“We’re headed that way.”
I hesitate for half a second.
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
We fall into step together, the quiet of Maplewood settling around us. Elle wedges herself between us for a few strides, then darts ahead with Gus, narrating something about whether penguins would prefer Maplewood Lake or the town pool.
Evan lets her go just far enough that she feels independent, but not far enough that she isn’t within reach. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets.
The street is mostly empty, and the air smells faintly like damp earth and woodsmoke.
We walk past the hardware store, where the neon ‘CLOSED’ sign buzzes faintly in the window. The pavement narrows near the corner, and Evan shifts to the outside, nudging me inward so he’s closer to the road.
His hand moves automatically to Elle’s shoulder when a car turns at the intersection, steadying her without breaking stride.
“You really don’t have to walk me,” I say, mostly because it feels like I should.
He shrugs. “It’s dark.”
“It’s just past nine.”
“Still dark.”
We cross another street, and he checks both ways even though there’s nothing coming.
“You hate bar work,” he says after a minute.
“I didn’t hate it. I was just… slower than everyone else.”
He glances at me. “You checked everything twice.”
“That’s called attention to detail.”
“It’s also called a line forming.”
“Wow.” I laugh despite myself. “You’re brutal.”
Ahead of us, Elle hops up onto the curb and starts balancing along it, arms out like she’s balancing on an invisible beam.
“Stay on your safe side, bug,” Evan calls mildly.
Elle corrects course immediately, skipping back over to the side farthest from the road. He doesn’t raise his voice at her, and doesn’t hurry her.
I’ve spent years around men who filled spaces loudly and who mistook volume for authority. Evan doesn’t fill space that way.
“You notice a lot,” I say.
“Comes with the job.”
“Firefighting or parenting?”
“Both.”
I chuckle softly, my eyes registering the glow of the motel office appearing a few yards down.
“She likes you,” he says after a moment.
“And I like her.”
