19. Liam
Liam
The lodge was quiet by the time I finished the last of the Saturday afternoon tasks. There was nothing left to do on Nora’s to-do list. Technically, there were still a few small things I could do before evening check-ins started, but none that actually needed doing.
Everything was handled, which meant I had run out of legitimate reasons to stay busy.
The day was over, but my body and my brain didn’t seem to agree.
I stood behind the front desk for several minutes, pretending to review tomorrow’s reservation sheet. The same names stared back at me in the same order they had been in five minutes earlier.
My attention had been drifting all afternoon.
Zoey had not responded to my message. She hadn’t returned my call.
My phone sat on the counter beside the reservation book. I had put it there intentionally so I wouldn’t carry it around with me and check it every thirty seconds.
That strategy had failed.
I picked it up again, glancing at the message thread. Still no response.
No response.
I stared at it longer than necessary.
Then I locked the screen and set the phone down again.
There were reasonable explanations for silence.
She worked remotely. Her job involved long stretches of focused work and complicated systems that didn’t tolerate interruption. She had also made it very clear that she valued her independence and didn’t appreciate people hovering.
I respected that—I respected her—which meant I should leave it alone.
I walked around the desk and pushed the front door open a few inches.
The hinges moved smoothly. Earlier in the afternoon, the door had caught slightly against the frame. I had adjusted the hinge screws and sanded a small ridge near the threshold.
I tested it again.
The door swung open and closed without resistance.
Good.
I stepped back and checked the welcome mat. One corner had shifted out of line with the stone entryway. I nudged it back into place with my foot until the edges were aligned with the doorframe.
Then I looked through the glass panels across the front of the lodge, where the gravel path stretched toward the parking area. Two cars sat in their spaces. Both belonged to guests who had gone hiking earlier. Their rooms were tidy when I checked them that morning. Their bags were still inside.
Everything appeared normal.
I rested my hand against the doorframe, the quiet of the lodge settling around me as I scanned the area one more time before stepping back toward the desk.
My brain tried to present the logical conclusion for Zoey’s silence.
She hasn’t answered, you fool. You should accept that information, that rejection, and move the fuck on.
It was impossible, though. Something about Zoey had settled into my system, making distance feel unnatural.
My thoughts kept returning to her without permission.
Her name showed up in my head at random moments.
Her blue hair was easy to spot in a crowd.
The way she moved through a room stayed with me long after she left it.
I had experienced attraction before, but this was different. The pull was quiet but constant. It sat underneath everything else. I noticed it when I woke up in the morning, and when the lodge grew quiet at night.
I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck and stepped outside.
The sun had settled over Pine Hollow. The trees stood tall against the sky. The gravel path toward the cabins stretched out in neat lines.
Everything was in order. Everything except my thoughts.
I took my phone out again, glanced at the screen.
Still nothing.
I told myself to put it away, but instead I opened the message thread.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I locked the screen again.
No.
She deserved space.
If she wanted to talk to me she would.
I walked to my truck and stood beside the driver’s door.
Then an idea formed.
Flowers. Yes, I could get her flowers. And chocolate.
Just a small, simple gesture that said I was thinking about her without demanding anything in return.
I imagined leaving them by her door with a short note.
Hope you’re feeling better. Thinking of you.
That seemed reasonable and not invasive. It also sounded like something a desperate man would do after being ignored for days.
I leaned my forehead against the truck door.
It was a bad idea.
She hadn’t replied to my message.
That was data, and the correct response to that data was dignity, self-control, and possibly emotional maturity.
Buying flowers after being ignored was none of those things.
You are not doing that, dumbass.
I stood there for several minutes as my brain continued presenting the same argument.
She hasn’t answered. Leave it alone.
My heart disagreed with impressive stubbornness.
The thought of her alone in that apartment didn’t sit right with me. She’d be working late, forgetting to eat. She was probably still sore from the fall she’d insisted was nothing.
My stomach tightened as I checked my phone again.
Still nothing.
Exhaling slowly, I opened the truck door and got in.
I sat there with my hands resting on the steering wheel, while the headlights lit up the gravel in front of me.
You are absolutely not buying flowers, I told myself as I shifted into reverse.
Just a quick stop at the store, I decided. Flowers, chocolate, and a note.
Nothing dramatic.
If she wasn’t home, I’d leave them at the door and drive away.
No pressure, no expectations. Just a caring gesture.
I pulled onto the road and headed toward town, my phone silent in the cup holder beside me.
But even that silence didn’t make me turn the truck around.
So, I kept driving.
I parked across the street from Zoey’s building and sat in the truck, the engine still running.
The flowers were on the passenger seat. The chocolate sat beside them in a small bag that looked increasingly ridiculous the longer I stared at it.
