Chapter Four
Carson
I had only meant to follow the smell of coffee and possibly check out the gear shed.
That was it. A simple, normal, uneventful task: walk outside and check in with the family, make sure I hadn’t already broken a rule on my first hour of the job, and perhaps grab a mug of something warm while I got a feel for the lodge kitchen.
What I did not plan for was stepping into the doorway and hearing the tail end of Sienna’s sentence in a voice that sounded halfway strangled with embarrassment.
“If I were to fantasize about anyone in a cave, it would not be Carson Reed and his annoyingly perfect—" She stopped.
Her mother and sister went still.
And then she turned. Slowly. As if bracing for impact.
Our eyes met.
She stood with her cheeks flushed pink, blueberry juice on her fingers, and an expression that suggested she was debating sprinting directly into the nearest forest. Violet and her mother had frozen mid-tease, guilty pleasure painted all over their faces.
The kitchen was warm and bright, sun flooding through the windows, cinnamon drifting through the air.
And all of it hit me with the force of something I had been avoiding for years.
Because the moment she looked at me, something stirred in a part of my mind that was supposed to be sealed off. A place I had locked down so thoroughly I had forgotten it even existed.
Attraction. Draw. Pull.
Heat, low and sharp, under my ribs.
Unwanted.
Unwelcome.
But unmistakably there.
I held her gaze, that single spark waking up old instincts I had shoved into the ground a long time ago, and I felt it again: a pulse of warmth rolling off her and hitting me with a clarity I didn’t want to acknowledge.
It slipped under my defenses, under the layers I had built, seeping into cracks I thought were sealed.
Her family was right there. Still watching. Still waiting. Still enjoying the spectacle of Sienna turning the color of raspberries.
And yet, even with all of them present, even with the noise of pots rattling on the stove and coffee brewing behind me, I felt something shift inside me.
Something I had sworn I was done feeling.
Something I had decided had no place in the life I lived, the life I chose, the one built around staying away from anything messy or tender or heartbreakingly human.
Sienna broke the silence first.
She cleared her throat, too loud, too fast. “Hi.”
I nodded once. “Hello.”
Her fingers tightened around the countertop as if she needed the support. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.”
Her eyes widened. Violet choked back a laugh. Her mother lifted her mug and whispered, “Perfect timing.”
Yes. Perfect timing. Of course, the universe had that kind of humor.
I did not smile, but something in me flickered. She stared at me for a beat too long, then abruptly spun back to her coffee as if she could hide behind the mug.
I should have left.
I should have pretended I heard nothing.
Instead, I felt myself watching her. The flush on her cheeks. The slight shake in her hands. The way she kept her shoulder angled toward me like she wasn’t sure how to stand near someone she had just accidentally admitted to fantasizing about in a cave.
She was more flustered than anyone I had met in years. It was unsettling and strangely compelling. It tugged at something buried in my chest, something I hadn’t let surface since long before I took this job.
Her mother stepped in before Sienna combusted from embarrassment. “Carson, dear, we were just discussing how Sienna can show you around town.”
Sienna snapped her head toward her. “We were not discussing that.”
“Oh, but I think it is a wonderful idea,” her mother replied, unwavering. “You need to know the area. And Sienna knows it better than anyone.”
I opened my mouth to decline. “That is not necessary.”
“You have to go anyway,” Violet chimed in. “Supplies. Stores. Coffee shops. You cannot hide on lodge property all season.”
That was exactly what I preferred to do, but apparently, no one here cared about my preferences.
Sienna sputtered. “He does not need me for that. He can drive. He has a truck.”
Her mother waved her off. “Nonsense. You two should get comfortable working together.”
Sienna shot me a look that could have cut through rope. “I do not think comfort is the issue.”
I nearly smiled. Nearly.
Her mother continued, “Five minutes in the car will not kill you. Besides, you enjoy company.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I do not actually.”
Her mom ignored that completely and wiped her hands on a towel. “Perfect. Sienna will take you. Have fun.”
Fun.
I could think of many words for what was about to happen, but fun was not at the top of the list.
Before I could argue, before Sienna could escape or shove her head in the dishwasher, the two of us were being ushered toward the hallway with suspicious enthusiasm.
“So, no gear shed today?” I muttered to Sienna, and she groaned.
We stepped outside again, and the melting snow glittered like crushed diamonds. Spring and our first trip would be here soon.
Sienna pulled her coat tighter around herself as if it were a shield she wished she could hide inside.
Neither of us spoke as we walked across the lot toward my truck. Her boots kicked small puffs of crystals into the air. I followed her pace, watching the set of her shoulders, noting the tension she was clearly trying and failing to camouflage.
The attraction I felt earlier still lingered between us like an ember refusing to die. I didn’t want it. I didn’t invite it. Yet here it was settling into my bloodstream.
Sienna reached the passenger door and paused, glaring at the handle like it had personally insulted her.
“I just want to be very clear,” she said tightly. “I am doing this under protest.”
I unlocked the doors. “So am I.”
