastes like something safe, something familiar, like crisp autumn mornings and cozy blankets, like the kind of softness I don’t always let myself have.
Like something I could get used to.
He stops, eyeing me like I’ve just confessed to something criminal.
“You mean to tell me you’ve never had a Bridger Falls root beer float?”
I'd never believe it could taste better than this coffee.
I smirk. “What, is that a deal-breaker for you? On being my friend,” I add in quickly.
“Almost,” he mutters, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he smiles. “Lucky for you, I’m big on second chances.”
Green flag.
I sip my coffee to hide my grin as we continue walking.
Okay, yeah. Maybe this could work. I can be friends with Walker.
We pass the fire station next, where a few firefighters sit outside, drinking coffee. Ollie spots us immediately and waves.
“Well, well, well,” Ollie called out, grinning. “First she’s on the back of your bike, and now you’re having morning coffee strolls, Walker? When’s the wedding?”
Walker doesn’t slow down. “Go play with your hose, Ollie.”
Ollie laughs, shooting me a wink, and I laugh so hard.
“Don’t let him pretend to be all gruff and rough,” he calls to me. “Walker’s secretly the town’s biggest teddy bear.”
Walker flips him off without looking back.
I chuckle, glancing up at him. “Teddy bear, huh?”
Walker sigh. “You and Ollie would get along too well.”
Green flag.
We stop in front of Murphy’s Auto Shop, where the scent of motor oil and gasoline mix in the air.
Poppy is under the hood of a truck, grease smeared across her cheek, and her dad stands beside her, giving her instructions.
“She’s going to take over this place one day,” Walker says. “Her dad won’t admit it, but he’s proud as hell of her. She’s an even better mechanic than he is. And he’s the best in a two-hundred-mile radius.”
Poppy catches us looking and flashes me a knowing grin. “Morning, lovebirds!”
Walker mutters something under his breath.
I smirk and nudge him. “You make a lot of enemies in this town?”
Walker exhales. “I make a lot of nosy-ass friends in this town.”
Green flag.
We eventually reach the small town square, where wooden benches sit beneath tall, sprawling oaks.
Walker sits first, stretching his long legs out. I sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth but not close enough to make it weird.
The faded plaque on the bench catches my attention.
In loving memory of Grace Murphy. May your kindness live on in all who sit here.
“Who is Grace Murphy?” I ask, curiously.
“Grace was Poppy’s mother,” Walker says as he looks over at the plaque.
“Poppy’s mom?” I remark, sadly, tracing the letters.
Walker nods. “She was a great lady. ”
The silence stretches between us, comfortable and easy. The wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves overhead.
After a moment, I sigh, turning my coffee in my hands. “I, uh… just wanted to say sorry about last night.”
Walker turns to me, brow furrowed. “For what?”
I let out a dry laugh. “You know, making a mess of your bar. Nearly starting a fight.”
Walker’s expression doesn’t change. “You stood up for yourself.”
I blink “Yeah, but?—”
“I’m raising my daughter not to take shit from anyone either,” he says. “So, if you think I’m gonna lecture you for standing your ground, you don’t know me very well.”
I stare at him, something in my chest tightening. He’s right. I don’t know him very well. But with everything that I’m learning, I want to know him better.
It not just the words—it’s the way he says them. Like it wasn’t even a question. Like he respects me for it.
A slow, unfamiliar realization settled in my bones.
Green flag.
And oh my god, there are so many.
I haven’t seen this color before. Not once. My ex had so many red flags it felt like the carnival was in town. But, green? Nope.
I let myself look at him then, and before I could stop myself, I smile. “You’re a good man, Walker.”
He exhales, shaking his head, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch like he’s fighting a grin.
“Don’t go spreading that around,” he mutters. “I got a reputation to keep.”
I laugh, sipping my coffee as the small town of Bridger Falls moves around us like it has all the time in the world .
“Thanks for your help at the bar last night,” he says, his voice low, almost gruff.
I tilt my head. “You still need me?”
A beat passes. He exhales, like he’s been holding something back, then nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “If you have the time. Cash needs to be with his family.”
I smile, a warm feeling settling in my chest. “I have the time.”
I should not be feeling like this.
Not over a motorcycle ride. Not over Walker.
And yet, here I am, clutching the warm coffee he bought me like it’s some lifeline, walking beside him down the quiet streets of Bridger Falls, and trying—really trying—not to let my brain go places it shouldn’t.
Like how solid he felt under my hands. How the warmth of his body bled through his shirt, steady and strong as I held on to him. How the wind tangled through my hair, the world flying by, and somehow, all I could focus on was him—how safe I felt. How much I wanted to press closer.
It was just a ride. Just a favor after my car broke down.
But now, with the town settling into a quiet hum around us, I can’t shake the way my pulse still stirs when he glances over at me.
This is dangerous.
Walker is—Walker is my friend. My favorite person to banter with at the bar, the one who lets me handle things and never says a word. The guy who calls me Red with a slow, teasing grin.
