Chapter 42
BLAKE
The bell above the diner door jingles as I step inside, and warmth immediately chases away the late winter chill clinging to my coat.
The crackle of bacon floats under the hum of customers chatting among themselves. Fresh coffee perfumes the air. Somewhere in the back, dishes clatter together while country music plays softly somewhere through the speakers.
No matter what time of day it is, Main Street Diner always smells like breakfast.
Walker opted to stay outside in his truck to make a few phone calls, promising he’d only be a minute. Considering his minute usually means fifteen, I meander toward the counter and take a seat on a stool rather than heading for the usual booth.
“Well,” a familiar voice drawls behind me. “Evergreen Falls really can’t seem to get rid of you.”
I suppress a sigh before turning around.
Bridger Reynolds sits a few stools away, expensive wool coat draped over one arm, looking more like he belongs in a boardroom than a diner. His polished boots are spotless despite the slushy parking lot outside.
“Mayor Reynolds,” I acknowledge.
He smiles. “Just Bridger.”
“I’ll stick with Mayor.”
His smile thins. “I heard you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with the sheriff.”
Small towns really are allergic to minding their own business.
“I’ve been helping with a few things.”
“Helping.” He rolls the word around like he doesn’t believe it. “Be careful.”
I raise a brow. “About?”
His eyes flick toward the window where Walker’s truck sits outside. “Not everyone in this town deserves your trust.”
“Funny,” I reply. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
For the briefest moment, something flashes across his face—annoyance, but then the polished politician returns.
“I hope you’re wrong.”
He gives me a courteous nod before disappearing toward a booth near the back of the diner.
He’s like a damn cockroach that won’t die.
Martha meanders over from the back, shining a glass in her hand. “I swear, girl…” She points her rag at me like a weapon. “If you’re here to order more of that sweet stuff that rots your mouth, I'm going to shove a salad down your throat.”
“You did that last week and look.” I flash my teeth. “Still have all of them.”
Martha returns the glass to the stack on the counter behind her. “I'll make you something healthy first, and then you can have your syrup-y addiction.”
I make a gagging noise. “It's going to be something green, isn't it?”
Martha shoves her hands on her hips and raises her brows at me in answer.
Ugh. It’s going to be green.
Spinning on my stool, I lean to the side, resting my elbow on the countertop as my eyes wander to the man outside. He parked right in front of the entrance, claiming it’s because as the sheriff he can park anywhere, but I know it’s really to keep an eye on me.
Walker holds his cell phone to his ear with his shoulder as he jots down notes in his small notepad. His expression is serious, making me think he isn’t having a pleasant conversation.
Martha follows my gaze through the front window and hums knowingly. “You've been spending a lot of time with those boys.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Yeah.”
No point in denying it. I'm sure half the town has already started taking bets.
Besides, I can't lie to Martha.
Martha sets down a mug and fills it to the brim with coffee. Steam rises from the drink, indicating it’s fresh, but I pick it up anyway.
“And I've seen the way Grant has been eyeing you.”
The mug stops halfway to my lips, and my mouth falls open at Martha’s insinuation. “Grant? No. It's not like that with him.”
“I know, honey.” Martha’s smile disappears as she dries her hands on her apron. “Be careful around Grant.”
My mouth twists into a confused frown.
“The history between those four is complicated,” Martha explains.
My mind immediately starts rearranging memories.
I search for one where all four of them were together. I remember Grant stopping by on Thanksgiving, but only Grant. Levi, Santiago, and Walker attended my high school graduation, but not Grant.
Even in public—county fairs, farmers markets, the grocery store—Grant was never at the same place at the same time as the other three.
Is that why Grant seemed upset before he left Timberline a few weeks ago?
Is that why I’ve barely seen him since then?
My brows furrow tightly. “Complicated how?"
Martha shakes her head. “That’s all I’m saying. It’s not my story to tell.”
My hands cradle my head as they pull at my hair. “How did I never realize…”
Martha grabs one of my hands. “You were young, Blake. You weren't supposed to see it.”
“But—”
Martha cuts me off, not willing to hear my misplaced guilt. “The problems between those men are their own. They will figure it out. I just didn't want you to go in blind."
My body grows tense as I pull my hand away from hers, and my gaze drops to the laminate counter. “So this isn't because you think it's weird?”
“What?” Martha’s expression scrunches up.
“You know.” My hands wring in my lap. “Because they're my dad's best friends.”
Martha’s tone goes flat, suggesting she already knows the answer to her question. “Did they make a move on you before you were eighteen?"
An awkward laugh bubbles up in my throat. “God, no. Never.”
Martha plants both of her hands on the counter. “You’re a grown woman.” She dips her head a fraction. “They’re grown men.” She straightens her posture. “The only people who get a vote are the ones in the relationship.”
Martha strolls away, attending to another customer.
The knot that I didn’t realize had been living in my chest since Levi, Santiago, and Walker crossed every imaginable line loosened. I didn’t realize how badly I needed someone else to say it.
I’m not broken for wanting them.
And…
She said “relationship.”
Singular.
The word settles somewhere deep inside me, and my heart jumps at the sound of it.
I glance over my shoulder toward Walker and find him pacing alongside his truck, still on the phone. When he catches me looking at him, he ends the call and strides to the entrance of the diner.
The bell jingles again as Walker steps inside. His expression is carefully neutral.
Too neutral.
Walker sits down on the stool next to mine. His hand grips the bottom of my cushion and slides me closer to his side.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
Liar.