Chapter 3
Chapter three
Liam
The backyard hummed with warmth, a kind of energy that only happened when the right people were in the right place.
String lights stretched overhead, casting soft golden halos over mismatched chairs and picnic tables.
Their glow reflected off half-empty glasses and plates stacked with the remains of grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and whatever magic Jules had put in their sangria to make it dangerously addictive.
The air was alive with conversation, music, and laughter.
Voices rolled over each other like an easy tide.
Callie was in full performance mode, standing near the patio, a wine glass in one hand and their free hand moving wildly as they told a story that, based on the gasps and cackles around them, was already legendary.
Avery and Sam were locked in a debate at one of the tables, something about ghost stories and whether Havenwood was haunted.
Near the firepit, a few people had started roasting marshmallows, their faces illuminated in the firelight.
And me? I was right in the middle of it all. I knew no strangers.
It wasn’t about being the center of attention.
Not exactly. I just liked people, the buzz of conversation, the push and pull of energy that kept things from feeling stale.
This was my scene. Not the standing-on-the-sidelines thing.
That wasn’t me. I liked being in the thick of it, moving from conversation to conversation, weaving in and out of groups.
Always engaging and present, but never lingering too long.
I could spend an entire night at a party like this and never have a deep conversation, never settle in one place for too long. Just drift and keep moving.
I laughed with Callie and clinked my beer bottle against Noah’s glass in a mock toast. I ruffled Caleb’s hair, Elliott’s teenage son from his previous marriage.
Equal parts teenage boy and soft-hearted sincerity,.
He rolled his eyes at something Jules said, and stole a bite of someone’s dessert when they weren’t looking.
And, of course, I spent a solid two minutes mentally willing Noah, the perpetually grumpy and introverted video game developer who overthinks everything, and Evan, the charming waiter at the Rivermere Bistro with a magnetic smile, to just make up their damn minds.
Because this back-and-forth, this weird, slow-motion dance they were doing, it was driving me up a wall, my foot bouncing like I needed it to resolve already.
Evan had been orbiting Noah all night, moving just close enough to make it obvious (to me, at least) but never actually crossing the damn line.
And Noah? He was pretending not to notice while still tracking Evan’s every move like he was studying a particularly difficult code in one of his video games.
It was ridiculous.
At one point, Evan set Noah’s drink down before he could ask for it, smirking just enough to make it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing. Noah hesitated for half a second too long before picking up the glass, lips twitching like he was trying not to react.
I groaned into my beer, grumbling under my breath, “For the love of God, someone just kiss someone already.”
I knew Noah. Knew his whole brooding, overthinking, deeply internalized nonsense. And I knew Evan, too. He was a master at flirting, all teasing and patience, but still waiting.
They were exhausting.
I didn’t have time to sit around and watch them pretend not to be in love when I had my own weird thoughts to sort through.
I caught myself lingering. Not in the conversations, in the laughter, or the movement. But in the way my eyes kept tracking back to one person.
Sam.
It wasn’t intentional. At least, I didn’t think it was, the way my attention kept snagging before I even realized where it had gone.
But every time I scanned the yard, every time I looked for the next thing to keep me entertained, I kept landing right back on him.
Like my brain had quietly made a decision without consulting me.
He was at one of the picnic tables with his sleeves rolled up and a beer bottle resting loosely in his grip.
His dark hair was a little messy, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times.
He was in the middle of debating with Avery, eyebrows drawn in mock seriousness, lips twitching between a smile and an exasperated sigh.
It was a good look on him.
I took another sip of my beer, frowning slightly as I let the thought settle.
Sam was comfortable. He fit into any space without effort, without needing to perform. He was the guy everyone trusted. The one who made sure no one was left out. The one who could sit back with a beer in his hand and still somehow be the most present person in the room.
And until tonight, I’d never really thought about him beyond that.
Not like this.
I shook the thought off, making my way toward the porch, the pull of conversation around me like a warm current.
By the time I settled into one of the porch chairs, Renzo joined me, beer in hand and grinning like he knew something I didn’t.
He raised an eyebrow as he sat down. “You’re being weird.”
