No response.
I stared at it longer than necessary.
Then I locked the screen and set the phone down again.
There were reasonable explanations for silence.
She worked remotely. Her job involved long stretches of focused work and complicated systems that didn’t tolerate interruption. She had also made it very clear that she valued her independence and didn’t appreciate people hovering.
I respected that—I respectedher—which meant I should leave it alone.
I walked around the desk and pushed the front door open a few inches.
The hinges moved smoothly. Earlier in the afternoon, the door had caught slightly against the frame. I had adjusted the hinge screws and sanded a small ridge near the threshold.
I tested it again.
The door swung open and closed without resistance.
Good.
I stepped back and checked the welcome mat. One corner had shifted out of line with the stone entryway. I nudged it back into place with my foot until the edges were aligned with the doorframe.
Then I looked through the glass panels across the front of the lodge, where the gravel path stretched toward the parking area. Two cars sat in their spaces. Both belonged to guests who had gone hiking earlier. Their rooms were tidy when I checked them that morning. Their bags were still inside.
Everything appeared normal.
I rested my hand against the doorframe, the quiet of the lodge settling around me as I scanned the area one more time before stepping back toward the desk.
My brain tried to present the logical conclusion for Zoey’s silence.
She hasn’t answered, you fool. You should accept that information, that rejection, and move the fuck on.
It was impossible, though. Something about Zoey had settled into my system, making distance feel unnatural. My thoughts kept returning to her without permission. Her name showed up in my head at random moments. Her blue hair was easy to spot in a crowd. The way she moved through a room stayed with me long after she left it.
I had experienced attraction before, but this was different. The pull was quiet but constant. It sat underneath everything else. I noticed it when I woke up in the morning, and when the lodge grew quiet at night.
I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck and stepped outside.
The sun had settled over Pine Hollow. The trees stood tall against the sky. The gravel path toward the cabins stretched out in neat lines.
Everything was in order. Everything except my thoughts.
I took my phone out again, glanced at the screen.
Still nothing.
I told myself to put it away, but instead I opened the message thread.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I locked the screen again.
No.
She deserved space.
If she wanted to talk to me she would.
I walked to my truck and stood beside the driver’s door.
