13. Zoey
Zoey
I was cleared.
Officially. Medically. Someone with framed degrees and impossible-to-read handwriting had signed off on it.
It made me feel giddy and reckless.
“I’m a free woman,” I announced again, just to make sure the universe heard it.
“You’ve mentioned that,” Liam said.
“I will continue to mention it. This is a time of celebration.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he adjusted the rearview mirror slightly.
The mountains rose ahead of us, pine trees layered against pine trees, the road narrowing as we left town behind. I leaned back in the seat and let myself imagine tonight. Sweatpants. Trash television. A tub of ice cream large enough to qualify as a personal failure.
No supervision.
I reached forward and nudged the thermostat up to seventy-three.
Liam’s hands stayed steady on the wheel, though I noticed they tightened a bit.
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
I had started to notice how he tracked and adjusted things. Kept everything aligned just so. It didn’t feel controlling, just… contained. Like if he didn’t hold it there, something would slip.
It didn’t bother me, but I had a brief, unwelcome thought about what it must feel like to live with that all the time.
I waited a beat, then raised the thermostat to seventy-five.
His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, but he didn’t look at me or fix it.
I angled my vent toward my face and pushed his slightly up, then put down my visor and slid open the vanity mirror. I left it like that.
He adjusted his posture but kept driving.
I turned the radio up, loud enough to be obnoxious.
He held out for three full seconds before he turned it down two clicks. “I’m driving.”
“I’m celebrating.”
“You’re destabilizing the cab.”
I scoffed. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
“The temperature is now inefficient.”
“It’s five degrees.”
“It’s uneven. It’s wrong.”
I looked at him. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
I set it to seventy-one, which made him inhale sharply.
“That’s worse,” he said.
“Explain.”
“It’s asymmetrical.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “It’s an odd number.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s the entire problem?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said finally.
“I’m exploring.”
“You’re provoking.”
There was no irritation in his voice, and he still hadn’t corrected anything. That caught my attention. He was letting the truck sit in quiet chaos because I was the one who caused it. That sent warmth flooding through me before I could stop it.
I studied the set of his shoulders and his hands, still steady on the wheel even as everything around him sat just slightly wrong.
He could fix it in a second, but he didn’t.
Because of me.
“You know,” I said. “You’re allowed to fix things. To be an advocate for what you need.”
I flipped the mirror closed and shut the visor.
“It doesn’t make you controlling,” I added, aligning the vents again. “It just means you don’t like sitting in chaos. That’s not a crime.”
I nudged the thermostat onto an even number, then settled back and watched him out of the corner of my eye. His reaction was so subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed it. The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly, and his grip on the wheel loosened. His posture became more natural.
Almost immediately, the atmosphere in the truck changed, becoming quieter.
His energy was at ease.
The road curved north, the forest becoming denser along the shoulder. Through a break in the trees, the lake appeared, placid under the morning sun. Pine Hollow came into view gradually—first the dock, then the roofline of the lodge, then the full sweep of cedar siding and stone.
I had seen it before, but arriving with him made a bigger impact.
The sunlight made the water sparkle, and in the distance, wispy plumes of mist rose up from the mountains. It gave the lodge a warm, inviting atmosphere.
I had thought it was appealing when I first researched the area. Now it felt different.
Real.
Liam pulled into the gravel lot and parked the truck. His focus moved immediately to the main building, already assessing whatever crisis awaited inside.
“You ready?” he asked.
I looked at the lodge, at the bar windows catching the light, at the dock, at the trees that ringed the property.
I had wanted space.
I had found it.
And for reasons I didn’t want to unpack yet, I was glad I was here with him.
“I’m ready,” I said.
The main lodge felt larger than it looked once you stepped inside.
Cedar beams overhead. Stone fireplace anchoring the center.
The bar stretched along the far wall, polished wood reflecting the morning light that streamed through the tall windows facing the lake.
It smelled faintly of coffee, pine cleaner, and the ghost of last night’s whiskey.
Nora spotted us, and relief lit up her face. “Thank God,” she said, already moving toward Liam. “It’s a disaster.”
Behind the desk, Pete sat in one of the tall stools, twisted slightly to protect his back. He looked deeply offended by gravity.
“I told her I’d be fine in a few minutes,” Pete grumbled. “Just needed a second.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago,” Nora replied.
