Page 58 of Walking Away

Her thoughts drifted. Caitlin—Darcy here—looked so much better in this little town. She was still nervous, yes, always watchful, but lighter and healthier, as if Sylva itself had given her room to breathe.

Izzy thrived on Denver’s RiNo pace—rooftop bars, gallery openings, rush-hour chaos. She loved the buzz, yet part of her wondered if a quieter place like this might be right one day—schools without violence, neighbors who knew each other, a rhythm that wasn’t a sprint.

She sipped her tea, letting the idea linger.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

She glanced up. Scout stood near the railing, broad shoulders relaxed under flannel, blue eyes glinting as he smiled.

“Hey, sheriff’s deputy,” she teased. “Taking your lunch break in style?”

“Picking up something to go.” He leaned against the post, calm but commanding. “Didn’t expect to see you settling in so fast.”

“The mountain air agrees with me,” she said with a grin.

He nodded toward her plate. “Fried green tomatoes? We’ll make a country gal outta you yet.”

He lingered a moment longer, then asked, “Any more problems over at Darcy’s since the other night?”

Izzy shook her head, waving him off. “Nope. Quiet as can be.”

Scout’s expression shifted—eyes narrowing past her shoulder. Izzy followed his gaze toward the street, catching a man with a camera angled in their direction. Something in her went still, but Scout’s tone stayed steady, like nothing was wrong.

They lingered, trading small talk and laughter that drew a few glances from nearby tables. Finally, Scout pushed off the post. “Better grab my order before Lucy sells it. Enjoy the view, Iz.”

As he disappeared inside, Izzy lifted her glass again—only to find another shadow at her table.

“Mind if I sit?”

Evan Cole.

Casual, camera slung across his chest, smile warm but eyes too intent. Warmth flickered through her before she could stop it—the same pull she always felt when he appeared out of nowhere.

“Evan,” she said, motioning to the chair. “Guess we keep running into each other.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” he murmured, leaning in. “Or maybe I like the company.”

Izzy laughed, half-flattered. Before she could answer, the patio door swung open. Scout stepped out, bag in hand. He stilled at the sight of the same man she’d seen earlier—now sitting at her table. His smile cooled.

“Everything good out here?” His tone was easy, but edged.

Izzy smiled. “Yeah. Scout, this is Evan—the photographer. Evan, this is Scout Wilson, one of the sheriff’s deputies.”

They shook hands. The handshake hung a beat too long. Something in Scout’s posture hardened, his expression sharpening. Izzy frowned—whatever passed between them, she didn’t understand it, but she felt it.

“Nice to meet you,” Evan said, charm practiced.

“Yeah.” Scout nodded once at Izzy, then headed down the street, his face unreadable.

Evan’s smile stayed too smooth, like he’d rehearsed it in a mirror. Izzy told herself she was imagining it.

“So,” he said, “free tomorrow? There’s a trail outside town with the best views in North Carolina. You’d love it.”

Izzy hesitated, twisting her napkin. Hiking with a near-stranger wasn’t the smartest call. Still, his confidence was disarming—and part of her wanted to believe life could still be uncomplicated. After weeks of worry, a hike with someone new felt almost peaceful.

“Sure,” she said at last. “A hike sounds perfect.”

By morning, the promise of sunshine—and maybe the hope of feeling at ease again—was enough to make her say yes. The sky was a washed-out blue, the kind that promised warmth after the chill. She tied her hair back, grabbed her jacket, and told herself it was only a hike.