Safe In His Hands

# 3 CHAPTER TWO: FIRST GLANCE- LILA

LILA

The second night in Pine Ridge was worse than the first.

Lila had spent the entire day unpacking boxes, assembling furniture with instructions

that seemed designed to induce madness, and trying to convince herself that the

cottage was starting to feel like home. It wasn't working. Every creak of the floorboards

sounded wrong. Every shadow in the corners felt unfamiliar. The silence pressed

against her eardrums until she wanted to scream just to break it.

By six o'clock, she'd managed to set up her bed properly, organize her kitchen well

enough to function, and hang exactly three photographs on the living room wall before

giving up. They looked wrong there—too personal, too revealing, like she was trying too

hard to claim a space that would never really be hers.

She'd made herself dinner—pasta from a box, sauce from a jar, the kind of meal that

required minimal effort and provided minimal satisfaction. She'd eaten standing at the

kitchen counter, staring out the window at the darkening street, watching as lights cameon in neighboring houses. Families settling in for the evening. People with routines, with

lives, with connections.

And here she was. Alone in a cottage that smelled like someone else's life, eating pasta

that tasted like cardboard, wondering what the hell she'd been thinking when she'd

decided to move here.

By seven-thirty, the walls felt like they were closing in. The cottage was too small, too

quiet, too full of her own thoughts echoing back at her. She needed to get out. Needed

to be around people, even if she wasn't going to talk to them. Needed something—

anything—other than her own spiraling anxiety for company.

A quick Google search on her phone revealed that Pine Ridge had exactly one bar: The

Timber Lounge, located on Main Street between the hardware store and what appeared

to be a vintage clothing shop. The photos online showed a rustic interior with exposed

wooden beams, a long bar made of reclaimed wood, and booths upholstered in dark

leather that had probably been there since the eighties. It looked like the kind of place

where locals gathered after work, where everyone knew everyone else's name and

business.

Which meant it was probably a terrible idea for her to go there.

She went anyway.

Lila changed out of her unpacking clothes—ratty jeans and a t-shirt with paint stains

from a project three years ago—and into something slightly more presentable. Dark

jeans that actually fit, a soft gray sweater that didn't have any holes, her leather jacket

that had cost too much but made her feel slightly more put-together than she actually

was. She ran a brush through her hair, applied minimal makeup, and stared at herself in

the bathroom mirror.

She looked tired. Shadows under her eyes that concealer couldn't quite hide. A

tightness around her mouth that spoke of stress she couldn't release. But she looked

presentable enough. Like a normal person going to a bar for a normal drink, not

someone who was running from her entire life.

The drive to Main Street took less than five minutes. Pine Ridge wasn't big enough for

anything to be far away. She parked in front of The Timber Lounge and sat in her car for

a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to gather her courage.

You can do this. It's just a bar. Just people. You don't have to talk to anyone. You can

have one drink and leave.

Through the large front windows, she could see people inside. The warm glow of Edison

bulbs strung along the ceiling. Movement and life and the kind of casual interaction that

seemed so easy for everyone else.

Lila forced herself to get out of the car before she could change her mind.The Timber Lounge was busier than she'd expected for a Thursday night. Nearly every

table was occupied, and the bar itself had only a few empty stools scattered along its

length. Music played from speakers mounted in the corners—something country with a

steady beat and lyrics about trucks and heartbreak—and the air was thick with the smell

of beer, fried food, and the faint sweetness of bourbon.

The space was exactly as the photos had suggested: rustic and worn in a way that felt

intentional. The exposed beams overhead were dark with age, and the walls were

decorated with vintage signs advertising long-defunct brands of whiskey and beer. Neon

lights glowed behind the bar—Budweiser, Coors, Miller—casting colored shadows

across the bottles lined up on glass shelves. The floor was scuffed hardwood, sticky in

places where drinks had been spilled and not quite cleaned up properly.

Lila hesitated just inside the doorway, her heart racing. Every face that turned toward

her felt like a spotlight, assessing, judging, wondering who she was and what she was

doing here. The new person. The outsider. The one who didn't belong.

Just find a seat. Order a drink. Breathe.

Before she could turn around and flee back to her car, a voice called out from behind

the bar.

"Grab a seat anywhere, hon! I'll be right with you."

The bartender—a woman in her thirties with platinum blonde hair pulled into a high

ponytail and a smile that seemed practiced but not unkind—waved her forward with one

hand while pouring a beer with the other.

Committed now, Lila made her way through the crowded space toward an empty booth

near the back. It was darker here, away from the main flow of traffic, tucked into a

corner where she could observe without being too obviously observed. Or at least, that

was the hope.