He’s steady. Dependable. Good.
And that ride…
That ride made me forget all the reasons we’re just friends.
But it doesn’t help when Walker’s arm brushes mine, his scent—a mix of leather, soap, and something undeniably him—lingering in the cool air.
“You’re quiet,” he says, his voice low, easy. Like he already knows I’m in my head.
I force a smirk, bumping my elbow against his. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
He chuckles, and I swear it does something to my chest. Makes it tighten. Makes it ache in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.
I liked that ride too much. I liked the feel of him too much.
And I can’t afford to.
I take another sip of coffee, fixing my gaze on the sidewalk ahead. Just friends. That’s all we are.
Even if, right now, walking next to him with the pinks and purples streaking across the sky and my heart tripping over itself like a fool…
It sure as hell doesn’t feel that way.
For a second, we stand there, the space between us charged with something unspoken. Then Walker clears his throat. “We'd better get going. Maggie’ll have my ass if I keep you here any longer.”
“Later, Walker,” I call as I head inside the Dogwood while he waits on the sidewalk like a gentleman. I'm pretending to play it cool with Walker. But what I feel is far from cool.
The smell of orange furniture polish drifts through The Dogwood as I finish wiping down the check-in counter. The afternoon light filters through the windows, casting golden streaks across the worn wooden floors.
Maggie bustles into the room, a woman on a mission, stuffing a few things into a tote bag before shrugging on her jacket.
“Where’s the fire?” I ask, sipping my coffee.
Maggie huffs. “No fire. Just heading over to pick up Mack.”
I grin, because the way Maggie spoils Walker’s daughter is adorable. It’s the way she’s always been with me. “What are you bringing her this time?”
“Just a few cookies,” she says far too innocently, sliding the tote over her shoulder.
I lean against the counter, smirking. “Maggie, we both know there are at least three different snacks in there, probably a book, and knowing you, something ridiculously hilarious.”
Maggie lifts her chin, unapologetic. “That girl is growing up too fast. Someone has to dote on her properly.”
I shake my head, amused. “You know, Walker might fight you for the title of ‘Most Overprotective.’”
I still haven’t met this kid, but she seems great. I’ll admit, I’m curious about her.
Maggie snorts. “Please. That man is wrapped around Mack’s little finger. He pretends he’s all tough, but one pout from that girl, and suddenly, he’s building her bookshelves at midnight and making pancakes in the shape of horses.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little,” Maggie says, grinning as she adjusts her hair in the mirror. “I caught him doing it once. Looked embarrassed as sin, too.”
I laugh, picturing a big, brooding Walker standing at the stove, flipping horse-shaped pancakes for his daughter.
Maggie gives me one of those knowing looks, the ones that see straight through you. “He’s a good man, you know.”
I glance down at my coffee, my heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it’s been doing more often lately. “Seems like it. ”
She pats my arm. “Mack’s a good kid too. Can’t wait for you to meet her.”
Warmth spreads through me at that. I say nothing, but Maggie’s eyes twinkle like she knows.
She pauses at the door, one hand on the knob. “You’re thinking about staying here, aren’t you?”
I look around The Dogwood, the place that somehow feels more like home than anywhere else has in years.
I think about Walker. About this town that has somehow wrapped itself around my heart without me even noticing. I have nothing to go back to in Nashville and no desire to return.
I smile. “Yeah, Maggs. I think I could stay for a while.”
She beams, then winks. “Well, good.”
And just like that, she’s out the door, off to spoil Mack with cookies and Walker with unsolicited life advice.
I shake my head, laughing to myself.
I stand by the window of The Dogwood, my hands wrapped around a warm mug of coffee.
Bridger Falls doesn’t rush.
There’s no honking traffic, no neon signs flashing, no relentless push to be somewhere, do something, prove something. This town moves at its own pace—steady, like a song played just right.
And somehow, it’s exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
I take a slow sip of my coffee and think about how easy it’s been to breathe here. How the weight I’d carried for so long has felt a little lighter.
My notebook is open on the check-in counter, pages filled with half-written songs and messy lyrics, words coming to me faster than they have in years.
I thought I’d lost this part of myself—the girl who used to scribble lyrics on napkins and hum melodies under her breath just because they made her feel something .
But here? Here, the songs are coming back to me.
Maybe it’s how the town breathes creativity—in the way Cami perfects her lattes like an artist, the way Poppy gets lost in her work under the hood of a car, the way Maggie just pours love into everyone. It’s like a place that heals souls.
Maybe it’s Walker, his quiet intensity, the way he walks into a room, making everything feel a little steadier and more real.
Or maybe it’s all of it—the slow, steady rhythm of life here, the way it’s wrapping around me, making me feel safe, making me feel like maybe, just maybe, I belong.
I smile to myself, fingers tapping lightly against the ceramic mug, a melody already forming in my mind.
I think I could stay here forever.