Page 23 of Landing Liam

“Well, you’re not exactly like Taylor or your sisters,” she points out. “You’ve been laser-focused on snowboarding, not your love life. This is uncharted territory.”

“And the advice?” I prompt.

Mom exhales heavily, and for a moment, I think she’s about to say something profound. Then she smiles slyly. “I’m not giving you any advice.”

“What?” I blink, taken aback.

She laughs softly. “You’ll figure it out on your own. You’ll be more motivated to do that without me spoon-feeding you the answers.”

“That’s not fair,” I protest. “You practically forced Taylor to marry Elle.”

Her laugh turns into a scoff. “I didn’t force anyone to marry anyone. I encouraged Taylor to look beyond the surface. That’s all. And besides,” she adds, pointing a finger at me, “you have great instincts. You don’t need me to tell you what to do. The fact that you’re even asking means you already know the answer.”

I lean back in my chair, mulling over her words. She’s probably right, but admitting that out loud would only encourage her smugness. Instead, I let out a noncommittal grunt and take a sip of the hot chocolate she’s poured for me.

Maggie’s face flashes in my mind again, and I feel that same tug in my chest. Maybe Mom is right. Maybe I do already know what I need to do. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy.

“You should really get some sleep,” Mom says as she stands, her chair scraping softly against the tile floor.

“I’ll be fine,” I reassure her with a wave of my hand. “I used to stay out all night before big competitions and still crush it the next day.”

She gives me a knowing smile, her cheeky wink making me feel like a teenager again. “You’re not that boy anymore. You’ve met your match.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes, but her words settle in a little deeper than I’d like to admit.

Her smile softens, that unmistakable mom-glow of satisfaction taking over her face. “I can’t wait to meet her,” she says, her tone light but purposeful. And then she’s gone, heading up the stairs, leaving me alone in the quiet kitchen with my now-lukewarm cup of hot chocolate.

I stare at the mug for a moment, running my fingers over its smooth surface as the words “You’ve met your match” bounce around in my head. The thought of Maggie sneaks back in, uninvited but persistent. Despite the promise I made to myself not to look her up—not to dig any deeper—I can already feel my resolve crumbling.

Just a quick search, I tell myself, abandoning the mug and heading upstairs. The stairs creak under my weight, the sound familiar and comforting, even as my thoughts race ahead of me. By the time I reach my room, I’ve already made up my mind.

Plopping onto the bed, I grab my phone off the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a text from Lyla. I don’t even bother opening it. Instead, I swipe it away and open a browser, my fingers hovering over the keyboard for a split second before typing: Maggie Cooper.

The results load, and I settle back against the pillows, curiosity pulling me deeper into the rabbit hole.

Maggie Cooper—full name Margaret May Cooper. She’s twenty-seven, living in Pine Cove, and working as a staff writer for The Pine Cone Chronicle. Her portfolio mostly includes big news stories—politics, local scandals, investigative pieces. So what the hell is she doing here covering a snowboarding competition? Sports doesn’t exactly fit her usual beat. Maybe she’s filling in for someone. Or maybe there’s something more to her being here.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I click through a few of her articles. As I skim the first, a smile tugs at my lips. Then the next one, and the one after that. She’s sharp, clever, and surprisingly empathetic in her writing. Her words are equal parts incisive and fair, with just enough wit to keep things interesting. She doesn’t sensationalize or take cheap shots; she digs for the truth and delivers it in a way that feels honest.

I like her even more now that I know what she does for a living.

But as the warm glow of my admiration settles, a sharper realization cuts through it. She’s a reporter. A good one, by the looks of it. And if she’s here covering the competition, that means she’s probably digging for something.

I set my phone down, my smile fading as the weight of it sinks in. She’s a reporter, I remind myself, the words heavy in my chest. If Maggie’s sniffing around for a story, I need to be careful. I’m not ready for the world to know my secret. Not yet.

And certainly not through her.

Chapter Ten

Maggie

Snowflakes swirl lazily through the early morning air, blanketing the street in a quiet, picturesque calm as I make my way to the little café down the block. The same café where I spectacularly dumped an entire cup of coffee on Liam Thompson.

Liam.

I bite my lip, frustrated. I have to stop thinking about him. But how can I? He’s literally the reason I’m here. Thinking about him is my job right now.

The door jingles as I step inside, and the warm scent of roasted coffee and pastries wraps around me. I approach the counter, tucking my phone into my pocket. “An Americano to go, please,” I tell the barista before moving to a cozy corner to wait.