Page 8 of The One Who Risked it All

“We were, what, eight and ten? Nathan got it in his head that we could join the circus if we mastered some death-defying stunt.” I leaned back in my chair, grinning at the memory. “So, naturally, we decided to practice tightrope walking.”

“Oh no.” Carla giggled, her eyes already sparkling with amusement.

“Oh yes. We strung up Mom’s clothesline between two trees in the backyard. I went first, of course. Managed about three wobbly steps before I face-planted into Dad’s prized rosebushes.”

Carla burst out laughing, the sound warming something inside me I thought had long since gone cold. “Let me guess, Nathan chickened out?”

“Worse. Always the hero, he tried to ‘save’ me by jumping onto the line. We both ended up covered in thorns and Mom’s unmentionables.”

She was full-on belly laughing now, drawing curious glances from nearby tables. I found myself chuckling along, caught up in her infectious laughter.

“Your poor mother,” Carla managed between giggles.

“Poor Dad’s roses, more like. He was livid–at me, mostly.” I shook my head, still smiling. “But Mom, bless her, she just patched us up and told us to try juggling next time. Less prickly landing.”

As our laughter faded, a comfortable silence settled between us. It was far from the awkwardness of earlier, and I found myself reluctant to break it. Carla seemed to feel the same, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her now-empty coffee cup.

I watched her, allowing myself a moment to really look at her. The way the morning sun caught the highlights in her hair, the slight crinkle at the corner of her eyes from laughing. It hitme then how much I’d missed out on over the years. If we could have—

I couldn’t go there. But I couldn’t help wondering if she felt it too – this unexpected peace in each other’s company.

“Elijah Wells, is that you?”

My stomach dropped as I turned to see Gladys Pinkman standing off to the side, scowling. I watched as her eyes darted between Carla and myself. “Good morning, Gladys,” I said, without a hint of my usual warmth.

Her eyes widened as she gestured to the pair of us. “What do you think you’re doing… with her,” she hissed. “Your father would–“

Carla shrank back into her chair.

“My father,” I ground out the words between clenched teeth, “would know that there is no harm in talking to an old friend.”

Gladys gathered her shawl around her, scoffing her disbelief. “Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” She stormed away.

I turned back to Carla, flashing an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that.”

She sighed, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. “It’s fine. We should know better, right?” The short, cynical laugh sounded all wrong. She was hurt, and I wished I could make it better.

“I better head to the station,” I said, reluctantly pushing my chair back. “Chief’ll have my hide if I’m late again.”

Carla looked up, a flicker of something—disappointment?—crossing her face before she masked it with a smile. “Can’t keep Minden’s finest from their duty, can we?”

I stood, draining the last of my definitely-not-pumpkin-spice latte. “Someone’s gotta keep this town from burning down. Lord knows it’s not gonna be my dad’s attempt at deep-frying a turkey.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “I’d pay good money to see that disaster.”

“Tell you what,” I said, surprising myself with my next words, “how about I keep you posted on all the Wells family holiday shenanigans? You know, for old times’ sake.”

Carla’s eyebrows shot up and she glanced toward Gladys’s retreating frame. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

“Oh.” I shook myself out of the obvious daze I was in. “Yeah.” She was right, of course. We were a bad idea. But every time I was with her, I couldn’t seem to care.

I headed for the door, tossing a wave over my shoulder. “See you around, Putters.”

She nodded sadly. “See ya.”

As I stepped out into the crisp autumn air, the jingle of the cafe’s bell seemed to echo the weird flutter in my chest. The encounter with Carla kept replaying in my mind—her laugh, the way she’d looked at me when I admitted my frou-frou coffee habit. And the way she’d retreated when confronted by Gladys.

This stupid feud would never stop haunting me, would it?

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