I turned the engine off anyway.
The front door of the building required a key. I knew that already. Zoey had mentioned it the first day she showed me the apartment. She had also mentioned the broken intercom that nobody had fixed yet.
I stood outside the door, holding flowers and chocolate for several minutes before someone finally stepped out from the lobby.
A man in running clothes held the door open while checking his watch.
“Thanks,” I said.
He nodded and jogged past me toward the sidewalk.
The lobby smelled faintly of old carpet and cleaning solution. The stairwell sat to the left of the mailboxes. I climbed the stairs slowly, holding the flowers carefully so the stems didn’t bend.
Zoey’s door was halfway down the second-floor hallway, and several packages were stacked outside it.
A large box, with a picture of an office chair printed on the side, had fallen across the hallway. Anyone walking through would need to step over it.
That seemed like a problem.
I knocked on her door, then waited.
No answer.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
She was probably out.
I glanced down the hallway. There was no movement from the other apartments.
Setting the flowers down beside the packages, I took a small notebook from my jacket pocket. It took a few tries before my pen started working.
Hope you’re having a good day. Thinking of you. Liam.
I placed the note between the stems so it wouldn’t fall off, then I put the chocolate beside the flowers. That seemed like a normal amount of effort.
I made it halfway down the hall before I stopped.
I couldn’t just leave everything outside the door. Anyone walking past could take them.
Obviously, tenants were not concerned with letting people in who didn’t live here.
I turned around and looked at her door again.
Zoey had shown me where she kept the spare key once. I could simply place the flowers and packages inside the apartment, then lock it up again.
Problem solved.
My brain immediately rejected that idea.
That is a boyfriend task. You are not her boyfriend. That is also stalker behavior. You are not a stalker.
I stepped away again, but I only made it four steps.
A woman came out of the stairwell, carrying a full laundry basket. She nearly tripped over the office chair box.
“Oh,” she said, catching herself on the wall.
“Sorry,” I said.
She looked at me, then at the door, then at the flowers. She walked past without comment.
I stared at the box, then I walked back and put it upright against the wall so it wouldn’t block the hallway anymore.
Better.
I turned and walked down the hallway again.
Stopped again.
The flowers were still sitting there.
Anyone could take them.
Zoey would never know they existed.
Which meant she would never read the note.
Which meant she would never know I came by.
Which meant I would assume she was not interested.
Which meant this entire situation could collapse because someone stole a box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers.
I paced the length of the hallway. Sighing, I headed for the stairs.
Two minutes later I stood outside the building again, and my eye caught the drainage spout.
The spare key was under a rock right beneath it.
You are not entering her apartment. You are placing flowers inside the door. Then you are leaving. That is all.
I took the key and went back in and up the stairs.
I unlocked the door and opened it just enough to slide the flowers through the gap.
The apartment was quiet.
I began gathering the packages to move them inside, then a loud, mechanical sound exploded from the living room.
It sounded exactly like a security alarm.
I froze.
The sound continued. It was so fucking loud.
Then Markie screeched from his enclosure. “INTRUDER.”
I held up both hands. “Markie.”
“INTRUDER.”
“Please stop.”
He leaned forward. “ALEXA! CALL 911.”
My stomach dropped. “Markie.”
“INTRUDER.”
“I’m not an intruder,” I hissed.
“ALEXA. CALL 911.”
“Markie.”
He puffed up. “INTRUDER. INTRUDER. INTRUDER.”
Motherfucker.
My phone buzzed in my pocket just as the device on Zoey’s kitchen counter lit up.
A calm voice came through the speaker. “911. What is your emergency?”
Markie puffed up and shouted toward the ceiling. “INTRUDER.”
I stepped toward the counter slowly. “Hello,” I said carefully. “There is no emergency.”
Markie screamed again. “INTRUDER. INTRUDER. INTRUDER.”
The operator paused for a moment. “Sir,” she said, still perfectly calm, “this device placed a call reporting a break-in.”
I rubbed a hand across my face. “Yes, that appears to be what happened.”
“Are you currently inside the residence?”
Markie leaned forward proudly. “INTRUDER.”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I am.”
The pause on the other end lasted slightly longer this time.
“Sir,” the operator said, “officers are already on the way.”
Of course they were.
I rested my hand against the wall and closed my eyes for a moment.
You absolute fucking idiot.
Markie puffed his feathers. “INTRUDER.”
“Yes,” I said. “That part has been established.”
I could leave. I could walk out of the building and be halfway down the road before the cops arrived. But then it would look exactly like I had broken into Zoey’s apartment and tried to run.
She would never speak to me again.
Markie leaned forward and shouted proudly. “INTRUDER.”