Chapter 6 #2
I catch my reflection in the mirror by the door. My hair’s a tangled mess, there are mascara streaks under my eyes, and my pounding headache is a stark reminder that hangovers and I don’t mix well.
There’s no way Walker meant to call me beautiful after seeing me like this, right? That doesn’t stop my heart from nearly beating out of my chest as my hand drifts to my cheek, still warm from his touch. Before I can read more into it, my phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Backroads & Bad Decisions Group Chat
Charlie: Birdie Mae Matterson, answer this text or I’m calling the sheriff’s office, and we both know Mason would love any excuse to drag you back to that jail cell.
The last thing I need is for them to report me missing. That wouldn’t go over well when they discover Walker spent the night—even though nothing happened between us.
Birdie: I’m okay, but I can’t talk right now.
Wren: Oh thank god you’re alive.
Briar: Where have you been?
Charlie: You’re with Walker, aren’t you??
Charlie: Girl, you better not leave us hanging.
I put my phone face down on the nightstand, choosing not to answer. They’ll have to wait a little longer until I figure out the best way to respond. Right now, I’m going to get dressed and head downstairs to have breakfast with Walker, no matter how awkward it might be.
When I leave my room, a rich, buttery scent drifts from the kitchen. My idea of a home-cooked meal is limited to cereal or toast, so whatever Walker is making is already leagues beyond anything I’d attempt.
As a kid, I loved cooking with my mama. She’d stand beside me, teaching me how to measure and mix, laughing softly whenever I sent flour billowing into the air by stirring too hard or missed the bowl completely.
She was always patient, reminding me that mistakes were half the fun.
One of the first symptoms she experienced was loss of dexterity in her left hand, which made cooking difficult.
Over the years, she had to stop completely, and I soon lost any interest in it too.
It’s a painful reminder of who she used to be and what’s been taken from us because of an incurable disease.
I enter the kitchen and find Walker at the stove with his back to me. My throat goes dry, and I’m unable to look away from the curve of his shoulders and the way his muscles flex with each movement.
“You did have a shirt on when you got here last night, right?” I tease.
He spins around when he hears my voice, his eyes twinkling. “Checking me out twice before coffee? That hangover must be worse than I thought.”
“I’m not checking you out,” I insist as I move closer. “It’s bad manners to roam around someone’s house half-naked.” Okay, I may have shamelessly stared, but it’s hard not to when he looks like he stepped straight off the cover of a western romance novel.
“It’s also not very polite to throw up on someone when they’re trying to hold back your hair and you keep swatting at them for doing it wrong.” He laughs as he sprinkles cheese on the eggs he’s cooking before moving them off the hot burner.
My jaw drops in shock. “That’s so humiliating! Why would you bring that up now?”
It’s bad enough he saw me at my worst, but to be caught up in the middle of my drunken chaos is something else entirely. Then again, it’s probably a good thing that part of the night is still fuzzy, or I might die of mortification reliving it.
“You were ridiculously cute, thinking you held your liquor well, and I didn’t want to burst your bubble.”
Walker is an enigma. Most guys bolt after my first accidental disaster or sign of awkwardness. Yet he remains unfazed, no matter how clumsy I am or how many times I trip over my words.
I reach across him to snag a piece of cheese that hasn’t melted yet, popping it into my mouth. “How come I didn’t know you could cook?”
He shrugs, taking two plates from the cabinet next to the stove. “I like taking care of the people who are important to me, and making them food is one way I do that.”
My pulse spikes at the implication that I could be one of those people—and the alarming part is how much I want to be.
Until last night, Walker was just Briar’s brother and one of my friends.
Even though I’m confident nothing physical happened, something has shifted between us.
I’m all warm and fuzzy watching him take care of me. I can’t stop staring.
“Want your coffee now too?” Walker asks.
“You made me coffee?” My voice comes out a little breathless.
He nods. “Everyone in Bluebell knows you can’t leave the house without your full caffeine quota.”
I’m stunned speechless as Walker crosses to the other side of the kitchen and retrieves a mug sitting in what looks like a hot water bath. He lifts it out, dries it with a towel, and hands it to me. “One oat milk latte with a dash of cinnamon—just the way you like it.”
I’m left weak at the knees knowing he remembers my coffee order down to the exact milk I prefer. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised, considering he’s always showing up at the feed store with my favorite meals.
He motions to the table. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring over your breakfast.”
Still unable to find the words to answer, I do as he suggests.
My mouth waters when a minute later he sets a plate of avocado toast in front of me, complete with a drizzle of oil and a sprinkle of pepper flakes.
“This looks amazing,” I manage to get out. “Your mom would definitely approve of the presentation.”
Julie’s cooking is legendary. It was always a treat when Briar invited me over for dinner at her place. My mama was a good cook, but Julie‘s culinary skills are on another level altogether.
