Page 9 of Dirty Secrets

We make small talk about Old Hemlock Valley as I look around his home with a critical eye. The appliances are all top-of-the-line brands. The garage out back is huge, and I’m willing to bet it has nearly as much equipment as the main workshop. He has several cars. The place has a long driveway, suggesting that the house is on a large plot of land.

A block of ice forms in the pit of my stomach. Walker is clearly quite well off. I am the opposite.

My mother warned me about this. The same thing happened to her, when she married my dad. He was a wealthy bank manager. Because Mom didn’t have anything to bring to the table, he decided he was in charge, and called all the shots. When he dumped her several years later, she was left penniless because he managed to get out of paying full child support, giving her just a minuscule amount every month toward our rent and groceries.

It’s what happened to my older sister, too – she thought she’d hit the jackpot when she married some rich tech guy. Sure enough, he dumped her just three years later because he wanted an extravagant lifestyle and she wasn’t as enthusiastic about it.

But Walker couldn’t be like that…could he?

As we eat the most delicious fajitas I’ve ever had in my life, my mind spins. I really like Walker. I really like this town. He doesn’t act wealthy, so maybe he’s not truly aware of how well off he is?

Every time he smiles at me, I feel a warm glimmer of hope. Maybe I could work really hard for several years to pay off my student loans and get myself out of the hole.Thenmaybe we could think long term.

Yeah, and until then, maybe you could just lighten up for once and enjoy the night, girl.

Sorry, self.

After loading the dishwasher together, Walker stands behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I know you’re tired,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m sorry that our date was interrupted by a hospital run. That usually only happens once a month, if that.”

I spin to face him, reaching my hands up around the back of his neck. “What happens in the winter? Don’t some of the roads close when it snows?”

He shrugs, stretching my arms up and down. “If there’s been a blizzard, a bunch of us have snowmobiles. We also have a jacked-up Jeep with heavy duty snow tires – they’re treaded like a tank’s. There’s always a way.”

“I like that you’re so resourceful.”

“AndIlike that you are so impossibly pretty.” He trails a line of kisses along my temple and across my brow. “Every time I look at you, I see something new.” He chuckles. “It’s like I’m researching your face. I hope that doesn’t weird you out.”

“Well, I’m also researching your town, as I’m sure you know.”

“I might have guessed. I have a bunch of old maps, if you’re interested.”

“Really? I’d love to see them!”

Walker takes my hand and leads me into a guest bedroom. It’s huge, with a small bed jammed in the corner. Most of the space is taken up by a huge desk, and a bunch of shelves and drawers. He rummages around for a moment, then pulls out an old map, slightly yellowed and tattered around the edges.

I dash to the other room to grab my phone from my purse, then return to start taking photos. This map shows more evidence that the first few settlers were basically next-door neighbors. “So back in the late eighteen hundreds, the Dirty and Wolfe families were super close?” I ask.

“Yes. Then some people from both families stayed at the outskirts, and some moved closer to town.”

My thumbs fly across my phone as I take some notes.

“Are you a journalist?” he suddenly asks.

We’re shoulder to shoulder, yet it already feels like we’re much closer. I can’t keep any secrets from him anymore. “No. It’s for a report. We’re interns for our Communications Professor. He’s trying to prove a theory that news and information travel by mouth differently in small towns versus big cities. So he’s been sending groups of interns out to track how rumors and gossip are disseminated through populations at locations such as coffee shops and diners.”

Walker’s mouth falls open. Then he snaps it shut, his eyes twinkling. “Not gonna lie, I got the impression it had to be something weird. But that’s just…bizarre.”

“I know, right? I wasn’t sure about taking the job at first. But then I saw some photos of this town, and I just…” I shrug my shoulder into his arm. “I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to come to such a beautiful town for a month or so, no matter how bonkers the project was.”

Biting my lip, I look up at him sheepishly. “I hate to tell you this, but there’s no such thing as orange garlic mustard. That was a rumor we started as an experiment, to see how widely it spread.”

Much to my relief, instead of being angry, he laughs loudly, his arm sneaking around to hold me close. “Okay, little spy. Have you heard anything interesting?”

“Oh, we don’t actually spy. If anyone’s leaning in to lower their voice, we don’t write it down, even if we do accidentally overhear a word or two. He’s just interested in public information. People talking in spots where they know everyone in the room could be listening and it’s no big deal.”

“I hope you realize I’m just teasing,” he chuckles. “Plus, regular garlic mustard is definitely supposed to be ripped out whenever possible. So maybe by spreading that rumor, you actually did a bit of good.”

“I hope so.”

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