17. Liam
Liam
I got back to Pine Hollow before nine.
The gravel lot was already half full. Midweek hikers from Saratoga had taken over the front porch again. Two women in bright windbreakers were arguing over trail maps as intensely as if they were planning a military campaign.
I parked the truck in my usual spot and shut the engine off, then sat there with my hands on the steering wheel.
My brain had not fully caught up with the fact that I had left Zoey in her kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a look that suggested she was actively resisting the urge to jump me again.
The physical part wasn’t the problem. I could manage that. I had spent most of my adult life managing that. What I couldn’t seem to manage was the quiet pull that had settled deep inside me.
The instinct had started the moment she stepped in that hole and refused help. And now, I wanted to solve things for her before she even asked, wanted to calm her when she pushed too hard against the world.
The urge lived low in my chest now, and it made concentrating on ordinary things more difficult than usual.
I closed my eyes briefly, took a deep breath, then I got out of the truck.
Work helped.
Work always helped.
I walked to the maintenance and unlocked it, then started my usual checks.
Water pressure gauges.
Pool filtration.
Hot tub temperature.
I ran my hand along the spa cover and checked the seal.
Everything was exactly where it belonged.
That helped more than it should have. Order had always been the easiest way to quiet the noise in my head. If the systems were correct and the property ran smoothly, then the world was more manageable.
But now that my mind had slowed down again, it wandered right back to Zoey. Her laugh the night before. The way she challenged everything I said. The look she had given me in her living room when she decided not to run from the moment between us.
Nora found me ten minutes later.
She walked across the patio, carrying a clipboard and the expression of someone who had been waiting patiently to ask a question.
“Vacation over?” she asked.
I tightened one last fitting on the spa valve and straightened. “Yes.”
“That was quick.”
“It wasn’t technically a vacation.”
“Mm.” Nora had known me long enough to recognize when my routine had been interrupted.
She noticed things most people missed, which made sense since she had watched this property and the people inside it long enough to understand how we all functioned.
She knew exactly how rarely I allowed anything to disrupt my schedule.
“So,” she said with a smile. “Did you have fun?”
I wiped my hands on a rag and set it back on the counter. “I had a productive time.”
The understatement hung between us, and I had to try really hard not to think about the feel of Zoey’s hands gripping my shoulders or how she’d said my name, or when she’d traced the scars across my chest and looked at me with something that felt dangerously close to care.
Nora leaned against the railing. “So.”
I tightened the last fitting on the spa valve and stood. “Yes?”
“Woman with the blue hair.”
I wiped my hands on the rag. “Yes.”
She watched me for a moment. “You know, I met her the first day that group checked in.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And the other day you left here so fast, Pete thought something was on fire.”
My chest tightened slightly. The truth was that I had left faster than I intended to. The moment Zoey needed help, there hadn’t been any real decision involved. My body had simply moved.
“Liam.”
I snapped my focus back to her. “Yes?”
“I’ve known you for six years. In that time, you’ve never sprinted off this property for a guest.”
“I don’t know about that.”
She snorted. “Name one time.”
I said nothing.
Nora nodded slowly and pushed off the railing. “Right. For the record,” she added calmly, “she’s very pretty.”
I picked up the wrench and set it back in the tool bin. “That’s not relevant.”
Nora smiled. “Mmm.”
Despite myself, my lips twitched.
Nora noticed immediately. “You like her.”
The words landed with uncomfortable inaccuracy. Like was not the right word. Like was simple and manageable. What I felt when I thought about Zoey had none of those qualities.
I turned back to the equipment panel. “Everything in the spa system is calibrated now.”
“You’re not denying that you like her.”
“Guests check in at four.”
Nora laughed under her breath. “Okay, I’ll leave you to your feelings.”
“I’m not having feelings.”
I was having entirely too many.
“Of course not.” She walked away, looking extremely pleased with herself.
After I finished the rest of the system checks, I moved to the woodshed.
Pete was sitting on an overturned bucket with a heating pad strapped across his lower back. “You survived,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Shame.”
I stacked three pieces of split oak against the rack and adjusted the pile until the edges lined up.
Pete squinted at me. “You left here real fast the other day.”