She slid into the booth, the leather cracking slightly under her weight, and immediately

pulled out her phone. A shield. A prop. Something to do with her hands so she didn't

look quite so pathetically alone.

The ambient noise of the bar washed over her in waves. At the table directly to her left,

a group of four men in their fifties—all wearing flannel shirts and work boots—were

engaged in a heated debate about football. Their voices rose and fell with the passion of

people who'd been having the same argument for years.

"I'm telling you, the Seahawks are going to choke in the playoffs again. They always do."

"That's because their offensive line couldn't protect a quarterback if their lives depended

on it."

"You're both wrong. The problem is coaching. Has been for three years."At the bar, two women who looked to be in their early forties were laughing over

something on one of their phones, their heads bent close together, shoulders shaking

with mirth. One of them had bright red lipstick and dangling earrings that caught the

light. The other wore a University of Washington sweatshirt and had her hair in a messy

bun.

Near the door, a couple sat close together in a booth, their conversation too quiet to

overhear but their body language speaking volumes. His hand covered hers on the

table. She leaned into him when she laughed. They had the easy intimacy of people

who'd been together long enough to be comfortable, but not so long that they'd stopped

trying.

Everyone here belonged. Everyone had a place, a role, a reason for being. They were

woven into the fabric of this town in ways Lila would never be.

The bartender appeared at her table, pulling Lila from her observations. Up close, she

was pretty in a hard-edged way—sharp cheekbones, bright blue eyes lined with black

eyeliner, a small tattoo of a bird visible on her collarbone above the neckline of her black

tank top.

"What can I get you, sweetheart?"

"Um... do you have white wine?"

The bartender's smile widened, amused. "We've got house white or house white." She

leaned against the booth, her expression friendly. "This isn't exactly a wine bar, hon. But

I can pour you a glass. Fair warning though—it's not going to be anything fancy."

"That's fine. Thank you."

"You got it. Be right back."

The wine, when it arrived in a glass that had seen better days, was exactly as mediocre

as Lila had expected. Slightly too sweet, slightly too warm, with an aftertaste that

suggested it had come from a box rather than a bottle. But it was cold enough, and it

was alcohol, and that was all she really needed.

She sipped it slowly, letting the ambient noise of the bar wash over her like white noise.

It was almost soothing, being surrounded by all this life and connection while remaining

separate from it. She could sit here and be invisible, just another person in a booth, and

no one would ask her questions she didn't want to answer.

Lila pulled out her phone again and opened her camera roll, scrolling through photos

she'd taken over the past few months. Cityscapes at golden hour, the light turning glass

buildings into sheets of flame. Street photography—strangers caught in moments of

unguarded humanity. A homeless man feeding pigeons in a park. A couple arguing on a

street corner. A child's face pressed against a bakery window, eyes wide with longing.Her work had always been about capturing those in-between moments, the spaces

where real life happened when people thought no one was watching. The honest,

unguarded, sometimes ugly truth of human existence.

But lately, she hadn't been able to find those moments. Everything she photographed

felt staged, artificial, like she was trying too hard to see something that wasn't there. Or

maybe the problem was that she'd lost whatever instinct had made her good at this in

the first place. Maybe she'd photographed so much pain and loneliness and

disconnection that she'd become numb to it. Or maybe she'd just become one of those

people she used to photograph—lost, disconnected, going through the motions without

really living.

The thought made her chest tight.

"You look like you could use another drink."

Lila looked up, startled. The bartender was back, holding the wine bottle.

"Oh, I'm okay—"

"It's on the house." The bartender refilled her glass without waiting for permission, her

movements efficient and practiced. "You're new in town, right? Consider it a welcome

gift." She set the bottle down on the table and extended her hand. "I'm Casey, by the

way. I own this place."

"Lila." She shook Casey's hand, managing a small smile. "And thank you. You didn't

have to do that."

"Sure I did. We don't get many new faces around here, and I like to make a good first

impression." Casey slid into the booth across from her without asking, clearly in no hurry

to get back to work. "Besides, you look like you could use a friendly face. No offense."

"None taken." Lila took another sip of wine, acutely aware of Casey's assessing gaze.

"So what brings you to Pine Ridge ?" Casey asked, leaning back against the booth with

the ease of someone completely comfortable in her own space. "We're not exactly a

tourist destination. Most people who end up here either grew up here or got lost on their

way to somewhere more interesting."

"I moved here. I'm renting the Morrison cottage on Maple Street."

"No kidding? That place has been empty for almost a year. Old Mrs. Morrison moved to

Arizona to be closer to her daughter." Casey's eyes were sharp, curious. "What made

you choose Pine Ridge ? You don't strike me as the small-town type."

