4. Liam
Liam
The path to the spa curved up into the rock, stone worn smooth by time and heat and people who knew a good thing when they found it.
Pine Hollow had built the tub straight into the mountain, so the natural stone rose around it.
Steam rolled low and steady, catching the light from the lanterns bolted into the rock face.
The water glowed from the moon, bright and inviting. Quiet. Private.
Zoey stopped short when she saw it.
The lantern light caught the blue in her hair when she turned her head. I hadn’t noticed how bright it was before.
“Oh,” she said on a reverent breath. “Okay, I get it. It really is beautiful here.”
I checked the railing—secure—then the steps—dry.
When I offered my arm, she took it without comment, which I decided counted as trust. She moved carefully, keeping her weight off her ankle, her attention split between the ground and the view.
Overhead, the sky glittered with a myriad of stars, as if it was showing off for her.
“This is obscene,” she said. “In the best way.”
I smiled.
She sat on the edge and lowered her toes into the water. Her shoulders sagged, like her body had been waiting for permission to let go of tension. A few strands of blue slipped forward over her shoulder when she leaned down.
“Should I put my foot in with the bandage on?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I’ll rewrap it after. It won’t take long.”
She studied me for a second, nodded. “If you do it wrong, I’ll never let you forget it.”
“That seems excessive.”
“I’m very consistent,” she said.
I nodded. “Fair enough.”
I knelt beside her and unfastened the tape slowly, careful not to tug. The bandage came loose under my fingers, warm from her skin. I kept my focus on the task. Still, the pull was there just from the brief touches of skin against skin, sharp and unwelcome. I had not felt this in a long time.
She was a guest, and I worked here, which should have made the line between us clearer than it was.
“Do people usually behave themselves up here?” she asked.
“No,” I answered honestly. “They don’t even pretend to.”
She huffed a laugh. “Figures.”
Once the bandage was off, I stood and held out my hand. She braced herself on her good foot and rose, steady but cautious. Then she did something unexpected.
She gripped the hem of her shirt and lifted it with no visible rush and no sign she intended to spare me. I looked away immediately, counting lanterns and checking the waterline, trying my damnedest to remain professional.
By the time I looked back, she was standing in her bra and underwear, as calm as can be, as if this was a totally normal thing to do in the middle of the night and not a direct assault on my self-control. She held my gaze, daring me to look.
I did, and when I did, I was done for.
She was tall and lean with long, tan legs that seemed to go on for days. Her smooth, bare skin glistened in the moonlight, and my eyes tracked a path up to the dark fabric that sat low on her hips, concealing little.
My gaze dragged higher before I could stop it. Her breasts would be a perfect handful, perky and full. I could see the outline of her nipples through the fabric.
And then her hair. Tousled, it fell over her shoulder like she had forgotten it existed.
She didn’t move to cover herself. Didn’t do anything but stand there and give me the choice to look or not.
I had already made the mistake.
The heat came fast, sharp enough that my jaw locked and my hands flexed once at my sides before I forced them still, forced everything in me still.
She took a breath then and said, “Ready.”
After gathering my composure, I took her hand and helped her into the water. She hissed softly, then sighed as the heat enclosed her body.
“Oh god, I’m never leaving.” She looked up at me, her chin tilted. “Are you getting in?”
“I don’t have a swimsuit.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Neither do I.”
I hesitated, running through all the reasons why I shouldn’t: Work. Boundaries. Common sense.
None of that seemed to matter at the moment. I took off my shirt and shorts and left my boxers on. The water welcomed me just as much as it had her.
We sat shoulder to shoulder, close but not touching, steam rising between us. She leaned back against the stone and tipped her head up toward the stars.
“You’re different from other people,” she murmured.
I waited.
“You listen,” she added. “In my experience, most people are just waiting for their turn to talk.”
Something warm and unfamiliar settled in my chest. I was used to being useful and efficient, used to keeping quiet when it counted. Listening had always been expected of me. No one had ever complimented me about it, though.
I held her gaze a second longer than I should have.
She shifted, and I felt her pull away just a little, walls sliding into place as the night sobered her. The mystery of her sharpened instead of softened.
Watching her, I told myself to remember this moment exactly as it was.
Because whatever this was, it was worth remembering.
