12. Liam
Liam
I told myself this was reasonable. She needed calories. Head injuries required fuel to heal.
The fact that I had driven the twenty-five minutes from Pine Hollow into town with a tight feeling in my chest, desperate to see her, had nothing to do with it.
I got out of the truck and locked it. Checked the handle once, then again. The street was already awake. A woman walked a golden retriever. A man loaded lumber into the back of a pickup. Normal Adirondack town morning.
I was more eager than I should have been.
What was I going to do when this ended?
The doctor would clear her. She would drive again. She wouldn’t need me anymore; she hardly did now. She would say thank you with that careful tone that meant goodbye.
I climbed the stairs before I could dwell on that longer.
Before I knocked, I heard Markie through the door. “DOG.” A pause. “HEEL.”
Something scraped. A thud.
“WEIRDO.”
I stood there, coffee in hand, and felt something warm settle in my chest at the sound of it.
Dog.
Yesterday, I had argued that point, but today it felt like a term of endearment.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I knocked on the door.
There was a beat of silence, then footsteps that sounded steadier than they had the day before.
The door opened.
Zoey was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, hair still slightly unruly, ankle wrapped but bearing weight. She looked more stable. More herself. Her gaze went immediately to the coffee.
“You brought offerings,” she said.
“I sure did.”
She stepped aside and let me in.
The apartment seemed smaller in daylight. She’d opened the windows, and a strip of sunlight cut across the floorboards. Markie perched near the doorway of his enclosure, feathers slightly fluffed.
“DOG,” he said again, softer this time.
“Morning,” I told him.
“HEEL.”
“I’m not heeling,” I muttered.
Zoey smirked, looking me up and down. “You absolutely are.”
Shaking my head, I set the food on the table and started laying it out in a neat line. Containers spaced evenly. Utensils aligned. Napkins stacked just so.
She leaned against the counter and watched, her crutches against the wall.
“What’s in the cup?” she asked.
“Maple latte.”
She went still for half a second. “You got me maple.”
“You live in the Adirondacks now.”
“That’s manipulative.”
I shrugged. “It’s a regional favorite.”
She took the cup from me and paused before drinking, holding it close to her face as the steam curled up between us.
The scent of maple and espresso drifted across the table.
Her shoulders eased, but I knew she would deny it if I pointed it out.
She took a careful sip, and for a split second she let herself enjoy it.
Her lashes lowered. Her mouth softened. Then she caught herself and straightened.
I resisted the urge to pull her in and kiss her forehead.
“That’s very good,” she said, clearly annoyed that it was.
“I know,” I replied.
She glared at me and sat down, already unwrapping the breakfast sandwich with the efficiency of someone who didn’t believe in dainty bites. The paper crackled under her hands. She took a large bite and chewed with full commitment, no self-consciousness, no attempt to impress.
I sat across from her and found myself tracking every small movement. The way she leaned forward over the table. The way she balanced her injured ankle under the chair without thinking. The faint smear of maple foam left on her upper lip before she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
She caught me watching.
“Are you going to eat?” she asked, lifting one brow. “Or just watch me eat?”
“I’m eating,” I said automatically.
“You’re not.”
I looked down and realized my container was still sealed, my hands resting uselessly on either side of it.
Markie leaned forward from his perch, feathers rippling. “WEIRDO,” he announced with satisfaction.
Zoey nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Markie.”
I opened my sandwich and took a bite, forcing myself to focus on something other than the woman across from me. The roll was still warm, the egg firm, and the bacon crisp.
I barely tasted any of it.
It was getting harder to pretend this was only attraction. Attraction was easy to classify. It was physical, immediate, and temporary—if handled correctly. Somewhere between the hospital and her couch, this had moved past that.
I wanted her near me. That was the simplest version. Near enough that I could keep track of her. Near enough to touch. A hand at her back. Her knee against mine. The weight of her leaning into me.
I didn’t entirely understand why it felt so important. I only knew that every time she let me close, some deep part of me settled. And every time she pulled back, I felt the absence immediately.
She spent so much effort on sharpness. Dry remarks. Controlled distance. That cool, dismissive tone she used when she wanted to keep people from getting too comfortable.
I understood what it was for. It didn’t fool me.
She looked at me like she expected me to become a drain on her at any second, but under it was something softer that she seemed unwilling to admit.
A tenderness she protected like it had already cost her too much.
I saw it in the way she thanked people when she forgot to brace first. In the way she looked at Bobbi.
In the way she kept acting like care was suspicious even while leaning toward it.
Something about that got past my reason, past my caution.
It moved through my body with quiet, unnerving certainty, until wanting her near me felt less like preference and more like fact.
I wanted to protect her from the things that had made her think the sharpness was necessary.
I wanted to protect her from anything else that might get close enough to harden the quiet softness I knew was still there.
Zoey’s ankle flexed slightly under the table. She shifted her weight without thinking and didn’t wince.
“You’re moving better today,” I said.