Lila hesitated, trying to figure out how much to share. Casey seemed friendly enough,

but small towns were notorious for gossip. Whatever she said here would probably be

all over town by tomorrow morning."I'm a photographer," she said finally. "I needed a change of scenery. Somewhere quiet

to work."

"Photographer, huh? What kind?"

"Mostly street photography. Urban landscapes. People." Lila gestured vaguely with her

wine glass. "I used to do commercial work too, but I'm trying to focus more on personal

projects now."

"And you thought Pine Ridge would be good for that?" Casey's tone was skeptical but

not unkind. "We're not exactly bursting with urban landscapes."

"No, but you have mountains. Forests. Small-town life." Lila could hear how weak it

sounded even as she said it. "I thought it might be... inspiring."

Casey studied her for a long moment, and Lila had the uncomfortable feeling that the

other woman could see right through her carefully constructed explanation. When

Casey spoke again, her voice was gentler.

"Let me ask you something, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to. Are you

running from something or toward something?"

The question hit too close to home, and Lila felt her defenses slam into place. "I'm just

looking for a fresh start."

"Aren't we all." Casey's expression softened with something that looked like

understanding. "Well, for what it's worth, Pine Ridge is a good place for fresh starts.

People here mostly mind their own business, and we take care of our own. You stick

around long enough, you'll be one of us."

"I appreciate that."

"And if you need anything—recommendations, directions, someone to show you around

—just let me know. I've lived here my whole life. I know everyone and everything."

Casey stood, picking up the wine bottle. "Enjoy your drink, Lila. And welcome to town."

After Casey left to tend to other customers, Lila was alone again with her thoughts. She

sipped her wine and tried to relax, but the conversation had unsettled her. Running from

something or toward something? The answer was both. Neither. She didn't know

anymore.

She'd left Seattle because staying had become unbearable. Because every street

corner held a memory she didn't want to revisit. Because her friends had chosen sides

and she'd ended up on the losing one. Because her apartment had felt like a cage and

her life had felt like a performance she was too tired to keep giving.

But she hadn't really been running toward anything either. Pine Ridge had been a

random choice, a pin dropped on a map of places far enough away that no one wouldthink to look for her. She'd told herself it was about finding inspiration, about restarting

her career, about proving she could make it on her own.

But sitting here in this bar, surrounded by people who belonged while she remained

fundamentally separate, Lila had to admit the truth: she had no idea what she was

doing. No plan. No direction. Just a vague hope that changing her location would

somehow change who she was.

The door opened, letting in a gust of cool September air that carried the scent of pine

and approaching rain. Lila glanced up out of habit, not really paying attention.

And froze.

It was him. The man from the diner. The one whose gaze had pinned her in place two

nights ago, whose presence she'd felt like a physical weight even from across the room.

He stepped into The Timber Lounge, and Lila's entire body went on high alert. Her heart

rate kicked up. Her skin prickled with awareness. Her hands tightened around her wine

glass until she was afraid it might shatter.

He was tall—she'd noticed that before, but seeing him in a smaller space made it more

obvious. Easily six-two or six-three, with broad shoulders that filled out his dark henley

in a way that suggested physical labor rather than gym workouts. He moved with that

same controlled grace she'd observed at the diner, every step deliberate, economical,

like he never did anything without thinking about it first.

In the better lighting of the bar, she could see his face clearly for the first time. Strong

jaw covered with dark stubble that was a few days past a clean shave. High

cheekbones. A straight nose that looked like it might have been broken once. And his

eyes—dark, intense, the kind of eyes that seemed to see everything and give nothing

away.

He was handsome in a way that made her nervous. Not pretty-boy handsome, not the

kind of attractive that came from good genes and expensive grooming. This was

something rawer, more masculine. The kind of handsome that came with presence and

confidence and an awareness of his own power.

Stop staring, she told herself frantically. Jesus Christ, stop staring before he notices.

But she couldn't look away. Not when he moved to the bar with that fluid, controlled

grace. Not when he greeted Casey with a familiarity that spoke of years of friendship,

his voice too low for Lila to make out the words but the tone warm, genuine. Not when

Casey poured him what looked like whiskey—two fingers in a rocks glass, neat—and

said something that made the corner of his mouth quirk up in what might have been a

smile.

He belonged here. That much was obvious. The way Casey talked to him, the way a few

people at nearby tables nodded in greeting, the way he seemed completely at ease in

this space—he was woven into the fabric of this town in a way Lila would never be.She should look away. Should focus on her wine, her phone, anything else. But her

body had other ideas. Her gaze tracked him as he picked up his glass, as he turned

slightly to scan the room with an expression that was both alert and detached.

