Zoey I was cleared. Officially. Medically. Someone with framed degrees and impossible-to- read handwriting had signed off on it. It made me feel giddy and reckless. “I’m a free woman,” I announced again, just to make sure the universe heard it. “You’ve mentioned that,” Liam said. “I will continue to mention it. This is a time of celebration.” He didn’t argue. Instead, he adjusted the rearview mirror slightly. The mountains rose ahead of us, pine trees layered against pine trees, the road narrowing as we left town behind. I leaned back in the seat and let myself imagine tonight. Sweatpants. Trash television. A tub of ice cream large enough to qualify as a personal failure. No supervision. I reached forward and nudged the thermostat up to seventy-three. Liam’s hands stayed steady on the wheel, though I noticed they tightened a bit. A muscle in his jaw jumped. I had started to notice how he tracked and adjusted things. K ept everything aligned just so. It didn’t feel controlling, just... contained. Like if he didn’t hold it there, something would slip. It didn’t bother me, but I had a brief, unwelcome thought about what it must feel like to live with that all the time. I waited a beat, then raised the thermostat to seventy-five. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, but he didn’t look at me or fix it. I angled my vent toward my face and pushed his slightly up, then put down my visor and slid open the vanity mirror. I left it like that. He adjusted his posture but k ept driving. I turned the radio up, loud enough to be obnoxious. He held out for three full seconds before he turned it down two clicks. “I’m driving.” “I’m celebrating.” “You’re destabilizing the cab.” I scoffed. “That’s a bit dramatic.” “The temperature is now inefficient.” “It’s five degrees.” “It’s uneven. It’s wrong.”
I looked at him. “You’re serious.” “Yes.” I set it to seventy-one, which made him inhale sharply. “That’s worse,” he said. “Explain.” “It’s asymmetrical.” I cocked an eyebrow. “It’s an odd number.” “Yes.” “And that’s the entire problem?” He didn’t answer immediately. “You’re enjoying this,” he said finally. “I’m exploring.” “You’re provoking.” There was no irritation in his voice, and he still hadn’t corrected anything. That caught my attention. He was letting the truck sit in quiet chaos because I was the one who caused it. That sent warmth flooding through me before I could stop it. I studied the set of his shoulders and his hands, still steady on the wheel even as everything around him sat just slightly wrong. He could fix it in a second, but he didn’t. Because of me. “You know,” I said. “You’re allowed to fix things. To be an advocate for what you need.” I flipped the mirror closed and shut the visor. “It doesn’t make you controlling,” I added, aligning the vents again. “It just means you don’t like sitting in chaos. That’s not a crime.” I nudged the thermostat onto an even number, then settled back and watched him out of the corner of my eye. His reaction was so subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed it. The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly, and his grip on the wheel loosened. His posture became more natural. Almost immediately, the atmosphere in the truck changed, becoming quieter. His energy was at ease. The road curved north, the forest becoming denser along the shoulder. Through a break in the trees, the lake appeared, placid under the morning sun. Pine Hollow came into view gradually—first the dock, then the roofline of the lodge, then the full swe ep of cedar siding and stone. I had seen it before, but arriving with him made a bigger impact. The sunlight made the water sparkle, and in the distance, wispy plumes of mist rose up from the mountains. It gave the lodge a warm, inviting atmosphere. I had thought it was appealing when I first researched the area. Now it felt different.
