I turned toward the lake, letting my boots follow the familiar path. The shoreline had shed most of its ice, leaving only scattered patches clinging to the shaded coves. The water moved gently, catching sunlight and breaking it into small, glittering shards. It was peaceful, the kind of peace that usually settled me instantly. Today, it only made my thoughts louder.
Liam’s words lingered.She feels too much too soon.
I wasn’t sure I agreed. Sienna was a wildfire—bright, fast-moving, unpredictable—but she wasn’t careless. If anything, she was too careful with her heart, retreating before anyone had the chance to drop it. I wasn’t afraid of her intensity. I was afraid she’d convince herself that stepping away was the safe choice.
I stopped near the cluster of birch trees, resting a hand on the cool white bark. I hadn’t intended to stay long in Buttercup Lake. When I signed the seasonal contract, it felt like a reset button—quiet trails, steady work, no attachments. A place to hide without calling it hiding. A place where no one expected me to become anything other than capable and self-contained. For years, that had been enough.
Then Sienna stumbled into the gear shed on my first day, arguing with a zebra, tripping over a bungee cord, and scowling at me as I’d personally offended her by existing. And somehow that moment had cracked something open in me I hadn’t realized was closed.
Maybe that was why a single pencil line on a calendar felt heavier than it should.
The thought made my jaw tighten. If she wanted distance, I would give her room. But I wasn’t going to disappear, and Iwasn’t going to let a smudged eraser be the last word on what was happening between us.
Eventually, I pushed off the tree and made my way back toward the property. There was work to do, packs to prep, and gear to inventory. Letting myself spiral wouldn’t help either of us.
Distance was one thing.
Avoidance was another.
And sooner or later, she and I were going to have to face the space between those two things.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sienna
The problem with sleeping in a guest cottage—especially one not your own—is that everything feels slightly off, like living inside a rental cabin that insists you pretend you’re on vacation even when you’re absolutely not.
I woke up tangled in sheets the color of washed linen, staring at a ceiling knot that resembled a judgmental eye watching me from above. Technically, this cottage was one of the nicer ones on the Honey Leaf property with big windows, good natural light, solid Wi-Fi, and a tiny kitchenette that barely fit a stove, but it wasn’tmine.I wasn’t used to the space yet.
My real apartment in town, the one I actually made payments on, was currently unlivable due to a chaotic decision to repaint the kitchen after a small adventure with the stove that I refused to elaborate on. Not to mention a bit of drywall had to be replaced. Anyway, I’d picked a bold boho teal for the walls, and once the painter got to that stage, I’d be able to move back in within four days.
So I’d been temporarily displaced to Cottage Seven at Honey Leaf, living out of two duffels and a laundry basket of clothes.
Which meant my bedroom here didn’t look like me yet.
And that was a problem.
I sat up slowly, stretching my arms overhead until my spine popped. My usual bedroom vibe was a cheerful explosion of color—warm oranges, saturated pinks, woven tapestries, busy-patterned throw pillows, plants that thrived on neglect, eclectic thrift-store finds that made no sense but looked whimsical in groups. Every corner of my usual space felt alive, vibrant, and rooted.
This room… did not.
It was clean. Simple. Tasteful.
It looked like a picture in a rental catalog titled“Lakefront Retreat: Interior by Beige.”
A beige I was apparently trapped in.
I sighed and flopped back down. “No wonder I feel like running.”
Running wasn’t new for me. It was muscle memory by now. Emotional overwhelm? Lace up. Uncertainty? Pack a bag. Feelings? Get on a plane. It wasn’t that Iwantedto avoid commitment; I just excelled at it by sheer accidental talent.
But this spring? I had committed.
To the lodge.
To guiding season.
To staying put.
