9. Emily
Emily
There are days when working in the ER feels like trying to keep Niagara Falls contained in a shot glass.
Today is one of those days.
I yank off my gloves, tossing them into the biohazard bin. Nurse Peggy—who is both the fastest IV starter I’ve ever met and the biggest gossip on this side of the Mississippi—follows me down the hall, jabbering away at a million words per hour.
“…and I’m telling you, Dr. Carter, the whole town is buzzing about it. Henry Walker—Harmony Springs’ resident recluse—turned hero in a burning café?” She lets out a dramatic sigh. “It’s like something out of a romance novel.”
I barely manage a polite smile as I push open my office door.
“Oh! And the wedding! Everyone is dying to know the date—”
I close the door on her mid-sentence, sagging against the wood with an exhausted exhale.
A wedding.
To a man I barely speak to.
I drag myself over to my chair and collapse into it, rubbing my temples.
How did I get here?
A month ago, I was just Emily Carter, an overworked ER doctor. Now I’m Emily Carter, fiancée of the town’s most brooding, emotionally unavailable war hero.
It would almost be funny if it weren’t so infuriating. Especially because every single day I spend in this town, Henry Walker becomes more impossible to ignore. Like he was at that café fire.
When he walked out of the flames, covered in soot, muscles taut with adrenaline, jaw clenched like he was ready to fight an inferno barehanded, my heart raced at the sight of him. I felt something shift inside me—something I don’t even have a name for.
Every night I hear him come into the house, boots thudding softly against the hardwood, doors clicking shut. And like a coward, I stay in my room, heart racing, pretending to be asleep.
The distance between us is suffocating. But the thought of closing it? That’s terrifying.
I miss him, though. God, do I miss him.
The buzzing of my phone jolts me from my thoughts.
Sarah.
I sigh, answering. “Hey, Sarah.”
“Emily! Sorry for calling so late—”
I glance at the clock. It’s not even seven. “It’s fine. What’s up?”
“Well,” she says, drawing out the word, “I was hoping you could come over for dinner tonight.”
I blink. “Dinner?”
“I am your future sister-in-law,” she teases. “Figured it was about time we got to know each other properly.”
I hesitate.
“You have to come,” she adds. “Besides, if the rumors are true, you and Henry are getting married in two months, and I’d really love to know who’s stealing my brother’s heart.”
My stomach does a weird little flip. “Two months?”
She laughs, light and airy. “Oh, you know how rumors are in this town. I heard from the grapevine. But really, come over. It’ll be fun.”
I picture Henry’s scowl, his jaw tightening at the dinner table while his family peppers me with questions. But I really want to see him and spend time with him even if it isn’t real.
A sharp exhale whooshes out of my nostrils.. “I’ll be there.”
***
I have no idea what to expect as I walk up to the Walker family home, carrying a bottle of wine and mentally preparing for whatever the hell this is going to be.
Mayor Logan greets me at the door, grinning like a kid who just found the cookie jar. “Emily! Come on in. We’re just about to sit down.”
Sarah, standing behind her, pulls me into a hug, grinning. “Emily! I’m so glad you came.”
The house is warm and cozy, filled with the smell of roasted chicken and fresh-baked bread. Family photos line the walls—smiling faces frozen in time, moments captured in the flicker of a camera.
Henry is already at the table, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the centerpiece like it just insulted his military career.
Grace bounds over, all bright eyes and teenage energy. “Emily! Was wondering which special guest made my Mom make apple pie.”
“Behave, Grace!” Sarah’s bark is sharp but I manage a smile at the girl.
“I’m honored.”
Sarah ushers me into a seat next to Henry, and the warmth of his body radiates like a furnace. He doesn’t look at me, but I can feel the tension thrumming between us like a live wire.
Dinner starts simple enough—Sarah passing plates, Logan making dad jokes, Grace sneaking extra rolls when her parents aren’t looking.
“So, Emily,” Sarah begins, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “What was Henry like when you first met him?”
I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. “Uh...intense?”
Logan chuckles. “That’s Henry. All brooding and mysterious.”
Henry’s jaw ticks, but he stays silent, slicing his chicken with the precision of a man defusing a bomb.
Grace leans in, conspiratorial. “You know, Uncle Henry never brings anyone around. It’s kind of weird seeing him with a girlfriend.”
My face heats. “I—well—”
Logan grins. “What’s the wedding date? Town’s buzzing about it.”
I shoot Henry a look, but he’s staring at his plate like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“We’re...still deciding,” I manage, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Oh, take your time, honey,” Sarah says, pouring more wine into my glass than is probably advisable. “No rush.”
Grace, not one to be left out, grabs my hand. “I think Uncle Henry really likes you.”
The room goes still.
Henry’s fork pauses mid-cut.