Real. Liam pulled into the gravel lot and parked the truck. His focus moved immediately to the main building, already assessing whatever crisis awaited inside. “You ready?” he asked. I looked at the lodge, at the bar windows catching the light, at the dock, at the trees that ringed the property. I had wanted space. I had found it. And for reasons I didn’t want to unpack yet, I was glad I was here with him. “I’m ready,” I said. The main lodge felt larger than it looked once you st epped inside. Cedar beams overhead. Stone fir eplace anchoring the center. The bar stretched along the far wall, polished wood reflecting the morning light that streamed through the tall windows facing the lake. It smelled faintly of coffee, pine cleaner, and the ghost of last night’s whiskey. Nora spotted us, and relief lit up her face. “Thank God,” she said, already moving toward Liam. “It’s a disaster.” Behind the desk, Pete sat in one of the tall stools, twisted slightly to protect his back. He looked de eply offended by gravity. “I told her I’d be fine in a few minutes,” Pete grumbled. “Just needed a second.” “You said that twenty minutes ago,” Nora r eplied. “I’m still in my prime. I’ll be just fine.” Liam st epped behind the bar and took in the situation. I peered over the bar top to see the chaos. Tools spread out. Paneling removed. A partially installed filtration unit sitting beneath the counter, lines disconnected, fittings exposed. The ice bin lid open. Towels already on the floor. “You should have waited,” Liam said calmly. Pete waved a dismissive hand. “I didn’t need a babysitter.” “You needed leverage,” Liam said. Pete muttered something about youth being wasted on the young. Then Pete and Nora noticed me for the first time. Nora’s lips curved into a sly smile, and Pete’s expression shifted from pain to mischief. “Well,” Nora said, dragging the word out. “Look who decided to supervise.” “I’m not supervising,” I r eplied smoothly. “I’m observing.” Pete laughed and winced immediately. “You brought Checklist.” I leaned an elbow on the bar. “I find messing with Liam is becoming my new favorite hobby. And explain. Checklist?” He grinned. “You ordered drinks alphabetically and k ept a running total in your head.”
“That is called competence.” “You corrected another woman’s tip math while you were taking a shot.” “She was wrong.” “You asked where the fire exits were.” “I like knowing my options.” Liam went very still. Pete leaned back, looking delighted. “Checklist. Welcome back.” I folded my arms. “You are perilously close to losing potential future tips.” He shrugged. “Worth it.” From behind the bar, Liam muttered, “You clocked her.” I slowly turned toward him. He didn’t look up. Traitor. “I’m going to make myself useful,” Liam said. “By all means,” I r eplied. “Please proceed.” Nora squeezed my arm as she passed. “If water starts flying, duck.” “I was hoping for a spectacle,” I said. Liam shot me a warning look that I ignored entirely as I took a seat behind the bar. He moved with quiet efficiency, clearing the counter space and lining up the tools he’d need in order of use. He reached behind him, grabbed a glass from the rack, and filled it with ice from the service bin that still functioned. He opened a Diet Coke, poured it cleanly into the glass, then slid it across the counter toward me. I stared at the glass. “I didn’t ask for this.” “You’re thirsty,” he r eplied. Frowning, I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass. Liam crouched and slid beneath the bar, broad shoulders disappearing behind the paneling. From where I sat, I had an uninterrupted view. His hands moved with precise control, checking each connection, tightening one fitting, loosening another. Liam reached up to adjust the water line, forearms flexing. The fabric of his shirt pulled tight across his back as he shifted position and braced one knee against the cabinet frame, giving himself leverage. There was nothing showy about it. No wasted movement. Just focused strength applied exactly where it was needed. I took a sip of my soda and told myself to behave. He leaned back out from under the bar briefly to adjust a gauge, jaw set, concentration absolute. His hands were large enough to make the tools look smaller than they were. Without looking up, he wiped some grease onto a rag. Nora leaned over the counter toward me. I hadn’t even noticed her walk up. “He’s been like this since he arrived here.”
“Like what?” I asked, not taking my gaze off him. “You know, all focused,” she said. I didn’t answer. Liam slowly turned the main valve, his eyes on the gauge. For a moment, everything held steady. Then a sharp metallic pop sounded from beneath the counter. Water exploded outward in a violent arc, hitting him square in the chest. Pete barked out a laugh, then immediately clutched his back. I choked on my soda. Liam, however, didn’t even flinch. He reached up instantly and twisted the valve shut, cutting the flow. Water dripped from his hair, down his face, soaking through his shirt. The floor beneath him glistened. Silence. Nora quickly handed him a towel, and Liam peeled off his shirt without ceremony. I forgot how to swallow. The man should come with a posted advisory. Caution. Structural integrity compromised. In my recovery haze, I had apparently edited some of his beauty. My brain must have