Chapter Twenty
Carson
By the time I left the lodge that afternoon, my head felt like it was carrying far more than it was built to hold.
The Harper house was a warm, spinning whirlwind of voices and elbows and jokes and overlapping sentences, punctuated by Beck stealing food off everyone else’s plate, and Fiona or Fifi, as everyone called her, announcing she’d found a new candle scent, while Sienna sat in a frozen state.
But I realized that I wasn’t built for this level of chaos.
Not all at once. Not every day.
Not after years of quiet, barely disturbed by anything louder than wind in the pines.
So I walked.
Or maybe it was that I could see Sienna wanting to squirm away just as much as I did.
So, after the amazing lunch, I excused myself from the lodge.
And I found myself walking along the path, across the long gravel drive, past the sign with its hand-painted pine boughs and the carved wooden bear with a honey pot.
The cold air slapped my cheeks awake as I cut across the parking lot and headed toward the road that led into Buttercup Lake. Spring was having a tough time coming to Wisconsin.
But it didn’t matter. I needed space, quiet, and something else…
I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets, wishing I could somehow reach into myself and figure out what made me so uncomfortable with noise and family…and complication.
Instead, the thoughts were all scattered on the floor of my head, tumbling with crazy words like kiss, love, and family.
There was the kiss I hadn’t expected, and a woman I couldn’t ignore.
Obviously, there was a family I didn’t mean to be pulled into. These were my temporary employers.
I had a job I’d only planned to keep until September, and the truth I kept circling back to, no matter how far I walked, was that I never anticipated any of this.
And by this, I meant feelings.
The contract I signed was clear.
Seasonal work.
March through September.
Temporary.
No roots.
No complications.
No relationships.
Just guide, earn, leave.
That was the plan.
And then came Sienna, and the list was blown to smithereens.
I didn’t know what box to put her in. I didn’t know what label to stick on her. She wasn’t simple. She wasn’t predictable. She wasn’t background noise. She wasn’t anything I had prepared for.
And she wasn’t anything I could easily walk away from.
That was the part that bothered me most. The part that worried me, irritated me, tugged at a part of me I’d locked down a long time ago. Attraction was fine. Attraction went away. But the feeling that someone could get under my skin without even trying?
That was dangerous.
The snow had mostly melted by the time I reached town. Buttercup Lake was quiet for a weekday afternoon, only a few cars parked along Main Street, the snowplows from last week’s storm leaving behind gray slush packed against the curbs.
Buttercup Java stood on the corner, its mint-green door propped open slightly despite the chill. Pine garlands framed the windows, and warm light spilled out across the sidewalk. The smell of espresso floated onto the street like a little promise of sanity.
Good. I needed sanity.
And caffeine.
And at least twenty minutes where nobody was watching me like I was the new plot twist in their favorite TV show.
As soon as I stepped inside, I felt calmer.
The place was cozy without being cluttered, with its wood floors, chalkboard menus, mismatched mugs, and plants in ceramic pots.
A couple tapped at laptops near the front window.
A man in a flannel read a newspaper like it was still 1998. And behind the counter…
“Hey there!” the barista chirped, wiping down a milk pitcher. “What can I get you?”
I recognized her from the lodge’s files, which listed the who’s who of Buttercup Lake, when I was interacting with guests.
Abby. Friendly. Efficient. Possibly psychic. The kind of woman who noticed more than she let on.
I stepped up to the counter. “Large Americano. Extra hot. And a croissant, please.”
Never mind that I was still digesting lunch from the lodge. I needed a distraction, and a croissant would have to do.
“You got it.” She punched the order in. “Still the quiet one.”
I blinked. “I… guess?”
She grinned. “Don’t worry. In this town, quiet is interesting. Loud is normal.”
I didn’t know what that meant, so I gave a small nod and paid.
While she made the drink, I stood at the far end of the counter where a few local flyers were pinned on a bulletin board for fishing tournaments, a sign-up sheet for snowshoe rentals, and the Sunshine Breakfast Club Book Schedule, which if memory served me right, I wanted to stay far away from.
I stretched, rolled my shoulders, and exhaled.
Finally.
A moment to think.
Except thinking meant remembering.
Last night—Sienna’s laugh, her lips, the stunned look she’d given me right before she kissed me like she’d been waiting for the right moment for months instead of minutes.
The way her breath had hitched when my hands tightened around her.