The water pressed in close, heat settling into muscle and bone. Pine Hollow disappeared beyond the stone edge, the world reduced to steam and dark sky and the woman sitting beside me.
Zoey leaned back against the rock, looking completely relaxed. The earlier sharpness was still there but softened at the edges.
People usually noticed me quickly, or at least the size of me and how I filled a space before I ever said a word. They reacted first and listened later, if they bothered at all.
Zoey reacted differently. When she looked at me, I felt seen in a way that had nothing to do with my body. And I had literally known her for an hour.
I told myself it was way too early to trust that feeling.
“That thing you did earlier,” she said, eyes still on the stars. “With the neighbor.”
“I just stood there,” I said.
“Yeah, but it worked. Thank you.”
I smiled and didn’t bother stopping it this time.
The water rippled when she moved her leg and let out another blissful sigh. She caught me watching, and the looks she gave me said she knew exactly what I was doing.
“You’re thinking,” she said.
“I usually am.”
She snorted. The alcohol had burned off, and with it went some of the openness. I could see it happen in real time. Her shoulders drew in a fraction. The humor stayed, but the access didn’t.
It intrigued me. It worried me. It made me want to earn whatever she was pulling back.
She turned and studied my face. “You don’t flirt.”
“Not often, no.”
“Why?”
“People tend to expect something when you flirt.”
She nodded like that confirmed a theory she had been playing around with.
Steam drifted between us while I kept my hands braced on the stone, even though every part of me wanted to close the distance and touch her.
I didn’t. She must have noticed because she inched closer, her shoulder brushing mine in a way that felt both casual and entirely intentional.
My pulse kicked hard, and it took everything in me to stay still.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For earlier. For not making it weird.”
“It wasn’t weird,” I said.
“It could have been.”
“Yes,” I said with a smile. “It could have.”
She leaned her head back again, gaze returning to the sky. The moment felt balanced on something thin.
I wanted her—I couldn’t deny it. That was the easy part.
What unsettled me was how much I wanted to understand her, and how much it felt like she was deciding whether to let me.
Bracing my arms on my knees, I counted the lanterns again. Four on the left curve of stone. Four on the right. The waterline stayed where it should. Steam curled low and steady, but I didn’t look at it. I looked at Zoey instead.
Her posture said relaxed. Her jaw said not at all. She kept her hands folded like she was guarding a secret.
Every few seconds, I had to stop myself from reaching for her.
From brushing the damp hair off her shoulder.
From pulling her in until that guarded line in her body eased.
The most ridiculous impulse of all was to lower my head against her shoulder and stay there like I’d earned it.
I had not. My body didn’t seem interested in that distinction.
“Why’d you put me down as your emergency contact?”
She snorted. “You were there. And upright.”
That shouldn’t have pleased me as much as it did. Being chosen for availability was still chosen. I wasn’t proud of how quickly my instincts ran with it.
“That’s not what I meant.”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was deciding whether I was about to be annoying. “Then what did you mean, exactly?”
“I meant, why wouldn’t someone like you have someone else to put there?”
She blinked, then burst out laughing. “Oh. That.” She waved a hand. “Bold of you to assume I come with a roster.”
“A roster?”
“Yes. A bench. A depth chart. A laminated list of trusted adults.”
I smiled. “You’re telling me you don’t?”
“I’m telling you that if I were charming, my life would look very different. I would own candles. I would have plants that are still alive. I would have at least one ex who doesn’t describe me as ‘intimidating but hot.’”
“That sounds charming,” I said.
She scoffed. “It’s exhausting.”
“Still doesn’t answer the question.”
Her shoulders drew in, just a little, but she didn’t move away.
“I’m not charming,” she said. “I’m efficient. I fix things. People keep me around until they don’t need me anymore.”
I shook my head. “Those aren’t opposites.”
“They are if you’re me,” she said dryly. “Trust me. I’ve tested the theory.”
She continued. “I have a mom with major boundary issues. It’s not healthy. I’m starting to establish some distance, but it’s a lot of work. And it doesn’t always pan out the way I intend.”
“I get that,” I said.
And I truly did.
I understood the effort, the constant correction. The awareness that if you let something slip, even a little, it could take more than you meant to give.