downgraded the memory for self-preservation. That was the only explanation. No one should look like that in normal lighting while performing routine maintenance. If I was scrolling past a photo of him online, I would assume it was digitally enhanced. I would tell myself no human being was built with that level of competence and bone structure at the same time. I would block the account and move on with my life. But no, Liam was real and unreasonably attractive while calibrating plumbing. This was unfair to women everywhere. His torso was broad and solid, muscles defined but not excessively so. Faint scars lined his ribs and shoulders. Water tracked down his skin and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. Pete let out a low whistle. “Still in my prime,” he muttered, groaning as he struggled out of his chair and walked away like he couldn’t stand it anymore. I set my soda down very carefully as Liam wrung his shirt out, then tossed it onto the counter. He bent back under the bar, bare back exposed, muscles rippling with each movement. This was not fair. I leaned forward slightly on the stool, resting my chin in my hand, fully committed to my role as spectator and enjoying the view. Liam tightened the last connection and turned the valve again, slower this time. The pipes groaned, then settled. The faucet sputtered briefly before running clean and steady. He emerged from beneath the counter, damp
and composed, and wiped his face with the towel again. “You’re welcome,” he said to no one in particular. I raised my glass in salute. “Five stars. Would watch again.” He finally looked at me then, a sly smirk on his lips. I stopped joking and took another sip. For hydration purposes only, of course. He checked the water again, and when it k ept running clean from the tap, he exhaled. That was when I noticed the three women at the table by the window. They each had a glass of red wine and a paperback with a shirtless man on the cover doing something anatomically optimistic. All three of them were looking directly at Liam. They weren’t even pretending not to stare. One of them murmured something to the others. The one in the middle stood and approached the bar as the other two watched with open interest. She stopped in front of Liam and looked him over slowly. “Well,” she said. The word contained history. Liam straightened instinctively. “Yes, ma’am.” “If this is part of the hospitality package,” she said, gesturing at his body, “I need an upgrade.” Pete made a noise behind rec eption that sounded like a suppressed emergency. From the table, one of the others added, “We literally just finished
Chapter twenty-three. This is not our fault.” “That’s not the best defense,” the third said. “It absolutely is,” she r eplied. I didn’t move. “I handle maintenance and property oversight,” Liam said evenly. “Is there anything I can help you with?” “He fixes plumbing,” I said flatly, which obviously didn’t remotely describe his job here or help the situation, but my brain had melted. The woman didn’t even glance at me. “Oh, I’m sure he does,” she said, eyes traveling down his torso again. “Everything looks very... well-maintained.” Pete made another noise, and this time it sounded like he’d swallowed a kazoo. Liam stood very still. The woman leaned forward, her tone lowering just enough to suggest she had no intention of being subtle. “My shower pressure’s been inconsistent,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to get my... pipes evaluated.” I choked on nothing. From the table, one of the others squealed, “Margaret!”
“What?” she said without looking back. “That’s enough!” The third woman nudged the other one. “Shh. It’s barely started.” “Ma’am,” Liam began carefully. She lifted a manicured finger. “Do not ma’am me. I didn’t survive three marriages to be called ma’am on vacation.” Pete bent over the rec eption desk, shoulders shaking, back miraculously healed. Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Margaret,” the first woman called again, sharper this time. Margaret paused. Considered. Then straightened. “We’ll behave,” she said. “You will not,” one of them r eplied immediately. “True,” she agreed. She glanced at me, taking me in properly for the first time. “You’re with him.” It wasn’t a question. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. “Mm,” she said, satisfied. “You two are adorable.” My entire nervous system short-circuited. “There is nothing adorable happening.” “Oh,” she said wistfully, hand pressed lightly to her chest. “To be young and violently attracted to someone again.” I felt heat climb straight up my spine. Liam didn’t move. The woman sighed dramatically. “Enjoy your metabolism and your poor impulse control, children.” Then she returned to her table full of giggling women clutching their smut. I stared straight ahead. “I hate this place.” Liam was still looking at me. When we pulled up to my building, the adrenaline from Pine Hollow had not worn off. It had relocated, sitting low in my stomach, warm and damn inconvenient. I reached for the car door handle, then stopped. I checked my bag. “Oh no.” Liam came around the front of the truck. “What?” “I didn’t drive.” He waited. “I didn’t think about the fact that I would need my key to get back in.” “You left without it?” I rolled my eyes. “I left under medical supervision.”