“I’m still in my prime. I’ll be just fine.”
Liam stepped behind the bar and took in the situation. I peered over the bar top to see the chaos. Tools spread out. Paneling removed. A partially installed filtration unit sitting beneath the counter, lines disconnected, fittings exposed. The ice bin lid open. Towels already on the floor.
“You should have waited,” Liam said calmly.
Pete waved a dismissive hand. “I didn’t need a babysitter.”
“You needed leverage,” Liam said.
Pete muttered something about youth being wasted on the young.
Then Pete and Nora noticed me for the first time.
Nora’s lips curved into a sly smile, and Pete’s expression shifted from pain to mischief.
“Well,” Nora said, dragging the word out. “Look who decided to supervise.”
“I’m not supervising,” I replied smoothly. “I’m observing.”
Pete laughed and winced immediately. “You brought Checklist.”
I leaned an elbow on the bar. “I find messing with Liam is becoming my new favorite hobby. And explain. Checklist?”
He grinned. “You ordered drinks alphabetically and kept a running total in your head.”
“That is called competence.”
“You corrected another woman’s tip math while you were taking a shot.”
“She was wrong.”
“You asked where the fire exits were.”
“I like knowing my options.”
Liam went very still. Pete leaned back, looking delighted. “Checklist. Welcome back.”
I folded my arms. “You are perilously close to losing potential future tips.”
He shrugged. “Worth it.”
From behind the bar, Liam muttered, “You clocked her.”
I slowly turned toward him. He didn’t look up.
Traitor.
“I’m going to make myself useful,” Liam said.
“By all means,” I replied. “Please proceed.”
Nora squeezed my arm as she passed. “If water starts flying, duck.”
“I was hoping for a spectacle,” I said.
Liam shot me a warning look that I ignored entirely as I took a seat behind the bar.
He moved with quiet efficiency, clearing the counter space and lining up the tools he’d need in order of use.
He reached behind him, grabbed a glass from the rack, and filled it with ice from the service bin that still functioned.
He opened a Diet Coke, poured it cleanly into the glass, then slid it across the counter toward me.
I stared at the glass. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“You’re thirsty,” he replied.
Frowning, I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass. Liam crouched and slid beneath the bar, broad shoulders disappearing behind the paneling. From where I sat, I had an uninterrupted view. His hands moved with precise control, checking each connection, tightening one fitting, loosening another.
Liam reached up to adjust the water line, forearms flexing.
The fabric of his shirt pulled tight across his back as he shifted position and braced one knee against the cabinet frame, giving himself leverage.
There was nothing showy about it. No wasted movement.
Just focused strength applied exactly where it was needed.
I took a sip of my soda and told myself to behave.
He leaned back out from under the bar briefly to adjust a gauge, jaw set, concentration absolute. His hands were large enough to make the tools look smaller than they were. Without looking up, he wiped some grease onto a rag.
Nora leaned over the counter toward me. I hadn’t even noticed her walk up. “He’s been like this since he arrived here.”
“Like what?” I asked, not taking my gaze off him.
“You know, all focused,” she said.
I didn’t answer.
Liam slowly turned the main valve, his eyes on the gauge. For a moment, everything held steady.
Then a sharp metallic pop sounded from beneath the counter.
Water exploded outward in a violent arc, hitting him square in the chest.
Pete barked out a laugh, then immediately clutched his back.
I choked on my soda.
Liam, however, didn’t even flinch. He reached up instantly and twisted the valve shut, cutting the flow. Water dripped from his hair, down his face, soaking through his shirt. The floor beneath him glistened.
Silence.
Nora quickly handed him a towel, and Liam peeled off his shirt without ceremony.
I forgot how to swallow.
The man should come with a posted advisory.
Caution. Structural integrity compromised.
In my recovery haze, I had apparently edited some of his beauty. My brain must have downgraded the memory for self-preservation. That was the only explanation. No one should look like that in normal lighting while performing routine maintenance.
If I was scrolling past a photo of him online, I would assume it was digitally enhanced. I would tell myself no human being was built with that level of competence and bone structure at the same time. I would block the account and move on with my life.
But no, Liam was real and unreasonably attractive while calibrating plumbing.
This was unfair to women everywhere.