Page 10 of Falling for Him (Honey Leaf Lodge #3)

Ben

I hadn’t slept.

Not really.

Oh, I tried .

I’d turned off the lights like a rational human, laid down, and closed my eyes.

But instead of peaceful darkness and the sweet oblivion I’d been chasing since I got to this damn lodge, my brain had decided to stage a full-scale mutiny.

Starring Fifi.

Fifi in her ridiculous bee-print apron. Fifi with hay in her hair, yelling at a chicken. Fifi on my doorstep, grinning like she had a secret and holding a soap basket like it was a peace offering from her tiny, chaotic kingdom.

And the worst part?

The thoughts wouldn’t stay in the wholesome zone.

They kept veering off course and sliding sideways into dangerous territory.

You know, the kind where her voice dropped a little lower, where her fingers lingered a little longer, where she leaned in too close, all wide eyes and trouble, and said something sharp and sweet that made me forget how to breathe.

I’d told myself it was harmless. She was just... new…unexpected. A temporary mental distraction.

But at 2:30 a.m., when you’re staring at the ceiling and your chest is tight and the pillow’s hot and your own thoughts have turned against you , it stops being harmless.

By 4:00 a.m., I was alternating between shoving the pillow over my head and threatening myself with early-morning goat yoga, which I’d never done in my life but suddenly considered out of sheer desperation.

By 6:00, I gave up entirely.

I shoved off the covers, groaning as I sat up. My back ached. My brain ached. And everything smelled like lodge air and warm pine and her—like lemon soap and stubbornness.

“Fantastic,” I muttered. “I’ve been infected by joy.”

I dragged myself into the bathroom and turned on the shower, leaning one hand against the tile as the water heated up.

The steam hit my face, and I hoped it might also fog up my brain.

But no. Even here , she was with me.

I glanced down at the cedar-scented shampoo and snorted. Her voice, full of exaggerated sincerity, echoed in my head: “This one smells like emotional growth and mystery. Perfect for you!”

I swore under my breath and squeezed the bottle harder than necessary.

The water felt good, but it didn’t fix anything. It didn’t wash her out of my head. It didn’t unearth whatever switch she’d flipped in me.

I didn’t want to like her.

Liking her meant noticing things. Wanting things. It meant being the kind of person who cared if someone smiled at him across a breakfast table.

It meant waking up to a life where someone like Fifi existed, and where I might want to belong to it.

I toweled off, pulled on a plain navy T-shirt and jeans, and ran a hand through my damp hair. No effort. Just function.

Still looked like hell.

Still felt worse.

Downstairs, the lodge smelled like heaven with warm cinnamon, sugar, maybe nutmeg, and, of course, coffee, the kind that punched you in the soul. Someone, probably her sister, was already clattering pans in the kitchen.

I followed the scent like a man possessed.

The dining room was mostly empty, save for a couple I vaguely recognized. I gave them the barest nod and bee-lined for the coffee pot.

“Morning!” chirped a voice from the kitchen. Not her voice. But close. Her mom.

I gave a grunt that could be interpreted as hello, help, or don’t talk to me, depending on the context.

The mom emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of biscuits and a knowing smirk. “Sleep alright?”

I poured my coffee too fast and nearly overfilled the mug. “Sure.”

She gave me a look like she’d raised several children and could smell a lie from across a county line.

“Mm-hmm. This morning, breakfast is self-serve. I’ve got scrambled eggs in the chafing dish, sausage links, and the cinnamon rolls Violet made last night. Fifi’s improved-upon recipe, of course.”

That name again.

I cleared my throat. “She’s not... here?”

Her smirk grew sharper. “She’ll be in soon. Probably bounding in here like she didn’t spend all fall, winter, and spring covering for her sister.”

I nodded, pretending that relief wasn’t currently fighting disappointment in my chest like two bears wrestling in a phone booth.

“Thanks,” I muttered, and carried my coffee to the farthest corner of the room, where I could face the door and brace for impact.

Not that I was watching for her.

Just being... strategic.

The eggs were good, the biscuits even better, but the cinnamon roll was outstanding. A war crime in how soft and rich it was. I took a second one before I could stop myself and tried not to imagine her beaming when she made them, declaring that the secret was in the “honey swirl of joy.”

Because, of course, she’d say something like that. And what was crazier is that her mom didn’t even say she made them this time. Yet, I still wanted an excuse to fantasize about her and the cinnamon roll.

Things were bad, real bad.

Because she was the kind of woman who made breakfast into a love language, and soap into a personality test.

And I?

I was the kind of man who ran from both.

I chewed slowly, drank my coffee like it owed me answers, and waited for her to walk through that door.

Half of me hoped she wouldn’t, and the other half of me desperately hoped she would.

Because no matter how much I tried to scrub her from my head with hot water, coffee, and cinnamon rolls, Fifi had somehow become the thing I couldn’t stop wanting.

And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could pretend that wasn’t true.

She was probably accustomed to guys like me coming to the lodge and knew how to handle us.

I had just poured myself a second cup of coffee, because apparently the first one hadn’t been strong enough to wipe the night off my brain, when the dining room door flew open with the force of someone who either didn’t believe in hinges or just really liked dramatic entrances.

A woman bounded in.

I looked up. For half a second, my breath snagged.

Fifi?