Grace continues, oblivious to the sudden tension. “I see him watching you all the time. Like when you’re at the café or when you’re talking to people in town.”
Something in my chest tightens, a strange warmth spreading through me.
Could this—could we—be real?
Henry shoves his chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor. “I need some air.”
And then he’s gone, the screen door snapping shut behind him.
Silence lingers in his wake.
Sarah sighs, shaking her head. “That’s Henry for you. Always running.”
I stare at the door, heart pounding.
Maybe it’s time to chase him.
But I don’t chase men.
Ever.
And yet, here I am, stepping away from the warmth of Sarah’s kitchen, away from the laughter and the teasing, away from the ridiculous conversation about wedding dates I am not actually planning, to follow Henry Walker into the night like some lovesick heroine in a period drama.
This is how I know I’ve lost my damn mind.
The porch is quiet, bathed in moonlight. Henry sits on the steps, forearms resting on his knees, shoulders tense. He stares out at the stars, jaw clenched like the sky personally offended him.
I hesitate.
It would be easy to turn around. To pretend I don’t see how his muscles tighten when he senses me behind him, to pretend my feet aren’t carrying me forward anyway, like they have a mind of their own.
I clear my throat and drop onto the step beside him.
For a long moment, we just sit there, listening to the chirp of crickets and the rustling of leaves. The air between us feels heavy, thick with something unspoken.
I hug my knees. “You always storm out of family dinners, or am I just lucky?”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t take the bait. “They ask too many questions.”
I nudge him lightly with my shoulder. “They’re just curious.”
“They’re nosy.”
I laugh, tilting my head back to look at the sky. “So, what do you think of this town?”
Henry exhales, his gaze distant. “It’s quiet.”
“Too quiet?”
“Maybe.” He rolls his shoulders, like he’s trying to shake off an invisible weight. “Things feel...empty sometimes.”
I glance at him. “And being here makes it feel less empty?”
His throat works as he swallows. “Some days.”
There’s something in his voice, something raw and unguarded, and it makes my chest tighten.
“Is that why you came back?” I ask softly.
His fingers flex against his knee. “Came back to heal. To reconnect.” A humorless chuckle. “Not sure it’s working.”
I look at him—really look at him. The moonlight catches in his dark hair, highlights the sharp angles of his face. For the first time, I don’t see the broody bodyguard or the ex-soldier or the man who drives me insane.
I see someone human. Someone who’s lost.
“You’re not as unreadable as you think, you know,” my voice comes out softer than I mean for it to be.
His blue eyes meet mine, and something shifts.
The air crackles between us, charged and dangerous.
I inhale, my pulse hammering. “I’ve been fighting it.”
His brow furrows. “Fighting what?”
I wet my lips. “You.”
He stills.
I swallow hard, the confession tumbling out before I can stop it. “I didn’t want to feel anything. Not for you. But then you walked out of that fire covered in soot, and I—”
His head tilts. “You what?”
“I—” I let out a frustrated laugh. “I felt something. And I don’t like it.”
He leans in, his voice low. “You don’t like what?”
I want to say it’s the way he makes my stomach flip. The way my pulse races when he looks at me. The way he somehow manages to be the one thing I told myself to avoid, and yet I still want him anyway.
Instead, I say, “You. Saving people. Being stupidly heroic. It’s annoying.”
He chuckles, the sound rough and deep. “Thought you didn’t like violent men.”
I exhale. “You’re more than that.”
His smirk fades. “What am I then?”
I bite my lip. “Still figuring that out.”
He watches me for a beat. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leans in.
His hand brushes my cheek, warm and calloused, and my breath catches.
This is a bad idea.
A very bad idea.
And then I stop thinking entirely, because his lips press against mine.
It’s slow at first, like we’re both testing the limits, trying to figure out if this is a mistake or the best decision we’ve ever made.
Then it deepens.
I grip his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands slide to my waist, fingers digging in just enough to make my skin burn.
A low noise rumbles in his throat, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
God help me, I’m lost.
Then—
My phone buzzes.
The sound shatters the moment like a glass thrown against a wall.
I jerk back, heart pounding. Henry exhales harshly, his forehead resting against mine for half a second before he pulls away.
I fumble for my phone. An unknown number blinks on the screen and I hit ignore.
Slowly, I look back at Henry. His gaze is dark, unreadable.
“This isn’t a good idea,” I say, more to myself than him.
He leans back, stretching out his legs. “Probably not.”
I tuck my phone into my pocket. “But…”
He lifts a brow. “But?”
I exhale. “Maybe if we just…get it out of our system.”
Something flashes in his eyes—interest, curiosity, hunger. “Like an experiment?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. Just…exorcise the tension.”
His mouth quirks up. “You think that’ll work?”
No. Not at all.
But I say, “We won’t know until we try.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then he smirks, shaking his head. “God help us both.”
I really don’t think He will.