Emma's POV
He's everywhere.
At the general store buying supplies. At the diner eating breakfast. Walking past the bakery at exactly eight every morning like his life depends on the routine.
I know because I've been watching.
It's been a week since I told him to stay away from me and he's respected that. He hasn't approached me directly. He hasn't tried to talk to me. But he's always there. Existing in my space. Making his presence known without being obvious about it.
It's infuriating.
Rachel notices immediately because Rachel notices everything.
"That guy is watching you," she says while we're cleaning tables at the bakery.
"I know," I admit.
"Want me to tell him to leave," Rachel offers. She's got her arms crossed and she looks like she's ready to fight someone.
I should say yes. I should want this stranger gone. I should be creeped out by the attention.
Instead I say, "No. Let him stay."
Rachel raises an eyebrow. "Really."
"Really," I confirm.
"You like him," Rachel says. It's not a question.
"I don't know him," I say, which is not an answer.
"That's not what I asked."
I don't respond because I don't have an answer. The truth is something about Liam Hayes makes me feel safe even though he's clearly lying about being in Willowbrook. Something about him makes sense even though nothing about him should.
Over the next few days, I catch myself watching him through the bakery window.
He's usually across the street or down the block. Just existing. Sometimes he's carrying lumber from the mill. Sometimes he's getting groceries. Sometimes he's just walking through town like he belongs here.
And every single time I see him, my heart does something strange.
It recognizes him.
Not with memory. Not with the logical part of my brain. But with something deeper. Something that lives in my bones and my blood and my instincts.
I hate it.
I hate that I'm drawn to someone I've told to stay away from me. I hate that I'm watching him when I think no one is looking. I hate that my body is doing something my mind can't understand.
Rachel catches me staring out the window at him one afternoon.
"You're going to wear a hole in that glass," she says.
"I'm just thinking," I say, not taking my eyes off him.
"About how hot he is," Rachel offers.
"He's not—" I start and then I stop because he actually is. He's tall and strong and there's something about the way he carries himself that makes it hard to look away.
"He's completely your type," Rachel continues. "Mysterious. Intense. Probably has a dark past that makes him brooding."
"I don't have a type," I say.
"Everyone has a type and yours is apparently dangerous Alpha guy," Rachel says. "Which is a terrible choice by the way. Guys like that are nothing but trouble."
I finally tear my eyes away from the window. "He's not dangerous."
"He literally followed you to Willowbrook," Rachel says. "That's like the definition of dangerous."
She's right but I don't want to admit it.
That night I can't sleep.
I'm lying in my childhood bed thinking about grey eyes and dark hair and the way he looks at me like I'm the most important thing in the world.
It terrifies me.
But not in a bad way. In the way that something dangerous and wonderful terrifies you.
Two days later, my truck won't start.
I'm driving back from the bakery through heavy snow when the engine just dies. I coast to the side of the road and sit there frustrated. The road is empty. It's getting dark. And I'm miles from town.
I'm about to call Grace when someone appears out of the snow.
Liam.
Of course it's Liam.
He's carrying an ax and he's covered in snow and he looks like he just walked out of the forest. Which he probably did.
"Need help," he asks.
I should say no. I should tell him to leave me alone. Instead I say, "It won't start."
He sets the ax down and opens the hood. His hands work confidently and without hesitation. He knows exactly what he's doing.
"Loose cable," he says after a minute. He fixes it and closes the hood. "Try it now."
The truck roars to life.
When I get out to thank him, he's standing there with snow in his hair and that expression on his face. The one that says he cares about me even though he shouldn't.
"You know how to fix trucks," I say.
"Used to work on them," he says.
"In Willowbrook."
"No," he admits. "Before."
Before what. Before you followed me here.
"Thank you," I say because I don't know what else to say.
"You're welcome," Liam says.
As I drive away, I watch him in my rearview mirror. He's standing in the snow watching my truck disappear down the road.
And I realize something that keeps me awake all night.
I'm not afraid of Liam Hayes.
I'm afraid of how much I want him to stay.