Chapter 5
Chapter five
Liam
The fire crackled, sending soft embers into the night air, the scent of burning wood curling around us. A perfect Havenwood night. Cool enough to enjoy the fire, warm enough for just a hoodie.
After the rafting trip, we’d all scattered to our respective places, desperate to scrub the river off ourselves.
That water had been frigid, clinging to my skin even after I’d stood under a hot shower for way too long.
The scent of pine and damp earth still lingered faintly, mixed now with the crisp, clean bite of my soap.
By the time I pulled up to Sam’s place, pizzas from Sarella’s balanced in one hand, my hoodie slung over my shoulder, Callie was already there, bottle of wine in hand.
“Classy,” I said, eyeing the bottle as I stepped inside.
Callie smirked. “You brought pizza. We all contribute in our own ways.”
And now, here we were with full stomachs, warm fire, and light conversation.
Exactly how I liked it, predictable and low effort.
Sam’s backyard wasn’t anything fancy. A modest fire pit, a few chairs scattered around it, some tiki torches placed around to ward off bugs. It felt comfortable. Lived-in. A place that had held a hundred conversations, a few deep confessions, and plenty of drunken nights.
Tonight was mellow. Just Callie, Sam, and me, stretched out around the fire with pizza boxes stacked on the table beside us and a half-empty bottle of red wine.
I reached for another slice, and turned my face to Sam. “Can’t believe Noah and Evan bailed. Thought we’d at least get to witness another round of their weird, slow-motion mating dance.”
Sam snorted, taking a sip of wine, the firelight casting warm highlights along his jaw. “Hopefully, one of them is getting fucked right now.”
Callie made a dramatic gagging sound, grabbing another slice of pizza. “Disgusting. But also… yeah. It’s about damn time.”
I laughed, tossing a crust onto my plate. “I mean, I respect the slow burn, but Jesus. Watching those two flirt is like waiting for water to boil. I just want to shake them.”
Sam shook his head, leaning back in his chair, eyes flickering toward the fire. “They’ll figure it out. Eventually.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I stretched my legs out, the Adirondack chair creaking slightly beneath me. My phone buzzed on the table beside me. I glanced at the screen.
I rolled my eyes and flipped the phone over.
Callie, ever perceptive, rolled their eyes. “Oh, is that another ‘hey handsome, what are you up to?’ message?”
I smiled. “You say that like I should be offended.”
“No. Not offended.” Callie propped their chin in their palm and fixed me with a look that was far too knowing. “Tell me, Liam. Do you actually enjoy the human connection of these little one-night adventures, or are we just filling a void?”
Sam snorted into his wine, nearly choking.
I shot him a look. “Are we really about to have a deep-dive into my sex life over pizza?”
Sam swirled his glass, eyes fixed on me like I was the night’s entertainment. “I mean… we’ve got time.”
“I’m pretty sure this is emotional harassment,” I shared.
“Pretty sure we’re just worried about your soul,” Callie deadpanned.
I huffed a laugh and grabbed another slice, using it as a shield. “Look, I’m not out here searching for my soulmate. I just… ” I waved the pizza toward the firepit, like that explained everything, movement easier than articulation. “Like what I like. No expectations. No mess.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “No mess?”
I paused, mid-bite.
Okay, so maybe there had been a few messes. One or two clingy DMs. The occasional tearful 'I thought we had something' at brunch. Nothing criminal.
“I never lie,” I said, shrugging. “People just don’t always like hearing the truth.”
Callie pointed at me with their pizza. “So, let me get this straight. You keep things casual, but you’re still shocked when someone wants more from you?”
“I’m not shocked,” I said, and tossed the crust back onto my plate. “I’m annoyed. There’s a difference.”
Sam leaned in slightly, his tone gentler. “But do you ever want more? Like… maybe not the whole fairytale thing, but something real?”
“Define real.”
Callie scoffed. “You know what real means.”
I sighed, leaning back and letting my head tilt toward the stars overhead. “It’s not that I’m against connection. I just don’t see the point in pretending like every coffee date could lead to joint tax returns. Some of us are fine on our own.”
Sam gave me a look. “Are you?”
I didn’t answer right away, my brain stalling like it needed more time than the question allowed.
My phone buzzed again on the table, a little burst of urgency lighting up the screen. I ignored it, or tried to.
I opened my mouth, ready to toss out something casual. I’m fine, I’m free, I’m doing great. But the words didn’t come.
The fire crackled. Somewhere in the woods, a night bird called out.
Callie watched me for half a second longer, then let out a breath and reached for another slice. “Whatever. You’re a grown man. Do what you want.”
