I woke up disoriented.
For a second, I forgot where I was. The ceiling above me wasn't familiar, the morning light streaming through white curtains too soft for any hotel I'd stayed in recently. Then I caught the scent of coffee. Real, fresh coffee. Not the bitter hotel-room kind.
And then it came back.
I was at Liam's.
Sort of.
Technically, I'd crashed on his couch. After the lake and a quiet dinner at the diner, I hadn't felt like returning to my motel room, and Liam hadn't pushed. He'd offered the couch with a lopsided shrug and an extra blanket that smelled faintly like laundry detergent and cedar.
It was too early to call it anything—us—but it didn't feel temporary either.
I sat up, brushing hair out of my face. My phone blinked on the coffee table—two missed calls and a message from Kara.
Kara: "So?? Are you alive?? Tell me everything or I'm driving up there."
I smiled despite myself. Typing back quickly—Still alive. Complicated. Will call later.—I set the phone down and stood, stretching.
Liam's place was modest. Lived-in. The kind of space where the kitchen wasn't trendy, but everything worked. A few dishes in the sink. A jacket draped over a chair. Shoes kicked off by the door. It all felt so normal—and right now, that was kind of everything.
I padded barefoot toward the kitchen, drawn by the smell.
Liam stood at the stove, shirtless except for the plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips. His hair was a mess, and he hadn't shaved. And yet—he looked unfairly good. Annoyingly good.
He turned when he heard me.
"Morning," he said, voice still scratchy with sleep. "Hope you like your eggs scrambled."
I leaned against the doorframe. "I like them made by someone else, so scrambled sounds perfect."
He grinned, clearly proud of himself. "You're easy to please."
"Don't let it go to your head."
He slid eggs onto a plate, added toast, and handed it over. "No promises."
We sat at the small kitchen table—scarred wood, mismatched chairs. One leg wobbled slightly when I leaned too far. It was domestic in a way that made me ache somewhere I didn't know I could.
Halfway through breakfast, he glanced up. "So… how weird would it be if I said I was glad you stayed?"
I paused, a bite of toast halfway to my mouth. "Pretty weird. But only because I was about to say the same thing."
Something in his face relaxed. Like he'd been holding his breath for too long.
"You have plans today?" he asked.
"Nope. I left my overly-structured calendar back in the city."
He smirked. "Tragic."
"Devastating, really."
He tapped his fingers on the table. "Then maybe you could help me out with something."
I raised an eyebrow. "This sounds like a setup."
"Just a little help at the garage. Paperwork mostly. Nothing greasy."
I hesitated. "You sure? That sounds dangerously like a date."
He leaned back, stretching, arms crossed behind his head. "Who said it wasn't?"
The worst part? I liked the way that sounded. I liked it too much.
---
The shop was ten minutes away—tucked behind an old feed store, with a faded sign that just said Ryan's Auto. Liam's truck was already there, parked next to a beat-up Mustang that looked like it hadn't run since the Bush administration.
Inside, it smelled like motor oil and dust, but in a comforting way. The place was clean, organized chaos—tools hung precisely on the walls, parts labeled in sharpie on boxes, and a calendar from three years ago still pinned near the phone.
"This was my dad's place," Liam said as he unlocked the office door. "I took it over when he left. Never had the heart to change the name."
I followed him in, noting the scuffed tile and outdated desk. "Doesn't seem like it needs changing."
He shrugged. "Sometimes I think about it. But then I remember he taught me how to rebuild an engine when I was eight, and it feels… earned."
I sat on the edge of the desk, watching him flip through a binder. "You miss him?"
Another shrug, slower this time.
"I miss what I thought he was. Turns out, people are more complicated up close."
That hit a little too close to home.
"Tell me about it," I muttered, almost to myself.
Liam looked up, his eyes meeting mine. "Your mom?"
I nodded, not ready to unpack that. "Yeah."
He didn't push. Just handed me a stack of invoices and pointed to a spot on the floor where the chair didn't squeak.
For the next hour, we worked quietly. I typed, he filed, and occasionally, we'd exchange small comments—half-teasing, mostly comfortable. The kind of silence that didn't need to be filled.
Eventually, I stood and stretched. "I think I've earned lunch."
Liam glanced up. "Definitely. Want to hit the diner again?"
"Only if we can sit somewhere that doesn't smell like fried onions."
He laughed. "We'll take the booth near the window. Smells like burnt coffee instead."
Deal.
We were halfway out the door when a woman's voice called from across the lot.
"Liam Ryan! You better not be skipping your mother's calls again!"
I turned to see a petite woman with silver hair and sunglasses perched on top of her head, marching toward us with a bag of groceries in one hand and a look that meant business.
Liam sighed. "Speak of the devil."
"Your mom?" I whispered.
"Yup. And she already doesn't like you."
"What?!"
He grinned. "Just kidding. Probably."
I glared at him, and he offered a small, guilty smile.
"Mom, this is—"
She cut him off with a sharp glance. "Let me guess. The girl who was supposed to leave town."
I blinked.
Well. So much for a soft entry.