“She should be,” Walker says, chest puffed out with pride. “She spent countless hours drilling the basics into Heath and me, saying no son of hers would grow up without knowing his way around a kitchen.”
I push back the sadness that creeps in, a reminder that he’s lucky enough to still have his mom around in a way I’ll never have mine again. To distract myself, I cut a piece of toast, add some egg on top, and take a bite—the flavors exploding on my tongue.
“It’s so good,” I exclaim.
Walker smiles as he takes the seat beside me. “Glad you like it.”
I sip my coffee between bites, noting that it tastes far better than my usual attempts and even tops the one from Lasso & Latte.
I’ve never had a man make me breakfast before, and as much as I wish we could enjoy the rest of our meal in peace, there’s something important we have to discuss before he leaves.
“We might have a problem,” I state reluctantly.
Walker leans back in his chair, resting a hand on his thigh. “And what would that be?”
“Word got out that we left the bar together last night, and now the whole town thinks we hooked up—including your sister.” I stay perfectly still, holding my breath for his reply.
He runs a hand over his stubbled jawline, contemplating the information before giving a small shrug. “And?”
I let out an exasperated exhale, set my fork down, and turn to face him. “This is serious. I woke up to a bunch of messages in the group chat asking if we slept together, and I’m not sure how to respond.”
“Let’s get one thing straight.” His eyes lock on mine. “If we’d actually done what everyone thinks, sleep would have been the last thing on our minds.” I gulp, my heart hammering in my chest, unable to stop myself from picturing all the possibilities he’s hinting at.
I shake my head, forcing those thoughts aside. “Your sister thinks we hooked up, and I doubt she’ll believe me if I tell her otherwise when she finds out you spent the night.”
I’m certain she or Charlie has already called Earl and confirmed he didn’t bring me home. Plus, Mrs. Bixby will absolutely investigate when she spots the extra truck in my driveway. She doesn’t miss the chance to stir up gossip, and soon everyone will know Walker was here.
Walker blows out a breath, raking a hand through his hair. “How much of what happened at the bar do you remember?”
I wish he’d tell me where he was going with this question so I could plan my response better. I’m tempted to claim it’s all still a blur and hope he never brings it up again, but I can’t bring myself to lie about this.
“I think most everything, why?”
He nods slowly. “Good. Do you recall asking me to teach you?”
I recall fragments of that conversation, including the part I assume he’s referring to, but I’d rather not confirm it.
“Teach me what?” I ask, feigning innocence.
He scoots his chair closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “You asked me to take your virginity. To be your first, and to teach you how to flirt.”
“I might recall,” I say, my voice coming out hoarse.
“What would you think if I were to suggest we make that a reality?”
I blink rapidly. “Are you saying we should have sex?”
He clears his throat. “I’m proposing we give you what you want in a safe and controlled setting.”
I instinctively lean forward, the draw to him magnetic. “And what is it you think I want, Walker?”
The question hangs in the air as he mirrors my posture, until our knees are touching and our faces are only inches apart. His warm breath grazes my cheek, and my pulse kicks into overdrive, heat pooling low in my stomach.
“To learn how to flirt and fuck. At least that’s what you told me last night,” he states bluntly. “If we pretend we’re a couple, I don’t see why we can’t do both.”
I stare at him, holding my hand up. “Wait… are you suggesting a fake relationship?” The words feel foreign on my tongue.
He gently grips my knee, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Yes, I am. If you let me teach you, we’ll be spending a lot of time together, so why not use the perfect alibi and pretend we’re a couple?
Seems like everyone already assumes we’re heading in that direction anyway.
Might as well kill two birds with one stone. ”
I’m too shell-shocked to scold him for using a metaphor that promotes poultry violence.
It’s official—my brain has short-circuited because there’s no chance Walker Halstead just suggested we pretend to date and sleep together. His type is women who are bold, sexy, and confident—everything I’m not.
“Two birds, one stone,” I repeat softly, letting the concept sink in. “I thought you didn’t date,” I blurt out after a few seconds.
“There’s a first time for everything. Makes it more believable that I’m so smitten you’re the first woman to tie me down. You can even stage a big breakup when it’s all over and publicly hurl insults at me.”
As scandalized as I want to be by his proposal, it’s no more reckless than walking into a bar prepared to go home with the first guy who showed me any interest. At least with Walker, I know he’d respect my boundaries and treat me right.
Truth be told, there’s no one more qualified to teach me how to flirt and to practice being intimate. I’m both terrified and intrigued, unsure how I would survive his lessons without blushing myself into oblivion.
I straighten in my seat, meeting his gaze. “If I’m going to consider your offer, I have conditions.”
“I love a woman who takes charge.” He smirks. “Lay them on me.”
My stomach flips as I give him a shaky smile.
Here goes nothing.