“There was a situation.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Yes.”
Pete nodded thoughtfully. “The blue-hair situation.”
I didn’t answer, because every answer that came to mind made me sound more invested than I intended to admit.
He leaned back slightly and grinned. “She’s a knockout.”
“What is it with you people? The way she looks isn’t relevant.”
Pete watched me stack another piece of wood. “Kid,” he said.
“What?”
“In the six years you’ve been working here, you have turned down every woman who has attempted to flirt with you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh yeah?”
I placed the final log into the stack.
Pete waited for me to reply, and when I didn’t, he nodded. “That is what I thought.”
I brushed my hands together. “Zoey was a guest.”
“She is also very obviously interested in you.”
“That is speculation.”
And also what had kept me awake half the night. I knew the difference between attraction and something deeper. I had no idea which one she felt.
Pete snorted. “You think we didn’t see the way she looked at you while you were fixing that filtration unit?”
I picked up the axe and checked its blade.
“You deserve something good, kid.”
I looked at him. “That’s not the point.”
“It should be.”
The words landed heavier than I expected. Pete and Nora had both heard enough of my past to understand why I rarely let people close. Their concern felt suspiciously familial, and I wasn’t sure I liked it.
Silence stretched between me and Pete.
The wind moved through the trees behind the lodge, and guests laughed somewhere near the firepit.
Pete shifted on the bucket. “So,” he said.
“So?”
“You gonna see her again?”
I rested the axe against the chopping block. “Honestly… I don’t know. But I hope so.” The admission made me feel more vulnerable than I cared to admit.
Pete nodded once. “Good.” He reached down and turned the heating pad up another notch. “Just try not to scare her with the whole mysterious-forest-man routine.”
“I do not have a mysterious-forest-man routine.”
Pete scoffed. “You absolutely do.”
Considering that, I picked up the next log and set it on the block.
Pete grinned. “Boy, you got it bad.”
I brought the axe down, and the wood split neatly in half.
The impact ran up my arms and settled into my shoulders.
Physical work helped burn off the restless energy sitting under my skin, and for the first time all morning, my mind stopped trying to reorganize itself around the memory of Zoey standing naked in her kitchen with a mischievous look on her face.
The problem was that I already knew I wasn’t capable of treating her casually. Whatever existed between us had moved past casual the moment she looked at my scars and told me she wanted to make someone pay for them—probably way before that if I was being honest with myself.
I stacked the wood carefully, piece by piece, trying very hard not to count the hours until I could text her without seeming desperate.
The next log also split cleanly.
The sound echoed through the trees.
As I lifted the axe again, a voice cut across the yard.
“Unbelievable.”
I lowered the axe.
Mr. Harlan stood at the edge of the gravel path, his arms crossed over his chest and his face twisted into the scowl that had become a regular feature of his face over the past year.
“Your guests,” he said, pointing toward the firepit area, “are loud… again.”
Three hikers sat around the pit, drinking coffee and arguing about whether bears were active this season. They were speaking at a perfectly normal volume.
I set the axe down. “Good morning, Mr. Harlan.”
“It is not a good morning,” he said immediately.
Pete watched the exchange with open interest as Mr. Harlan marched a few steps closer.
“I have lived next to this property for fifteen years,” he continued, “and lately there is constant noise. Talking. Laughing. Car doors slamming. People stomping around at all hours.”
“They checked in yesterday,” I said calmly. “They’re leaving tomorrow.”
“That is not the point.”
I nodded and suppressed a sigh. “What is the point?”
Mr. Harlan opened his mouth, closed his mouth, opening it again. He looked a little like a fish that had found itself on the lakeshore unexpectedly.
Pete leaned forward on his bucket.
Ordinarily, I was patient with Mr. Harlan.
His complaints followed a familiar pattern.
Noise. Parking. The smell of firewood drifting across his property on cool mornings.
None of it was new, and none of it required confrontation.
Most days I listened, nodded, and offered a solution that satisfied him enough to send him home feeling heard.
Today, my attention refused to stay where it belonged.
Zoey had been alone in her apartment for several hours now, and the thought had followed me across the property all morning, settling into the back of my mind and refusing to leave.