“I’m fine,” she replied automatically. “Mostly.”
“You still don’t have clearance to drive.”
She gave me a look.
“I’m driving you to your follow-up appointment.”
“I can take an Uber.”
“No.”
“Liam.”
“Zoey.”
She stared at me across the table.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.
“I’m ensuring continuity of care.”
Markie tilted his head. “DOG. DRIVE.”
Zoey dropped her head back and laughed once. “Even the bird thinks you’re insufferable.”
“I prefer the term thorough.”
She finished the last bite of her sandwich and wiped her hands on a napkin with unnecessary force. She held my gaze for a long moment, then sighed when I didn’t waver.
“Fine,” she said. “You can drive me.”
I nodded. She stood carefully, wobbling a lot less than she had. She moved toward the bedroom without the crutches.
“I’ll get ready.”
Markie hopped once along his perch. “DOG.”
I looked at the hallway where she had disappeared.
I was in deeper than I should have been.
And for some reason I was not backing up.
She insisted on going in alone.
“I’m a fully grown adult,” she said when I pulled up to the curb outside the clinic. “You do not need to escort me inside.”
“I wasn’t planning to escort you.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was evaluating variables.”
She gave me a look that suggested how little she thought of my variables, then opened the door herself. Her ankle held steady when she stepped down. She didn’t wobble. She didn’t grab the door of my truck for balance.
Progress.
“I’ll be right here,” I said.
“I know where you’ll be,” she replied.
She shut the door before I could answer. I watched her walk through the sliding doors and disappear into fluorescent lighting. As soon as she did, I got into motion.
The radio volume sat at thirteen; I turned it to twelve.
The left vent angled slightly upward, the right angled straight. I adjusted both so they matched. The temperature read seventy-two. I lowered it to seventy and waited for the display to stabilize before letting go.
Zoey had moved the seat back farther than necessary, so I slid it forward one notch. The cup holder insert was crooked. I fixed it. The rearview mirror was tilted a fraction too high. I corrected that too.
When the numbers lined up, when the symmetry returned, my shoulders eased.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen.
Nora.
I answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Nora, what’s up?” I said.
“I know you’re technically off,” she began, which meant she was about to ask for something that wasn’t small.
“What happened?”
“Pete tried to install the new filtration system under the main bar by himself.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “And?”
“He threw his back out. Again. He’s currently on the floor behind the taps insisting he’s fine and asking for ice.”
“Is the system installed?”
“It is partially installed,” Nora said carefully. “The intake line is disconnected. The pressure regulator is not calibrated. We can’t run water through the bar at all.”
I looked toward the clinic doors.
“No sinks. No tap water. No ice machine. No draft lines,” she continued. “Lunch service starts in three hours. We have a bridal party arriving at three.”
The scene played out in my head immediately. Guests crowded in the main lodge bar, expecting craft cocktails and local beer on tap. Pete flat on the floor behind the polished wood. The staff trying to explain why the faucet wasn’t working.
“How long has it been down?”
“Forty minutes.”
“And Pete?”
“Embarrassed. In pain. Defensive.”
Of course he was.
“I’ll be there soon,” I said.
“You’re on vacation.”
“I’m aware.”
“It’s not your responsibility to solve this.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I can stall for a bit,” she added. “But not long.”
“I know.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Liam.”
She ended the call before I could say anything else. I put my phone in my pocket and stared at the clinic entrance. Pete shouldn’t have tried to lift that unit alone. He knew that. He had done it anyway.
I stared at the steering wheel for a second, already running through the system layout in my head. Intake line first. Pressure regulator reset. Check for cross-threading. Make sure Pete didn’t over-tighten the coupler again.
The bar couldn’t operate without water. No water meant no sanitation. No sanitation meant no service. No service meant refunds, complaints, and bad reviews.
The thought of the system sitting half-installed under the bar made the muscles in my jaw jump.
The clinic doors opened.
Zoey stepped out, looking pleased with herself. I bet if I pointed it out, she wouldn’t even deny it. She moved steadily. Confidently.
I got out and opened her door before she could protest.
“Well,” she said once I was back behind the wheel. “I’m officially released. Cleared to return to society.”
“That’s great.”
“You look like something caught fire.”
“Not exactly.” I started the engine. “Nora, the manager of Pine Hollow, called. Pete—the bartender at the lodge—attempted to install the new filtration system under the main bar without assistance.”
Zoey stared at me. “Why?”
“He believed he could.”
“And?”
“He threw his back out and is now lying on the floor behind the bar, which has no water because he disconnected the system.”
She blinked once. “Well, fuck.”
“No sinks. No taps. No ice.”
She winced. “That sounds like a catastrophe.”
“Correct.”
“When do you have to be there?”
“Soon.” I met her gaze. “I can drop you at your apartment.”
She hesitated, then rolled her shoulders back. “What the hell. I’m still off work today, and I’ve been cooped up in my house for days. I want to see this chaos. Take me with you.”