Liam disappears for a moment, and Mal waves me toward a cozy armchair near the fireplace. “So what’d you do before this? You said construction?”
I nod, settling in. “Yeah. Carpentry, finish work, light plumbing. Did some time in commercial renovation, but I always preferred the small stuff. Fixing things. Making something feel like it belongs.”
Mal lifts a brow. “You’re hired.”
I blink. “What?”
He laughs. “Kidding. Mostly. We’ve been trying to find someone reliable for months. Liam nearly electrocuted himself trying to install a new bathroom sconce.”
“I followed the YouTube tutorial,” Liam calls from the kitchen. “The man was very convincing!”
Mal grins, then turns back to me. “You planning to stay in town permanently?”
I hesitate, fingers curling around the warm ceramic of the mug Liam hands me. “That’s the idea,” I say, slower thistime. “I’ve been gone a long time. Too long, maybe. But this place has a way of sticking with you. You know?”
Liam settles onto the arm of Mal’s chair, watching me with quiet interest. “Yeah. It really does.”
I stare into my coffee for a second, steam curling up like a memory I don’t want to name. “I think part of me always knew I’d come back. I just figured it would be under different circumstances. Better ones.”
Mal’s brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t push. He just sips his drink and waits.
“I used to think I needed to go chase big things,” I say, almost to myself. “Prove I could make it somewhere else. Kept telling myself I’d come back once I had something to show for it.”
“And?” Liam asks gently.
I exhale a short laugh. “Turns out life doesn’t always hand you trophies for effort. It just happens. One day, you look around and realize the stuff that really mattered slipped through your fingers while you were busy chasing the rest.”
There’s a beat of silence. Not awkward, just respectful. Like they’ve both been there, in one way or another.
“I had someone here once,” I add, eyes still fixed on the swirl of cream in my mug. “Someone I never quite stopped thinking about. It wasn’t dramatic or tragic. We were young. Stupid. I left. Thought I’d be back in a year. Then a year turned into five, ten, twenty…”
Liam’s voice is soft. “Unfinished business?”
I nod. “Something like that.”
Mal whistles low. “Damn.”
“It’s not even about expecting anything,” I add quickly. “I just need to know if the door’s still open. Or if I already walked past it for good.”
They both nod, quiet for a moment.
“Well,” Mal says, slapping his knee and standing, “for what it’s worth, this place eats unfinished business for breakfast. You’re not the first person to come back hoping to tie up loose ends.”
Liam smiles at me, kind and a little wistful. “And sometimes the endings turn out better than the stories we were writing in our heads.”
I huff a laugh. “Guess we’ll see.”
Mal gives me a long look, then gestures with his coffee. “You know, we’ve got a cabin out back. Technically, it’s the honeymoon suite. Don’t laugh. It’s called the Gingerbread Palace. But it’s empty for the season. The roof’s good, the heat works, and it’s private,” he continues. “Has its own bathroom and a fireplace that’s only mildly possessed.”
Liam adds, “We were going to list it again for Valentine’s bookings, but it needs a little love. And honestly, the guest room you were asking about might get booked up fast now that the holiday crowd’s thinning out. But the cabin? It’s a lot of space, and we’d be happy to trade it for some handyman help around here.”
Mal shrugs. “You fix things. We need things fixed. You need a place to figure out your next chapter. We’ve got an empty cabin. Feels like a no-brainer to me.”
Liam smiles. “Seems like a good fit.”
I blink, surprised by the offer, and by the warmth behind it. I look between the two of them, these people who don’t know me from Adam and are already offering something that feels suspiciously like a beginning.
My voice is quiet when I answer. “Yeah. I think that sounds perfect.”