I lifted my glass, trying to recover the usual grin. “Glad I have your blessing.”
But the mood had shifted just slightly, like someone had tugged a thread loose.
Sam didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t look away either.
And even though I kept my mouth busy with wine and pizza, I could feel something settling in me. Something uncomfortably close to a question I didn’t want to answer.
I cleared my throat, reaching for the bottle of wine.
Because this conversation wasn’t about me.
And I definitely wasn’t about to think too hard about why I suddenly didn’t have a good answer.
Instead, I grinned and turned the conversation back around.
“So, Callie,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “How’s the salon drama? Please tell me someone had a meltdown over highlights again.”
Callie’s eyes lit up instantly. Hook, line, and distraction, a maneuver I’d perfected over years.
“Oh my God, yes,” they said, sitting up straighter. “You’re going to love this. So, yesterday afternoon, this girl came in. First-time client and she wanted this ‘lived-in blonde’ look she saw online.”
Sam groaned. “That never ends well.”
“Right?” Callie waved a hand, already fully in storytelling mode.
“She brings in four completely different inspiration pics, none of which look remotely like her actual hair type. But she’s sure she wants this look for her ‘surprise engagement trip,’ which she’s not supposed to know about, by the way. ”
I raised a brow. “So naturally she spills it to the person holding bleach over her scalp.”
“Exactly,” Callie said, beaming. “Anyway, she insists her hair has ‘never been colored,’ which, fine, I take her at her word. Start the lightening process and bam! Old black box dye rears its ugly, patchy head. I’m talking blotchy green undertones, a brassy nightmare.
And the kicker? She starts crying midway through, but not because of the hair. ”
“What then?” Sam asked, already invested.
“Because,” Callie said, drawing it out with dramatic flair, “she found out the ‘surprise engagement trip’ is to Branson, Missouri, and not Cabo like she hoped.”
I barked out a laugh. “Wow. High-class heartbreak.”
“Oh, it gets better. She made me stop mid-tone so she could call her sister and rage about how ‘Branson is for sad retirees and mediocre magicians.’ Her words.”
Sam nearly spat out his wine. “Mediocre magicians?”
Callie nodded solemnly. “I had to tone her hair while she sobbed into a Starbucks napkin. And then she asked if I could turn it silver-gray instead. ‘Just like her mood,’ she said.”
I threw my hands up. “And people think I have drama.”
Callie gave me a pointed look. “You are the drama.”
“Rude,” I said, though I was smiling.
Callie leaned back, satisfied with the chaos they’d just unspooled. “Anyway, she left looking like a champagne goddess, even if her emotional state was firmly charcoal.”
“And the fiancé?” Sam asked.
Callie shrugged. “Dead man walking, probably.”
I chuckled, sinking further into my chair with a pleased little hum. “See? Who needs a relationship when you’ve got clients like that?”
Sam rolled his eyes, but he didn’t push.
In a win for myself, I’d successfully deflected!
The night settled. The fire burned low, mostly ashes now, the occasional ember glowing weakly beneath the remnants of charred wood.
Callie stretched dramatically, letting out a big theatrical yawn.
“Alright, boys,” they announced, standing up and stretching their arms over their head. “I’m about to turn into a pumpkin. My bed is calling, and she’s yelling.”
I laughed. “What, no second wind?”
They shot me a flat look. “Liam, I used up every ounce of energy I had trying not to die in that raft. I deserve to sleep like the dead.”
Sam chuckled, rolling the last few embers in the pit with a stick, scattering them into dimming trails of smoke. “You and me both.”
Callie sighed, giving us each a lazy hug, voicing something about us being ‘a lot but tolerable,’ before making their way toward the back gate.
“Text when you get home,” Sam called after them.
“Yeah, yeah.” Callie waved without looking back. “Try not to burn the house down without me.”
And then it was just us.
The fire pit was nothing but smoke and scattered heat. Sam gathered the pizza boxes, wine bottle, and dishes. I knew he wasn’t thinking about it, wasn’t even actively processing the movements. He was just the kind of person who cleaned up as he went.
I wasn’t.
But I jumped up anyway, grabbing the stack of empty pizza plates before he could get them all.
“You don’t have to help,” he said, but didn’t stop me.
“I know.”
And then we were in the kitchen, rinsing glasses, tossing boxes, moving around each other without needing to say much.
The whole night had been like this. Simple.
It wasn’t until I leaned against the counter, stretching my arms over my head, that I realized how heavy my limbs felt, like my body had been keeping score without telling me.
“Damn,” I exclaimed. “I’m exhausted.”