And then his gaze landed on her.

The impact was physical. Lila felt it in her chest, in her stomach, in the sudden inability

to breathe properly. Her heart stuttered, then raced. Heat flooded her cheeks. Every

nerve ending in her body seemed to light up at once, hyperaware, hypersensitive.

For a moment—a long, suspended moment that felt like it lasted hours—they just

looked at each other. His dark eyes held hers with an intensity that made her feel pinned

in place, like a butterfly on a collector's board. There was something in his gaze—

recognition, maybe, or curiosity, or something deeper that she couldn't name but felt in

her bones.

He didn't smile. Didn't nod. Didn't give any outward sign of acknowledgment. But she

could feel his attention on her like a physical touch, steady and unwavering and

impossibly intense.

Lila's breath came shallow and fast. Her skin felt too tight. Her hands trembled slightly

around her wine glass. This was ridiculous. He was just a man. A stranger. Someone

she'd probably never talk to, never see again outside of random encounters in a small

town.

But her body didn't seem to care about logic. Her body was responding to something

primal, something she didn't want to examine too closely. Something that felt like

recognition, like her nervous system had identified him as important before her brain

had caught up.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, he turned back to

the bar. Released her from that intense gaze. And Lila could breathe again.

She drained her wine glass in three long swallows, her hands shaking. She needed to

leave. Needed to get out of here before she did something stupid like keep staring at

him, or worse, try to talk to him.

She caught Casey's attention and signaled for the check, her movements jerky and

uncoordinated.

"Leaving already?" Casey appeared with the check, her expression curious. "You just

got here."

"I have an early morning tomorrow." The lie came easily, automatically. "But thank you

for the wine. And the welcome."

"Anytime, hon. Come back soon, okay? It'd be nice to have another woman around here

who isn't related to half the town."Lila managed a smile, paid her bill with cash, and stood on legs that felt unsteady. She

was acutely aware of the man at the bar even though she wasn't looking at him. Could

feel his presence like a magnetic field, pulling at her, making it hard to think straight.

Just walk out. Don't look at him. Don't make eye contact again. Just leave.

She made it three steps toward the door before her willpower crumbled.

She looked.

He was watching her. Not obviously, not in a way that anyone else would notice. He was

facing the bar, his posture relaxed, his attention apparently on his drink. But she could

feel his gaze on her, tracking her movement, and when she glanced in his direction,

their eyes met again.

This time, something passed between them. Something she couldn't name but felt in

every cell of her body. A question, maybe. Or a promise. Or just the simple, terrifying

acknowledgment that they'd seen each other. Really seen each other.

Lila broke the connection first, her heart in her throat, and hurried toward the door. Her

hands fumbled with the handle, clumsy with adrenaline, and then she was outside in the

cool night air, sucking in deep breaths like she'd been drowning.

What the hell was that?

She didn't have an answer. Didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to examine why a

simple moment of eye contact with a stranger had rattled her this much.

She got in her car and sat there for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying

to calm her racing heart. Through the window of The Timber Lounge, she could see him

still sitting at the bar, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the warm light. He wasn't

looking at her anymore. Had probably already forgotten about her.

But Lila couldn't shake the feeling of being seen. Really seen. In a way that was both

terrifying and exhilarating.

The drive home took less than five minutes, but it felt longer. Her mind kept replaying

those moments—the way his eyes had held hers, the intensity of his gaze, the way her

entire body had responded to his attention like she'd been waiting for it without knowing

it.

You're being ridiculous, she told herself as she pulled into her driveway. He's just a guy.

You made eye contact. That's it. That's all it was.

But even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie.

Inside the cottage, she changed into pajamas and brushed her teeth and went through

all the motions of getting ready for bed. But when she lay down, staring at the ceiling in

the dark, she couldn't stop thinking about him.About the way he'd moved—controlled, deliberate, like every action was intentional.

About the way Casey had greeted him like an old friend. About the way he'd looked at

her—really looked at her—and made her feel like she was the only person in the room.

About the way her body had responded to that attention. The racing heart. The shallow

breathing. The heat that had flooded through her. The sense of being pulled toward him

by some invisible force she didn't understand.

She didn't know what to do with any of this. Didn't know if she'd see him again, or if she

wanted to. Didn't know if that moment had meant anything to him or if she was just

projecting her own loneliness onto a stranger who'd happened to look at her twice.

But as she finally drifted off to sleep, one thought kept circling through her mind:

She wanted to see him again.

And that terrified her more than anything else.