The way she’d pulled back slowly, eyes dazed and bright, like she wasn’t sure whether to apologize or kiss me again.
Then the applause.
God.
I wasn’t built for public anything, especially not that, but I kept replaying the moment. It wasn’t the noise or the chaos, but the look on her face when she’d pressed her head to my chest for half a second. It was like something inside her had finally let itself breathe.
And something inside me, against all logic, had breathed with it.
I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck.
This wasn't good.
This wasn’t smart.
This wasn’t what I did.
I didn’t connect.
I didn’t date.
I didn’t let people in.
I didn’t kiss lodge owners’ daughters in front of entire towns.
I came here to fill a staffing gap, earn money, and leave in September.
That was all.
Abby slid a plate and a steaming mug toward me. “Americano and croissant, one existential crisis on the side.”
I looked up sharply. “What?”
She laughed. “Relax. You just have the face of a man thinking very hard about something someone said last night…or did.”
Damn.
I wasn’t used to being readable.
I took a long sip of the Americano, smooth, smoky, thankfully scalding, and tore off a piece of croissant.
“Thanks,” I said. “Just needed a break.”
“Makes sense,” she said, leaning on the counter. “The Harpers can be… a lot.”
I exhaled a quiet breath. “You could say that.”
“They’re good people, though.” Her expression softened. “They take care of their own.”
I knew that. Anyone could see that. The lodge practically buzzed with affection and sibling chaos and warmth so thick it felt like walking through sunlight.
I glanced at the window. “Are they always that cheerful?”
Abby barked a laugh. “Mostly. Except for Sienna.”
That made my head tilt before I could hide it. “Except for Sienna?”
“Yep.” She wiped down a section of the counter. “She’s a harder nut to crack, that one.”
I tried not to react, but something in my chest tightened…interest sharpened by instinct.
“How so?” I asked as casually as I could manage.
Abby shrugged. “Sienna’s… different. Fiery. Always has been. Even as a kid, she was a wanderer.”
A wanderer.
That word hit me deeper than it should have.
“She seems close to her family,” I said carefully.
“Oh, she loves them,” Abby agreed. “But she’s also the one who bolts when things get too tight. That girl disappears to places most maps don’t even bother listing. Always has a backpack somewhere, half-packed. Always has a ticket on standby. Some people say she’s got lightning in her bones.”
My pulse shifted.
Lightning.
Yeah. That tracked.
I cleared my throat and found a seat. “And when she’s in town?”
“That’s the funny part,” Abby said with a grin. “The second she stays in one place too long, she gets restless. Finds mountains to climb. Rivers to cross. Random animals to befriend.”
I swallowed.
This felt too close to something.
Abby wiped her hands on her apron. “Honestly? I think she’s scared of stillness. Scared of choosing anything. Or anyone.”
The words landed like a stone in my stomach.
“So don’t take it personally if she’s skittish around you,” Abby added. “She’s skittish around everyone.”
I looked down at my coffee, absorbing that, not because it scared me off.
But because it made too much sense.
Sienna wasn’t flaky.
She wasn’t indecisive. She just didn’t know how to stay.
And I…
I didn’t know how to ask someone to.
Not after my past.
Not after loss.
Not after learning the hard way that people leave even when they promise they won’t.
But Sienna wasn’t my responsibility.
She wasn’t my future.
She wasn’t part of my plan.
She was a coworker.
A temporary partner on the spring and summer hikes.
Someone who’d be running her own trips while I ran mine once the season hit.
Someone who lived here, rooted and tangled in her family and her town, while I—
I wasn’t staying.
Not after September.
That was the contract.
Simple.
Clean.
Clear.
So why was I sitting in this coffee shop, wondering what it meant that she bolted when things got close?
Why did it matter that she was restless?
Why did I care that she didn’t let people in easily?
Because I recognized it.
Because she ran for the same reasons I did.
Because stillness for her looked a lot like loss had looked for me.
I took another slow sip, letting the heat spread through my chest.
“Anyway,” Abby said, picking up her order tablet, “don’t let it scare you. She’s worth knowing. Just… don’t try to catch lightning with your bare hands, okay?”
I managed a small, wry smile. “Good advice.”
“For free,” she said cheerfully, heading toward another table.
I leaned back on the stool again, croissant half-eaten, mocha cooling, thoughts rearranging themselves into a shape I didn’t entirely recognize.
