Page 29 of The Spark Between Us

"And we'll have it," I assure her, checking my watch. "If we leave now."

Ellie slides off the table, smoothing her dress. "Then what are we waiting for, Chief Walker?"

The way she says my title—half teasing, half genuine respect—never fails to send a thrill through me. Five years together, and she still manages to surprise me, challenge me, make me feel more alive than I ever thought possible.

"Nothing at all, Dr. Walker," I reply, matching her formal tone with a hint of the playfulness she brings out in me.

We make our goodbyes to the crew, enduring the usual good-natured ribbing about "behaving ourselves" and "not doing anything they wouldn't do" (a list so short as to be virtually meaningless, given some of their antics).

"Give Evelyn my love," Ellie tells Ollis as we head out. "Tell her I'll see her Monday to go over the insurance paperwork for the clinic expansion."

Ollis nods. "Will do. She's been neck-deep in client files all week preparing for her vacation days."

Ellie and Evelyn's psychology practice, which opened two years ago, has experienced significant growth over the past year, expanding from a modest two-room office to a full clinic with three additional therapists and a specialized program for first responders with PTSD. Their unique approach, combining Ellie's focus on trauma recovery with Evelyn's expertise in cognitive techniques, has made them the go-to mental health resource in Cedar Falls and beyond.

I guide Ellie toward my truck with a hand at my back, aware of every eye following our departure. Not that I can blame them. My wife is stunning on an ordinary day; in that red dress, she's absolutely breathtaking.

"You did this on purpose," I accuse as I help her into the passenger seat, keeping my voice low.

"Did what?" she asks innocently, though the gleam in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what I mean.

"Wore this dress. Came to the station instead of meeting me at home." I close her door, circle around to the driver's side, and slide in beside her. "You enjoy torturing me."

She laughs, reaching over to straighten my tie. "Maybe I just wanted to give you a preview of what you're going home to later tonight."

Even after five years, her directness can still make my blood run hot.

"You're playing with fire, Dr. Walker."

"Good thing I married a firefighter, then," she retorts with a grin.

The drive to Salvatore's takes exactly twelve minutes—just enough time for Ellie to fill me in on her day at the clinic (a breakthrough with a veteran patient, a scheduling conflict with the new office manager) and for me to tell her about the training exercise that almost went sideways when one of the recruits forgot to secure the main water line.

This is what I love most about us—the easy conversation, the genuine interest in each other's days, the comfortable silences in between. We've built a partnership on mutual respect and understanding, one where neither of us tries to change the other but where we both become better versions of ourselves together.

Salvatore's is the nicest restaurant in Cedar Falls, an upscale Italian place with white tablecloths and actual candles on the tables. It's where I took Ellie on our first official date, after we'd finally come clean to Brock about our relationship. It's where I proposed two years later, so nervous I almost dropped the ring into her tiramisu. And it's where we return every year on our anniversary, marking the passage of time between shared meals and memories.

"Ah, the Walkers!" Salvatore himself greets us at the door, his Italian accent still thick after thirty years in Cedar Falls. "My favorite couple! Your table is ready, of course."

He leads us to "our" table in the back corner, private but with a view of the entire restaurant. A bottle of champagne already waits in an ice bucket—Salvatore's gift to us every year.

"Five years, eh?" he says, pulling out Ellie's chair for her. "It seems like yesterday I was helping this nervous man plan the perfect proposal."

Ellie's eyes soften as she looks at me. "He did a pretty good job."

"You said yes," I remind her. "That's all that matters."

Salvatore beams at us. "I'll send Marco with your appetizers. The usual, yes?"

We nod, and he bustles away, leaving us alone in our little corner of the restaurant.

I reach across the table for Ellie's hand, running my thumb across her knuckles, pausing at the platinum band on her ring finger. Sometimes it still feels surreal—that she chose me, that we built this life together.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, her head tilted in that way that always makes me want to kiss her.

"How lucky I am," I admit. "Five years ago, I was terrified to tell your father about us. Now I can't imagine my life any other way."

Her smile softens. "Remember how nervous you were? You practiced your speech for hours."

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