She scowled and climbed in. “Excellent. We are both thrilled.”
I shut my door and started the engine. She folded her arms across her chest and stared out the window with the expression of someone considering pushing me out of the moving vehicle.
The silence was thick.
Tense.
The air buzzed with things neither of us wanted to admit to hearing or feeling.
When I pulled onto the narrow road leading out of Honey Leaf Lodge, she finally spoke.
“You were not supposed to hear that.”
I kept my eyes on the snow-covered trees ahead. “I know.”
“It was taken completely out of context.”
“I figured.”
“I do not actually fantasize about caves,” she insisted.
“Good,” I said. “They are dangerous.”
She whirled toward me. “That is not the point.”
“What is the point, then?”
She opened her mouth, closed it again, and slumped back into her seat. “I should have stayed in Alaska.”
“That seems extreme.”
“Everything about my life feels extreme this morning.”
I considered that. “You seem rattled.”
She scoffed. “You think?”
“You are also acting like you would prefer to toss me over a cliff.”
She pointed at me. “Do not tempt me. Even though we’re in the middle of Wisconsin, I know a few cliffs.”
I let a small pause settle between us. “Are you always this intense?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Unfortunately.”
Her honesty surprised me. And so did the faint tremor under it. There was something raw and bruised in her tone, and it wasn’t from me but from the situation she’d been shoved into.
I kept my tone level. “Do you want to tell me why you are actually upset?”
She hesitated again, and for a second I thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she sighed, the sound heavy in her chest.
“I did not know my family thought I needed help,” she said quietly. “I thought I was doing fine.”
Ah.
That explained more than anything else.
It wasn’t me she was angry at, not directly anyway. I was simply the embodiment of a decision she had not been a part of.
“I understand,” I said softly.
“Do you?”
“I know what it feels like when people assume you need something you did not ask for.”
She looked at me then. Really looked at me. Her eyes were warmer than before, not softened but searching, trying to discern whether I meant it or whether I was being polite.
I meant it.
Her shoulders eased a fraction. “Well,” she said with a small exhale, “thanks. For… hearing me.”
“You were not subtle,” I replied.
Her mouth twitched. “I’m trying to be subtle. It’s just not going well.”
She was still upset and a bit prickly, but the edge of defensiveness had softened.
A few minutes later, we reached the first stretch of Buttercup Lake, the road curving alongside the partially frozen lake shoreline.
The town appeared in the distance, sunlight glinting off the storefront windows.
Colorful signs hung from old wooden posts.
Snow-covered rooftops slanted toward the lake.
Smoke curled from chimneys. A dog trotted down the walkway in a sweater two sizes too small.
It looked like the kind of place where people trusted their neighbors, where they baked cookies for newcomers and helped each other shovel driveways, where everything seemed warm and safe even in the cold.
A place that did not exist in the world I knew.
A place that was far too perfect for someone like me.
Sienna saw the way I looked at the lakefront and raised an eyebrow. “What? Shocked, we are not a frozen tundra wasteland?”
“It is very charming,” I admitted.
She laughed softly. “Careful. If the town hears you say that, you will be forced into community events.”
I kept my gaze on the road. “I am not here for community.”
“You are here for what exactly?”
“Work. Solitude. The usual.”
Her expression shifted to curious. Unsettled, and maybe something else.
“You really do not like people, do you?” she asked.
“I like some people.”
“Which ones?”
I glanced at her. “I do not know you well enough to say.”
She blinked. “So I am undecided.”
“Undetermined,” I said.
“Well,” she muttered, looking back out the window, “that makes two of us.”
I almost smiled again. Almost.
We drove deeper into town where string lights hung across the main street, and a hardware store sign gently swung in the breeze.
A small café with frosted windows advertised peppermint mochas and fresh scones.
A bookstore with a carved wooden sign sat beside a florist shop that looked like it was pulled from a postcard.
Every inch of it felt like a world manufactured to be safe.
Cozy.
Unreachably optimistic.
I felt something pinch inside me. A reminder of how very temporary my presence here would be. How this place would remain just as perfect after I left.
Sienna shifted beside me.
“Well,” she said, “welcome to Buttercup Lake. Try to look miserable so the locals don’t get suspicious.”
I nodded once. “Noted.”
“And for the record,” she added, staring resolutely ahead, “I really do not fantasize about caves.”
I let the quiet stretch a moment longer than necessary.
“Of course not. That would be strange.”
She made a strangled noise. “Please stop talking forever.”
I did not stop.
But I did let myself look at her again.
And when the sun hit her profile, warming her cheeks and catching on the loose strands of her hair, I felt that unwelcome spark flicker again.
Heat. Pull. Confusion.
I ignored it.
I had no intention of letting anything grow here. I didn’t need feelings, connection, or whatever had sparked in the kitchen when she turned and saw me listening.
Still, I knew one thing with startling clarity.
This season, this job, this woman who talked too fast and blushed even faster, would not leave me untouched.
And that truth unsettled me more than anything I had faced in the wilderness.