Page 73 of Forever To Me

His secrets are just as heavy as mine. Maybe heavier.

We ride in silence for a while and we don’t say anything else. But something settles between us.

Something I don’t know how to name. Like an understanding that we both will have to open up at some point if we’re going to keep going with whatever we’re calling this.

The sun is lower when we return, stretching long shadows over the barn.

Walker slides off his horse, stretching his legs, and steps beside me, holding his hand out to help me down as he watches me carefully.

His hands reach out and guide me down, landing on myhips and guiding me off of the horse, my legs shaky since I haven’t ridden in a while.

His hands feel so good on me, I lose my train of thought, completely lost at his touch and how much I love it.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs.

I blink up at him. “About what?”

“Your music,” he says. “It’s good.”

I don’t know what to do with that and the way his voice sounds when he says it. Like it’s the truest thing he’s ever told me.

Something burns in my chest. Something I’m not ready to face.

So, instead, I give him a small, tired smile. “Thanks, Walker. That means a lot.”

And for now, that’s enough. I guess we both have our secrets.

The bar hums with the kind of quiet that only happens after last call. We flip chairs upside down on tables while the scent of spilled beer and fried food lingers in the air and the hum of the old fridge in the back provides a steady, familiar soundtrack.

I sit at the bar, sipping water, my feet aching from a busy shift. My hair’s a mess, my makeup is smudged, and I’m pretty sure there’s ketchup on my shirt. But it's one of those nights where your heart is full and you're the good kind of tired. I had a good time tonight. I love chatting up all the locals and getting to know everyone.

Walker’s behind the bar, wiping down the counters with that effortless, end-of-night focus. His sleeves are rolled up, forearms flexing with each swipe of the towel. He looks like the kind of guy who belongs in some black-and-white whiskey ad. Hisdark hair tousled, a neatly trimmed beard shadowing his jaw, and those damn whiskey-colored eyes that miss nothing.

He catches me staring and one eyebrow quirks. “What?”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Nothing. Just wondering if you’ve got any moves besides being a bar owner.”

He snorts. “Moves?”

“Yeah. Like…” I glance toward the old jukebox in the corner. “Dancing.”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Red, if you’re looking for entertainment, I can turn on the jukebox. You can dance your little heart out.”

I roll my eyes and hop off the stool, wincing when my feet protest. But I make it to the jukebox, scroll through the selections, and hit the button forForever and Ever, Amen. The machine crackles to life, skipping a beat before Randy Travis’s smooth voice spills into the empty bar.

I turn to face Walker, heart thudding a little harder than it should. “Dance with me.”

His towel freezes mid-wipe. He blinks like he didn’t hear me right.“You want to dance with me?”

“Yeah.” I cross my arms, suddenly nervous. “Unless you’re afraid my moves will show you up.”

His mouth twitches into that crooked half-smile. “Oh, Red. You’re in way over your head.”

Just what I thought. He won't turn down a challenge.

He tosses the towel on the bar and steps around it. My stomach flips as he moves toward me with an easy, confident stride. He stops just close enough that I catch the faint scent of soap and leather and the lingering smoky warmth of the grill.

His hand extends, palms up. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

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