I snorted. “You’re one to talk. I’ve seen you spend ten minutes adjusting a stencil and call it ‘intuition.’”
“Yeah, well, my intuition’s never wrong.” He sank into the chair beside me, long legs stretched out, dark eyes studying over me like he was reading between the lines. “You okay?”
I waved him off. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t push, just popped the cap off his bottle and leaned back, all quiet confidence and that calm, broody thing he did without trying.
The guy had the whole dark-and-mysterious tattoo artist aesthetic down to a science.
He had sleeves rolled up and his dark features were framed by just enough stubble to make it look deliberate.
Renzo Santiago is Havenwood’s favorite straight heartthrob. Owner of Inked Dreams and the coolest damn loft apartment I’d ever stepped foot in. Girls from the Rainbow Taproom still whispered about his forearms.
We hung out more than most people probably realized. He was the kind of friend who didn’t talk much about his past but would show up at your door with takeout when you needed it. Loyal. Unflinching. Ride-or-die without needing the label.
I rolled my eyes, stretching my legs out in front of me. “Is this where you diagnose me with some deep emotional revelation?”
Renzo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, sneering like a cat who’d just found the cream. “Nah, this is where I tell you you’ve been eye-fucking Sam Ortiz across the yard all night, and I’m just waiting for you to either make a move or spontaneously combust.”
I nearly choked on my beer. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His grin was downright wicked. “You’ve been tracking him all night. It’s like watching a cat try to pretend it’s not interested in the red dot.”
I scoffed. “I have not.”
“You so have.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but… damn it.
I looked out over the yard again, just for something to do, and sure enough, my gaze immediately found Sam.
He was laughing at something Avery said, his head tipped back slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way people’s eyes do when they’re really laughing.
And I felt it in my chest. Like a moment I wanted to pocket. Like something I wasn’t supposed to be paying attention to.
Renzo hummed knowingly beside me.
I turned back to him, scowling. “Say nothing.”
His smile only widened. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”
He took a sip of his beer, deliberately not looking at me.
But I knew that look.
“Liam, you are so bad at dating.”
Renzo’s voice snapped me back to the moment. I turned to see him smirking at me, his beer halfway to his lips.
I smiled, shifting in my seat, the response arriving before I’d even thought it through. “I’m great at dating.”
Renzo scoffed. “No, you’re great at hooking up. Big difference.”
“Semantics.”
“Not really.” He took a sip, then pointed at me. “You don’t date, Liam. You collect entertaining disasters. It’s like you’re doing field research for a book called How to Scare Away Potential Husbands in Three Easy Steps.”
“That book would sell,” I said.
Renzo burst out laughing. “Yeah, because everyone in Havenwood has seen you crash and burn at least once.”
“Not true,” I countered, but… okay, maybe a little true.
Renzo laughed, clearly enjoying this. “Oh, come on. The gym guy? The one who tried to ‘work out some tension’ with you?”
I groaned. “We met at a gym. How was I supposed to know he meant sex?”
Renzo wheezed, wiping at his eyes. “Because you met him on Rogue, Liam! That’s all they mean.”
I shrugged, unbothered. “Look, he was hot, I was confused, and I got a decent workout either way.”
Renzo shook his head, still laughing. “You’re a menace.”
“An entertaining menace.”
“I’ll give you that.”
I smiled, tipping my beer toward him before glancing back across the yard. My eyes landed on Sam again.
He was leaning back in his chair, studying Callie telling a story with wild gestures and dramatic flair.
Something about the way he fit into this moment so effortlessly made my stomach feel weird.
Or maybe that was the sangria.
I was not drunk enough to be having this thought process.
“Do you ever get tired of it?” Renzo asked suddenly, his voice quieter this time.
I looked over. “Of what?”
He gestured vaguely. “The casual hookups. The easy outs. The whole ‘no strings, no regrets, no distractions’ thing.”
I took a sip of beer, stalling.
Renzo raised an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair with a look that said don’t bullshit me.
“You’re the second person this week to ask if I was tired of being a whore.” I shrugged, trying to play it off. “Must be something in the water.”
Renzo just hummed. Didn’t argue. Didn’t need to.