There was a weird kind of tension hanging in the air—like static before a summer storm.
Liam's mom didn't say anything for a moment. She just looked at me, head tilted slightly, like she was trying to solve a puzzle she hadn't expected to find on a random Thursday morning.
"Hi," I offered, trying to sound casual.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in a mean way—just sharp. Observant. "You're not from here."
"No, ma'am. Just passing through."
"Mmm." She looked back at Liam. "She looks too nice for you."
Liam gave a low groan. "Mom."
"What? I'm just saying." She gave me another once-over, then reached into her bag and pulled out a container. "I brought you soup. Because unlike you, your brother actually appreciates not living on gas station jerky."
I blinked. Brother?
Liam took the container with a muttered thanks and shot me a look. I raised an eyebrow. We're definitely circling back to that later.
"And who's going to eat this?" he asked.
"You are. If you still have a liver."
She turned to me again, extending a hand. "I'm Jolene. Liam's mom, and before you ask—no, I'm not offended you didn't know that. He's private to a fault."
I shook her hand, surprised by how firm and warm her grip was. "Harper. Nice to meet you."
She studied me a second longer, then nodded, apparently satisfied. "You've got good posture. That usually means you were raised right or you're hiding something. I'll find out which."
Then, just like that, she turned and walked back to her car, tossing a "Nice meeting you!" over her shoulder like we were old friends.
I stared after her, blinking.
"She's… something."
Liam sighed. "Yeah. She used to be a middle school principal. Retired five years ago. Still acts like she runs the world."
I laughed. "I like her."
He gave me a sidelong glance. "She'll love hearing that."
As we climbed into his truck and headed for the diner, I kept thinking about what she'd said—the girl who was supposed to leave town. Was that a warning? A subtle way of saying, don't get too comfortable?
I wasn't sure.
But I didn't ask.
---
The diner was quieter than the day before. A few regulars, a teenager behind the counter who looked half-asleep, and a waitress who smiled like she knew everybody's secrets.
We slid into a booth by the window.
I wrapped my hands around the coffee cup as soon as it arrived, grateful for something to hold. My thoughts were starting to drift. I didn't want to admit it, but Jolene's words had gotten under my skin.
"You okay?" Liam asked.
I nodded too fast. "Yeah. Just thinking."
He didn't press. Just sipped his coffee and let the silence stretch.
After a minute, I said, "You didn't tell me you had a brother."
He tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Didn't come up."
"What's he like?"
"Dead," Liam said simply. Not bitter. Just matter-of-fact.
Oh.
I froze, mid-sip.
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged like he'd carried it so long he didn't even feel the weight anymore. "Jake. He was older. Car accident when I was nineteen."
I hesitated. "That why you took over the garage?"
"Yeah. My dad couldn't handle it. Left town six months after the funeral. Never came back."
My chest tightened. "Liam, I—"
"It's not a sob story," he said quickly. "Just life."
I believed him. But I also saw the way his jaw tightened. The way he kept his eyes on the coffee cup instead of me.
"You don't talk about him much?"
"Not really. People around here remember him too well. Doesn't leave a lot of room for me."
I bit the inside of my cheek. "That's not fair."
"Fair doesn't really show up in grief."
He looked up finally, and there was something in his expression—guarded, but not unreachable. Like a door cracked open just wide enough to let someone peek in.
"Thanks for telling me," I said quietly.
He just nodded.
---
We spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding anything too heavy. He showed me the park he used to hang out at as a teenager, the bookstore his mom dragged him to every Saturday, and the lake again—this time under sunlight instead of starlight.
There was something peaceful about it all. Like the town was slowly wrapping itself around me. Not in a clingy way. Just… gently. Comfortably.
Later, after dinner, I sat with him on his front steps, knees brushing as the sun dipped behind the trees.
"You ever think about leaving?" I asked.
"All the time."
"But?"
"But something always keeps me here."
I looked over. "What kind of something?"
He was quiet for a beat. "Used to be guilt. Then comfort. Now…"
He didn't finish the sentence, and I didn't ask him to. The air between us felt fragile in that moment—thin and gold and full of things we weren't ready to say out loud.
He reached for my hand without looking, fingers curling around mine. It wasn't bold or showy. Just steady. Real.
And just like that, the space between us disappeared.
---
But the peace didn't last.
The next morning, my phone rang while I was brushing my teeth. Kara again. Persistent.
I answered on speaker. "You're up early."
"Nope. Haven't slept. Harper—what the hell is going on?"
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You were supposed to send that draft to your agent two days ago. And she's been emailing me nonstop. Harper, she thinks you ghosted her."
Shit.
I turned off the faucet, heart sinking. "I forgot."
"You forgot?" Kara snapped. "What are you doing up there?"
I didn't know what to say. My brain stalled. My chest tightened. Reality—my life—was crashing back in like a tidal wave.
Kara's voice softened, but only slightly. "Harper, I get it. I do. But if you disappear on everyone, they're not going to wait forever."
I stared at the phone, stomach knotting.
I had a choice to make. But for the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure what the right one was.