Sienna Harper.
Lightning girl.
Harder nut to crack.
Wanderer.
And for the first time since arriving, I felt something shift. It wasn’t a decision, not a warning, but a quiet hum under my ribs.
It was something unfamiliar and probably unwelcome.
Something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet, but it was there.
And it wasn’t going away.
Not anytime soon.
I stayed longer than I meant to, turning the empty Americano cup between my palms.
The warmth had faded, but it lingered enough to anchor me in a space that felt, at least momentarily, removed from everything I didn’t know how to navigate.
This place was small, quiet, and safe.
Predictability in ceramic mugs.
Order in chalkboard menus.
No wolf packs or gear sheds or Harper siblings popping into doorways like caffeinated jack-in-the-boxes.
Just me.
A table.
And the sound of the espresso machine sighing into the afternoon.
For the first time in hours, my thoughts slowed, but they didn’t settle.
Because every time I closed my eyes, even for a blink, I saw Sienna.
Her flushed face after the kiss.
Her breath catching when I held her.
Her hands were resting on my chest like it was the most natural place in the world.
The brief moment right before her lips met mine, where something flickered in her eyes…fear, want, defiance, all braided into one impossible thing.
And after…
God.
After.
The way her entire body had leaned into me like she didn’t know which part of herself to trust. The stunned laugh that had slipped out when the whole supper club erupted into applause. The way she had looked at me in the gear shed was equal parts overwhelmed and drawn to me.
She was trouble…beautiful, untamable trouble.
And I was a fool for wanting more of that kiss.
More of her.
More of something I had no right to want from someone whose entire life was built on roots and community and a family that affectionately heckled each other.
That wasn’t my world.
And yet…
“You look like a man who’s either falling in love or solving a murder,” Abby said, sliding another mug under the espresso machine.
I straightened. “Neither.”
She smirked. “Then you’re bad at hiding it.”
I rubbed my jaw. “I’m not… whatever you think I am. I’m just here to work.”
“And drink Americanos,” she added, tapping the machine. “Don’t forget the croissants.”
“Those, too.”
She reached across the counter and swiped my empty plate. “So. How’s the new job?”
“Fine.”
“Uh-huh. And how’s working with the Harpers?”
“Fine.”
“And how’s Sienna?”
I froze mid-breath.
Her grin spread slowly. “There it is.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on,” she laughed. “Everyone in town is talking about it.”
A slow, heavy pulse thudded behind my ribs. “Talking about what?”
“The kiss.”
My stomach dropped. “What kiss?”
She gave me a look that said, Don’t insult my intelligence. “The one at the supper club.”
I held still, like movement might somehow make the conversation vanish. “How do you know about that?”
Abby’s eyes widened like the question itself was adorable. “Honey. It was the kiss heard around Buttercup.”
I blinked. “Heard… around…”
“Yep.” She tossed a rag over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s trending on local Facebook groups.”
I closed my eyes. “Of course it is.”
“Small towns,” she said cheerfully.
“Small towns,” I echoed.
Except it didn’t feel charming the way she meant. It didn’t feel quaint or cozy or harmless.
It felt like a stone settling low in my gut.
People were watching.
Talking.
Invested.
That wasn’t good.
Not when I wasn’t staying.
Not when she didn’t stay still.
Not when neither of us had any business being pulled into something bigger than a single impulsive kiss.
Abby leaned one elbow on the counter. “Relax, Carson. Around here, gossip blows in and out like lake wind. By tomorrow, they’ll be talking about whose ice fishing shanty fell through or whether Millie’s cat joined the Sunshine Breakfast Club.”
“Comforting.”
She winked. “Just don’t break her heart.”
My breath caught. “I’m not—”
But the words lodged in my throat.
Not because I meant to.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I couldn’t even picture myself close enough to try.
Still, something uneasy coiled low in my stomach, a warning I didn’t know how to interpret. A feeling I hadn’t felt in years.
An ache for something I shouldn’t want. A fear of something I couldn’t name.
A pull toward someone I wasn’t supposed to keep.
I slid off the stool, nodding a thanks as I zipped my jacket.
“See you around, Carson,” Abby said lightly.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “See you.”
But as I pushed open the mint-green door and stepped back into the cold afternoon air, one truth followed me out onto the street:
I wasn’t sure if I could walk away from Sienna Harper as easily as I’d promised myself.
And for the first time since taking this job…
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.