Chapter 5 A Name He Hides

The next morning arrived with a sky washed in gray and the kind of stillness that made everything feel slower and heavier. I stood on the porch, a cup of weak coffee in my hand, watching the clouds roll in like they were deciding whether or not to ruin my day.

Liam was late.

Not that I expected him to actually show up, but part of me thought he might. He had a habit of surprising me.

I took another sip and turned back toward the house. If he wasn't here in five minutes, I'd start without him. I had too much to do and not enough time to let some city boy throw off my schedule.

Just as I reached for the door, I heard it, tires crunching over gravel.

I turned slowly.

Same black SUV, dust-coated now, pulling up to the fence like it belonged there.

Liam stepped out, holding a bag from the bakery and two coffees. He looked tired, less polished than usual. His shirt was wrinkled, and there was a smudge of something on his jaw, like he'd shaved in a hurry and missed a spot.

"You're late," I said.

He lifted the bag. "Bribery?"

I eyed it. "Is that cinnamon bread?"

"Fresh out of the oven. Thought it might soften the glare you were probably practicing in the mirror."

I fought a smile and failed. "You're lucky I'm hungry."

He walked over, handed me the bag, and sat on the porch steps like he'd done it every morning of his life. For a moment, we just sat there sipping coffee, tearing pieces of bread apart, letting the quiet hang comfortably between us.

It was strange how quickly he'd carved out a space in my routine.

"Didn't sleep much last night," he said after a minute.

"Bad bed at the inn?"

"No." His voice dipped. "Bad memories."

I glanced at him. There was that flicker again the shadow behind his charm.

"Want to talk about it?"

He hesitated, then looked out toward the fields. "You ever feel like you're stuck between who you were and who you're supposed to be?"

I blinked. "Every single day."

He nodded like he'd expected that answer. "I came here to clear my head. To write. But the truth is, I was looking for something... or maybe someone to blame."

That made me pause. "Blame for what?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small photo, folded and worn at the edges. He handed it to me.

It was a black-and-white image of a man standing in front of a truck, a much younger version of someone familiar. There was something in the jawline, the tilt of his head. Recognition tugged at me.

"Is that...?"

"My father," Liam said quietly. "Taken right before he left this town for good."

I stared at the photo. "I've seen that truck before. My dad used to have one just like it."

"Your dad and mine knew each other," Liam said.

Something in his voice made the hairs on my arms rise.

"They worked together?" I asked.

"Not exactly."

I handed the photo back. "What's your real name?"

He looked at me. Really looked.

Then sighed. "It's still Liam. But the full name's Liam Caldwell."

The name hit like a cold wind.

Caldwell.

As in Martin Caldwell, the man who used to run the old mill before it burned down. The man who left town in disgrace. The man my father had cursed under his breath more times than I could count.

"You're that Caldwell?" I asked, voice low.

He nodded slowly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't know how you'd react. And because I didn't come here to reopen old wounds. Not at first."

"At first?" I echoed.

He stood, pacing a few feet away. "Look, I came to Oakridge because I wanted answers. My dad died last year. He never talked about this place, not until the end. He left me letters, one of them mentioned your family. Mentioned your father. I thought... maybe I'd find something here that would help me understand why he left and why he never came back."

I stood too, my hands clenched at my sides. "So you showed up pretending to be someone else? Pretending to write a novel?"

"I am writing," he said. "But yes, I should've told you sooner."

I stared at him, heart pounding.

The truth shouldn't have hurt. But it did.

"You said you weren't here to cause trouble," I whispered.

"I'm not. Amara, I swear..."

"Don't say my name like that."

He flinched. "I didn't come to take anything from you. I didn't come to judge your family or dig up the past."

"Then what did you come for?"

He paused. "At first? I came for closure. Maybe revenge. I didn't know what I'd find."

"And now?"

He met my eyes, and something soft flickered there... regret, maybe. Or something deeper.

"Now I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted. "Except I know I don't want to lie to you anymore."

I took a shaky breath. The wind picked up slightly, rustling the trees, like the farm itself was waiting to see how I'd respond.

"I need time," I said finally.

He nodded, stepping back toward his car. "I'll give you space. But I'm not leaving. Not yet."

I watched him drive away until the dust settled again.

Liam Caldwell.

That name would change everything.

But it didn't change how his voice had softened when he spoke to me. It didn't change the way he'd smiled when I laughed, or the truth in his eyes when he handed me that picture.

He was a Caldwell.

But I wasn't sure that meant what it used to.