Chapter Sixteen – Holt
I know something’s wrong before I even step inside. It’s not loud. There’s no shouting, no sharp crack of something breaking, no raised voices carrying through the open doorway to warn me off before I cross the threshold.
It’s quieter than that. The kind of wrong that settles into a space and waits.
I feel it in the way the air shifts as I step through the front door, in the way the light coming through the windows seems sharper than it should be, catching on dust that still hangs in the air from the morning’s work.
The inn smells like old wood and heat and something faintly charred that hasn’t quite worked its way out of the structure yet.
And underneath it—tension.
I stop just inside the doorway, taking it in.
Lark stands near the front table, her notebook open in front of her but untouched, one hand braced against the edge like she anchored herself there and hasn’t moved since.
Her shoulders are squared, her posture tight in a way that tells me she’s been holding something in place for longer than she should have had to.
Nolan stands a few feet away. Too close. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to matter.
They both turn when they hear me. And just like that, guilt floods their eyes.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
My voice stays level. It takes all the effort I can afford.
Lark opens her mouth, but doesn’t get the chance to answer.
“She’s staying at your place.”
Nolan says it like a fact he’s been turning over too many times. Like evidence he hasn’t decided what to do with.
My gaze moves to Lark. Hers meets mine immediately. She doesn’t look away.
“Yeah,” I say.
Nolan shifts slightly. Not forward. Not back. Holding ground.
“Is she safe there?”
The question hits wrong because part of me knows it isn’t really about locks or distance or whether my house sits far enough off the road.
“Yes,” I say.
“Good.”
That answer surprises me enough that I don’t respond right away.
Nolan’s mouth presses into a thin line. “That doesn’t mean I like it.”
“Didn’t ask you to.”
His gaze hardens. “No. You didn’t.”
The air tightens between us.
“This isn’t about you,” he says.
“Then stop talking to me like it is.”
His eyes flash. “I’m talking to you because she won’t listen when I say it.”
Lark stiffens beside the table.
Nolan sees it. Regret moves across his face so quickly that I almost miss it.
“That came out wrong,” he says.
“Most things do when you’re trying to make decisions for me,” Lark says.
His attention cuts to her then, and for the first time since I walked in, the edge in him lowers. Not gone. Just less aimed.
“I’m not trying to make decisions for you.”
She gives him a look.
“Okay,” he admits. “I’m trying not to.”
That pulls a humorless breath from her.
“You don’t know what she’s already dealt with,” Nolan says, turning back to me.
My jaw tightens. “Then tell me.”
He shakes his head once. “Not my story.”
“Convenient.”
“No,” he says, voice sharpening. “Respectful.”
Nolan says it like it’s a fact, as if it’s evidence. Like it’s something I’m supposed to explain.
My gaze moves to Lark, meeting hers immediately, and she doesn’t look away. Not this time. There’s something different in her expression today. Less guarded.
“Yeah,” I say.
Nolan shifts just slightly. Probably wasn’t expecting that answer to come so easily.
“That’s a problem.”
The air tightens, and something low in my chest responds before I can think better of it.
I take a step forward. My boots hit the floor harder than I mean to, the sound echoing through the stripped hallway, bouncing off exposed beams and unfinished walls.
“Is it?” I say.
Nolan doesn’t move.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He exhales slowly. Controlled. Measured. Because that’s what he does; everything with him is controlled.
“That’s not what this is,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the space around us, toward the inn, toward Lark without actually pointing at her.
“This isn’t personal.”
I almost laugh, but it doesn’t quite make it out.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
The words come out lower this time, and something in Nolan’s expression tightens.
“This is a job,” he says. “A project. Something she came here to do.”
“She is doing it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
Silence stretches for a beat, then another.
Long enough for me to notice the way Lark’s fingers curl slightly against the edge of the table, the way her weight shifts just enough that I know she’s preparing for something.
Long enough for me to realize this didn’t start when I walked in. This has been building.
Nolan runs a hand through his hair.
“The point is she doesn’t stay,” he says finally. “She doesn’t get pulled into things that complicate the work.”
Pulled. As if she’s not been given a choice.
“She’s not being pulled into anything,” I say.
Nolan’s gaze cuts to mine.
“Then what would you call it?”
I don’t hesitate.
“Her choice.”
The silence that follows is different because that’s the part he doesn’t get to control.
Nolan’s mouth presses into a thin line.
“You think this is about choice?” he says.
“I know it is.”
“No,” he says. “You think this is about you.”
I take another step forward. Close enough now that there’s no space left to pretend we’re not standing in the middle of something that’s already tipped too far.
“This has nothing to do with me,” I say.
“That’s not what it looks like.”
“That’s your problem.”
The words come out harsher than I intend. Nolan’s gaze doesn’t move.
“You’re getting in the way,” he says.
There it is, his fear bubbling to the surface. My jaw tightens. I know he’s coming from a good place, but sometimes he’s protectiveness feels overbearing.
“Of what?”
“Of what she came here to do.”
