Crashing Back Down by Kristen Mazzola

off the nerves fluttering through me. Feeling this way while talking to Walker recently was still confusing and I paused, second guessing if this was a good idea or not. Not letting myself change the subject, I continued the conversation as planned. I dove right into how my therapist‘s suggestion and how I couldn’t think of anyone who would ever want to live with a basket case like me.
    Not even letting me get to asking, in a warm tone, Walker answered, "Of course I'll move in and help your crackpot-self get back on track. Honestly, I could probably use the company myself. As long as you treat me better than you did Cal, I don’t know if my skin is as tough as y’all’s.”
    I was practically giddy with relief. "Wow, that’s a load off. Want to come over later and hammer out the details?" We made plans for eight, and with that, I felt like a little bit of a weight had been lifted.
    As I put the Ford in drive, I stopped myself from doubting the hasty decision I’d just made. How bad could it really be? It really was going to be nice to have a guy around the house again. I needed to figure something out, anyway. The limbo that had been consuming my life lately needed to be shaken up. Pulling into my driveway, I resolved to making the best of this, and that my therapist had to know best. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but be apprehensive about sharing my personal space, but it wasn’t like Walker would be sharing my room.
    My house was way too big for just me. Randy and I had purchased it right after our wedding, with the idea of filling it with the four or five children we wanted to have. It had five bedrooms, four and half bathrooms, living room, dining room, family room, a detached garage I used as storage and parking for my unused Mercedes, and a converted garage Randy was planning on making into his office slash man cave when he got back from deployment. Needless to say, all of the rooms, other than my bedroom and the common spaces where left untouched.
    Opening the front door, I threw my briefcase and purse on top of the side table and kicked my heels off, shoving them underneath it. I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a needed glass of wine. It was the end of my bottle, and frowning, I grabbed my phone to text Walker to see if he could bring some from Liz. She and I always traded back and forth when one of our stashes ran low.
    I glanced at the time on my phone when Walker texted back saying he was able to scrounge up a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and would bring it over with him. A twinge of nerves ran down my spine as I anticipated his arrival in ten minutes. My mind raced and I tried to calm myself, remembering how great a friend he had always been to Randy and me. How I couldn’t have lived without him recently. How, sadly enough, he was the only one I trusted in Randy’s home.
    The doorbell rang; I took a deep breath, and answered it.
    "Mags, how are ya, roomie?" Walker was smiling, leaning on the doorjamb, holding the bottle of wine, Chinese takeout and a Redbox rental. He was wearing a tight-fitting green V-neck, the sleeves clinging to his biceps perfectly, just barely showing his upper right arm tattoo of a black tip shark swimming through a reef. The rest of his artwork was covered by his clothes and I bit my lip, thinking of them all. I knew his sinewy body well from accompanying him and Randy for their ink sessions, and all of our time spent fishing or at the beach together. I couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked in green, bringing out his breathtaking eyes.
    I invited him in, giggling to myself with the realization of being a widow and now having a roommate; it was utterly ass-backwards to me. He walked in and set everything in the living room while I went to grab plates from the kitchen. Before I could even get the dishes out of the cabinet, Walker was standing right behind me. "This is going to be interesting. I can hear Randy cursing at me with a closed fist from