“That does not negate doors and locks.” I stared at the building. “I have contingency plans.” “I assumed you did. Where’s the spare?” he asked. “Bush. Downspout. Loose stone. Don’t judge me.” “I’m not judging you.” “You are absolutely judging me internally.” “I’m cataloging the safety risks.” “That’s worse.” I walked around the side of the building and crouched carefully, not putting too much weight on my ankle, and retrieved the hide-a-key with more dignity than the situation deserved. He stayed near the sidewalk, scanning the area. I’d noticed that little habit of his as well. I stood and held up the key triumphantly. “I’m an adult.” “You are,” he said. On the inside I wasn’t quite as composed. It wasn’t just that I forgot the key. That wasn’t the part that bothered me. The part that bothered me was that I had not once run through my usual exit checklist before leaving this morning. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Backup plan. Secondary backup plan. I had not mentally mapped contingencies. I had not rehearsed my return. Because he was driving. Because he was there. Somewhere between the hospital and apartment setup and the bar fiasco, my brain had quietly st epped off duty. And I had let it. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that my nervous system softened around him, or that the constant low-grade vigilance I carried like a second spine eased when he was within reach. I definitely didn’t like that I stopped scanning for problems because he was already doing it. I had spent most of my life being the responsible one. The emergency contact. The person with the contingency plan. The person who k ept track of where the keys were. And now I had to use my spare key because I had unconsciously assumed he would handle whatever came next. That was not cute. It was dangerous. Connection is not a safety plan, I reminded myself. People left. People disappointed you. Worst of all, people expected things in return. I straightened, annoyed at myself. I do not outsource competence. Even if he makes it very easy to. Markie screamed the moment the door opened. “DOG. HEEL.”
Liam paused mid-st
Ep I closed my eyes briefly. “You are not helping, Markie.” Markie clambered down his enclosure ladder and puffed his feathers. “SYSTEM ERROR.” “We just got home,” I told him. “UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS.” Liam st epped inside slowly, scanning the room. His gaze went from the windows to the corners to the kitchen, then lingered on the hallway for longer than was necessary. He only relaxed when the door shut behind us. That heat simmering low in my belly surged. Why was he still here? He was free to leave. He had escorted me to the doctor. He had r epaired a bar. He had survived a seventy-five-year-old woman with a romance novel. Delivered me back home. He was relieved of his duties. Connection is not safe, my brain reminded me. My body had other ideas. My fingers twitched at my sides, like they were considering reaching for him and hadn’t decided against it yet. I held his gaze as he st epped closer, his warmth radiating off him. I had planned out my night in my head while he’d calibrated plumbing, and it in volved nothing but sweatpants, trash television, and ice cream eaten straight from the container. No responsibility. No one asking anything of me. It was the perfect night alone. I didn’t want to be alone. The realization irritated me immediately. I put my bag on the table and turned toward him before I could overthink. “I’m celebrating,” I announced. “I will be engaging in extremely low- quality television and high-quality junk food.” “That sounds consistent with your values.” “It is,” I said, and because my mouth was committed to chaos today, I added, “You could join.” There was a beat of stillness, and I started to think I’d miscalculated. Perhaps he was eager to leave me to my own devices and be done with our weird little connection. “If you want.” His expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened. “I’m not literate in trash television.” “Don’t worry, I’m an excellent teacher.” “I’ll ask questions,” he warned. “I encourage curiosity.”
“I may analyze strategy.” I narrowed my eyes. “What strategy?” “The decision-making patterns,” he said. “Alliances. Incentives. Why they continue to trust people who have already betrayed them.” I stared at him. “It’s reality television, not a war simulation. They’re not optimizing outcomes. They’re making terrible choices for emotional reasons.” He frowned. “That seems unproductive.” “It’s the entire point.” I paused. “This is a safe space for poor decisions.” His mouth curved slightly. “I’d like to stay.” Markie climbed onto the bars of his enclosure and stared at Liam. “DOG.” “Yes,” Liam r eplied calmly. I looked between them. “This is de eply humiliating for me.” Markie clicked his satisfaction, then settled onto his perch as if the hierarchy had been properly established. “Well, then... show me what qualifies as high-quality junk food,” Liam said. I moved toward the kitchen, aware of him following me, aware that the apartment felt smaller with him in it, but somehow it also felt safer. Connection is not safe, you dumb bitch. Abort mission. Ignoring my brain’s commentary, I took the ice cream out of the freezer. “Take a seat,” I told him, pointing toward the couch. He did, and that surging heat in my belly grew. God, this was a terrible idea. Still, I handed him a spoon. “Lesson one,” I said. “We judge everyone immediately.” He gave me an amused look. “I can do that.” I sat beside him, close enough that our knees brushed. Neither of us moved away. “GOOD DOG,” Markie muttered. I didn’t correct him.