I glance at Lark to find she’s still watching. Still silent. She hasn’t stepped back. Hasn’t tried to soften what she said or take any of it back. Most people would. Would’ve already found a way to make it easier. Less complicated. But she doesn’t.
She just stands there like she matters. And somewhere between Nolan talking and everything else that just happened something in me locks into place. Not a decision. Not something I think through. But something simpler than that.
I’m not stepping back from her. Doesn’t matter how complicated it gets. Doesn’t matter what it costs. I’m not walking away from this.
“She’s doing it,” I say again.
“She won’t if this keeps going.”
“This…”
I let the word hang.
“Yeah,” Nolan says. “This.”
Something in my chest shifts.
“You don’t get to decide what this is,” I say.
“I do if it affects the job.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know her.”
That’s the first time his voice sharpens, just slightly.
Something about that—about the way he says it—pushes something deeper in me than I expect.
“Do you?” I say.
Nolan doesn’t back down.
“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
The air tightens further. Everything narrows down to the space between us.
One more step…one more word…and this turns into something else. Something worse. Something physical.
I feel it, right there at the edge.
“Okay.”
We both turn. Hadley leans in the doorway like she’s been there long enough to catch everything that matters and not a second more. Her arms are crossed, expression sharp. Entirely unimpressed.
Bailey stands just behind her, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe, her gaze flicking between Nolan and me with quiet awareness.
Lila is off to the side, posture relaxed but watchful. Ivy stands just behind them. Still. Quiet. Taking everything in.
The room shifts again, differently this time. Not just from tension.
Hadley pushes off the frame and steps inside. Her shoes hit the floor with quiet certainty as she crosses the room, her gaze never leaving Nolan.
“And you are,” she says, “standing in her family’s space, talking like you’ve got a vote.”
Nolan straightens slightly.
“I’m talking about the project.”
“No,” Hadley says. “You’re not.”
She says it with certainty.
“You’re talking about her,” she adds, nodding toward Lark, “like you forgot she gets to make all the decisions.”
Nolan’s face tightens. “I didn’t forget.”
“Then start acting like it.”
“I’m trying to keep her from getting hurt.”
“So is everyone in this room,” Hadley says. “You’re just the only one doing it like she’s a problem to solve.”
Silence. Thick and heavy.
Hadley steps closer, but with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly where she stands.
“You walked in here and decided you knew what was best,” she continues. “That you knew how this was going to go.”
“That’s my job.”
“No,” she says. “That’s your problem.”
Bailey lets out a quiet breath behind her. Lila shifts her weight. Ivy doesn’t move at all.
Nolan’s gaze flicks past Hadley. To Lark, to me, then back again.
“You’re all making this more complicated than it needs to be,” he points out.
Hadley huffs out a laugh.
“Or you’re finally realizing you don’t control it.”
I take a step back, enough to create space, because this is tipping too far. Too fast. And right now, this isn’t just mine to handle.
Lark slowly lets out a deep breath that sounds like it’s been buried in her chest for decades, then steps forward. Her movement shifts everything.
“This is my project,” she says.
Her voice isn’t raised, but soft in a terrifying way. She looks at Nolan first, then at me, then at Hadley, and something settles in her expression.
“If I stay at Holt’s house on the farm,” she says, “that’s my choice.”
Her gaze flicks to mine, just for a second, then back to Nolan.
“If I work with you,” she adds, “that’s also my choice. Even though you’re still contracted with my mother and Michael.”
That one draws a line I don’t like, one I don’t get to argue.
“And if this gets complicated,” she finishes, “that’s on me.”
Silence, then Nolan nods once.
He looks at Lark for a long second. Long enough that the anger in his face turns into something older. Something tired.
“Fine,” he says quietly.
The word isn’t surrender. It isn’t agreement, either. It’s him stepping back because she asked him to. He looks toward the back hall, then the side windows, like he’s checking the exits before he leaves. The movement is quick enough that anyone else might miss it. I don’t.
“Lock the side gate before you go,” he says. “The latch is sticking.”
Lark frowns. “How do you know?”
A beat too long passes.
“I checked it this morning.”
Then he turns and walks out. The door shuts behind him, the sound echoing in the barren space.
Hadley exhales loudly. “Well. That was either protective or deeply suspicious.”
Bailey’s gaze stays on the door. “Could be both.”
I don’t say anything. Because I’m thinking the same thing.
“Hmm,” she says. “That escalated. Anywho, we wanted to come check out the place, not cause any drama.”
Bailey snorts.
Lila shakes her head.
Ivy finally moves, stepping farther into the room. Still quiet. Still watching.
“And also add that I noticed a very suspicious SUV belonging to a certain ex driving near the farm. But it could be nothing.”
I look at Lark, but she doesn’t look at me right away. She stands there like she’s holding everything in place by force. Slowly, she turns, and our eyes meet.
And all of this, everything Nolan said, all her claims, it all changes now. Now, this is not about him, or the inn, or the project. The big question now is what she'll choose. And whether I’m part of it.