Page 10 of Landing Liam

I take the steps two at a time, glancing over the balcony railing to soak in the lodge’s rustic charm. Odie really outdid himself this time. There aren’t many people like him—someone who will go out of their way to make your life easier when everything feels like it’s falling apart. It’s been a long time since I felt like anyone was truly in my corner.

The room is small but cozy, a perfect reflection of the lodge itself. A thick red-and-white striped blanket lies folded at the foot of the bed, the kind you want to burrow into on a cold night. A black bear lamp sits on a wooden side table, its soft glow casting amber light across the room. There’s a little green armchair tucked in the corner beneath a framed photograph of snow-dusted pine trees. The walls are paneled in rich wood, and the scent of cedar lingers faintly in the air.

I walk over to the window and pull back the heavy green curtains. The view takes my breath away—snow-capped mountains rising in the distance, their peaks kissed by the last light of the day. Tall pine trees line the foreground, their branches heavy with fresh powder.

But as beautiful as it is, I didn’t come here to admire the view. I came here to work. I have three days to uncover the story, and I’m not about to waste a second.

I toss my suitcase on the bed, grab my laptop, and step back out into the hallway, stopping briefly at the front desk. “Where can I get a good cup of coffee around here?” I ask the attendant.

She smiles, giving me directions to a small café down the road. The cold air hits me as soon as I step back outside, and I shiver, pulling my coat tighter around me. My body hasn’t thawed from the drive, but that can wait. Right now, caffeine is calling, and so is the story waiting to be uncovered.

***

The little café is brimming with life, a cozy haven against the icy chill outside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods drifts through the air, warm and inviting. Couples are tucked into corner booths, leaning close as they share whispered conversations over steaming mugs. Families crowd around tables, their children giggling with whipped cream mustaches from oversized cups of hot cocoa. A few singles, like me, sit at scattered tables, their focus split between laptops and the occasional glance out the frosted windows.

I’ve been hunched over my laptop for the past two hours, diving deep into the life of Liam Thompson, the snowboarding star at the center of these doping allegations. The more I dig, the more I realize there’s more to him than the flashy competitions and Olympic medals. Three siblings—an older brother and two younger sisters. Parents who still live locally and own an art gallery of some sort. And then there’s the cousin who married a tech billionaire; Liam officiated their wedding, looking surprisingly good in a tux in the photos I found. Not that it’s relevant to the story.

What is relevant? His one high-profile relationship. Lyla Goldberg, a marketing executive. There’s a strange pattern here: as soon as they started dating, gossip sites lit up with stories about him. Before her, the only mentions were about his victories and his Olympic medals—one gold, two silver. After her, it was a flood of speculation, rumors, and intrusive snapshots.

I write her name in my notebook, underlining it twice: Lyla Goldberg. Something about her feels like a thread I need to pull.

Stretching my back, I close my tabs and glance around the crowded room. My coffee cup is empty, and I take it as a sign to refill my caffeine reserves. The line at the counter is long but moves quickly, and as I step closer, I can’t help but admire the café’s charm. Strings of twinkling lights are draped along the wooden beams, and a chalkboard menu hangs above the barista, each item written in whimsical cursive. The counter itself is cluttered with jars of homemade cookies and pastries, their golden surfaces gleaming under the warm light.

“Another refill?” the barista asks with a cheerful smile as I reach the counter.

“Please,” I say, sliding my cup across the counter.

As I wait for my drink, I glance at the café’s communal bulletin board near the door. Flyers for ski lessons, art classes, and a charity bake sale cover the corkboard, along with handwritten notes from locals advertising everything from dog walking to snowplowing. It’s the kind of place that reminds you there’s still charm in small-town life.

The barista hands me my steaming cup, and I cradle it in my hands, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. As I head back to my table, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m onto something. The story isn’t just about doping—it’s about the man behind the accusations. And the closer I get to understanding Liam Thompson, the more I sense that his story is going to be anything but ordinary.

I’m so lost in my thoughts, the world around me blurs into background noise. I don’t see the tall figure in front of me until it’s too late. There’s no time to step aside, no space to dodge.

I collide head-on, my steaming coffee tipping out of my cup and splashing all over him.

“Holy shit, that’s hot!” The deep voice snaps me back to reality, and I scramble to grab my cup—now in two pieces on the floor. Great.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, straightening up. My apology dies in my throat when I look up and see who I’ve just doused with coffee. Melted chocolate eyes, warm but piercing, lock onto mine. My breath hitches. It’s him. Liam Thompson. The whole reason I’m here.

“I didn’t…” I trail off. I can’t seem to string together a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. My brain feels like it’s buffering as he slips out of his jacket, coffee dripping off the thick material.

“It’s okay,” he says, flashing me a small, easy smile. “Happens sometimes.”

I clear my throat, desperately willing my brain to produce something clever, or at least coherent. “I didn’t see you.” Not exactly the sparkling wit I was hoping for.

His gaze flicks to my broken cup. “Let’s get you another one.”

“I can do it,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “Really, I’m so sorry. Again.”

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice like we’re sharing a secret. “Trust me, when Ginger finds out you broke a cup, you’re going to want backup.”

I blink, caught off guard by the closeness and the scent of cedar and faintly citrus. Intoxicating. He’s intoxicating.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, nodding before my brain can catch up. “Well… if you insist.”

He turns toward the counter, and I follow, my eyes drifting down. Big mistake. I’ve never seen a man fill out a pair of jeans like that. My cheeks heat, and I quickly glance away, hoping no one notices the way my mouth has quite literally gone dry.

“We had a small accident,” Liam says to the barista, Ginger, cutting to the front of the line like he owns the place. He hands her the broken pieces of my cup with an easy smile. “Totally my fault. You know how clumsy I am.”