And there she was with the same bright energy and the same easy grin.

Her dark, messy hair was swept up into a knot that probably had a name like hummingbird hair.

But something was off. Her eyes were a different shade.

She was slightly taller, and her voice was more like jagged wind through the trees, not Fifi’s warm honey and sparks.

“Hey, you must be Ben,” she said, grinning and heading straight toward me like we were old friends or coworkers at a company retreat. “Room four, right?”

I blinked, still caught mid-sip. “Yeah.”

“I’m Sienna.” She slid into the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation. “Fifi’s sister.”

Of course. Now I had a name for the face. I remembered the mom telling me two of her daughters, Violet and Sienna, helped her in the kitchen that one night.

That explained the resemblance. And the energy.

And the complete disregard for personal space or conversational warm-up.

“She’s told me nothing about you,” Sienna said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice like this was her table. “Which means you must be interesting. She only clams up when she likes someone.”

I nearly choked on my coffee.

“I—what?”

She waved a hand. “Kidding. Mostly.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You always ambush the guests like this?”

“Only the ones who look like they’re trying not to be seen.

Which, let’s be honest, makes you more suspicious.

” She leaned her elbows on the table and peered at me like I was some kind of complicated wood puzzle.

“So, what are you doing today? Hiking? Reading? Brooding at the lake with your flannel open just so?”

I raised an eyebrow. “That last one’s oddly specific.”

Sienna just grinned wider. “That’s because I’ve already created your character arc. You start off sulky and distant, then slowly learn to open up to joy and local honey.”

“Let me guess. Fifi’s the joy?”

“She is the best part of this place,” she said without hesitation. “Well, aside from the biscuits. And maybe the goats. Have you tried our goat yoga yet?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“You’re missing something.”

“Right,” I muttered, suddenly very aware that this family had a shared skill for disarming people before they could finish a sentence.

Sienna popped a piece of fruit into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, if you’re looking for something to do today, there’s a great trail that circles all around Buttercup Lake.

The terrain is quite mild, but the views are stunning.

You can pick wildflowers, listen to the loons, pretend you’re in a nature documentary. ”

“Sounds... peaceful.”

She leaned in. “Or romantic. Depending on who you bring.”

I sighed. “I’m not looking for a—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re just here to escape something and not think about feelings and blah blah—don’t worry, it’s a lodge.

We attract your type all the time. But! The trail ends right back in town, which means you can finish your personal journey of rugged self-discovery with espresso and window shopping.

There’s a place with handmade leather journals. Very moody.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You memorized the town’s emotional itinerary?”

“Only because I’ve emotionally needed it a few times.” She stood up and stretched like she’d been doing squats instead of aggressively socializing. “And if you do want a guide, my sister’s the best there is.”

I opened my mouth to respond, probably with something dry and dismissive, but just then, the dining room door creaked open behind her.

Fifi stumbled in.

Tripped, more accurately, over something at the threshold with a garbled “ ohmygodwholeftthat— ”

She caught herself on the edge of a chair with one hand and pushed her hair out of her face with the other, cheeks flushed pink and eyes wide with surprise, until they landed squarely on me.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly. “Hi.”

I didn’t say anything right away. My brain had gone quiet, the kind of quiet that came right before thunder. Her sweatshirt was oversized and hung slightly off one shoulder. She wore jeans and beat-up sneakers and looked like she hadn’t slept either.

And she was still the most arresting thing in the room.

“You okay?” I asked, because my mouth had to say something .

She nodded, straightening and pushing her loose strands back to her ponytail, but they didn’t stay put. So she blew on them instead, and the strands floated to where they belonged.

“Yep. Totally. Great. Just—” Her gaze dropped to the offending object she’d tripped over. “Sienna, is this your backpack? Again?”

Sienna blinked. “Huh. Yeah, must’ve sneaked out of the kitchen.”

“Yeah, right. The thing just magically falls off your shoulder to wherever suits you. I tripped over it yesterday. ”

“And yet you survived to trip over it today.” Sienna grinned.

Fifi turned to me with a wry smile, brushing hair from her forehead. “Apologies on behalf of my family and their inability to follow basic hallway etiquette.”

I lifted my coffee mug. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Really?”

“No, not even a little.” I shook my head.

Sienna made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a satisfied hum. “Well, I’ll leave you two be. I’ve got a mountain of laundered sheets to pretend I’m helping fold.”

She grabbed her juice and disappeared out the back like she’d just tossed a live grenade and wanted a good view of the fallout.

Fifi stood there, flustered but trying to play it cool.

I watched her for a beat.

She bit her lip. “Sorry about her. She thinks she’s matchmaking when she’s really just inserting herself into other people’s business.”

I shrugged. “She’s not wrong about the hike. Or the need for peace.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine, startled by the fact that I hadn’t recoiled from the suggestion.

“You thinking of checking out a hike?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. “The wildflowers are blazing right now.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Though the wildflower part might be a stretch. I don’t see myself prancing through the fields picking flowers.”

“You’d look great with a daisy crown.” She winked at me.

I stared at her.

She broke into a grin.

And just like that, something in my chest relaxed just an inch.

But I felt it.

She pulled out a chair. “Mind if I join you?”

I hesitated.

Then nodded.

Because it was already too late to pretend I didn’t want her here.