Page 35 of Forever To Me

She grins, winking at me. “Trust me, Walker, you couldn’t handle it.”

And just like that, the bar returns to normal—like nothing had happened.

After the dust settles and the rowdy cheers die down, the bar returns to its usual rhythm—glasses clinking, low murmurs of conversation, the occasional bursts of laughter.

I pour drinks as Red casually sweeps up the broken glass like she didn’t just handle two drunk idiots without breaking a sweat.

I’m not surprised—I figured she was tough. But tonight? Tonight, I saw something different.

Maybe it was how she’d kept her cool, never flinching, never once looking to me for backup. Maybe it was the way she had the entire damn bar eating out of her palm without even trying.

Or maybe—maybe it was that she reminded me of myself.

She never backed down. She never asked for help. And she sure as hell didn’t let anyone tell her what to do.

Just like me.

I exhale, running a hand down my jaw.

I’d always thought I was the only one around here who built walls high enough to keep people out. Turns out, Red has her own fortress.

And now, I watch her crack a joke with one of the regulars, leaning on the broom like she didn’t just throw two men out on their asses. I wonder what kind of story she isn’t telling.

Because I know one thing is for damn sure—women build walls like that for a reason.

Something built that fire inside her. Something taught her how to fight.

And suddenly, I’m curious as hell to know what it was.

Chapter 12

Violet

Fresh coffee and cinnamon lingers in the air, a mixture of cozy small-town and early morning comfort. As I approach Steamy Sips, the small coffee trailer by the town square, I tuck my hands into my hoodie sleeves. I’ve craved her coffee every morning since Aunt Maggie doesn’t bother with coffee. I’m not sure how she’s doing life, if you ask me. Coffee is a necessity. It’s kind of like having air to breathe. I need coffee to function properly.

Cami moves inside the trailer like a woman on a mission, flipping lids onto cups and chatting with a few regulars at the window. The trailer is adorable—a stainless airstream with Steamy Sips hand-painted to look like steam curling from the “S” in Sips, and flower boxes overflowing with tiny white daisies beneath the order window. It feels like a place that has a heartbeat all its own.

“Morning, Violet,” Cami greets me as I step up, and she teases me. “Rough night at the bar brawlin’?”

“Very funny,” I groan, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“You’re all everyone is talking about this morning,” she says with a smirk and a knowing smile.

“Not that big of a deal,” I sigh. “That’s a typical night at a Nashville bar.”

Before I can order what I want, boots scuffing against gravel catch my attention.

A deep, familiar voice that’s low and warm says, “You making her one of those caramel things? Put hers on my tab.”

I turn, and Walker and Jack stand together, holding fresh cups of coffee. No man should look that good without even trying.

The way his dark hair always looks just a little too tousled, like he ran his fingers through it one too many times. The way the sun catches his whiskey-colored eyes, turning them into something rich and deep, something that makes my stomach feel a little unsteady if I look too long.

And don’t even get me started on the beard. Neatly trimmed, just enough scruff to make my fingers twitch with the ridiculous, dangerous urge to remind myself what it feels like.

He’s wearing that soft, worn-in flannel, the one that stretches over broad shoulders and sleeves rolled up just enough to show strong forearms. It’s nothing fancy—just him. Simple. Effortless. But damn if it doesn’t work.

It shouldn’t matter. He’s myfriend. He made that clear that was all he wanted from me. And I’ll give him that. Besides, I shouldn’t get mixed up with my boss.

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