Updated Nov 7, 2025 • ~13 min read
The sink started leaking two days after the heating incident.
Briar stood in the café kitchen at six in the morning, staring at the growing puddle beneath the industrial sink, and tried not to scream. She’d been up since four doing prep work, the morning rush would start in an hour, and now this.
“Of course,” she muttered, grabbing towels to soak up the water. “Why would anything be easy?”
She called Pete, who sighed heavily and said he’d try to squeeze her in by Thursday. Then, after a long pause, he added, “You could call Magnus. He’s better with emergency fixes than I am.”
Briar’s stomach did that annoying flip at the mention of his name. She hadn’t seen Magnus since he’d practically fled her café four days ago, but she hadn’t stopped thinking about him either. About the way he’d caught her. The electric jolt that had shot through her body at his touch. The look of pure panic on his face before he’d run.
“I don’t want to bother him again,” she said, wringing out another towel. “He’s already fixed my heating twice.”
“Magnus doesn’t mind. Trust me.” Pete’s voice was knowing in a way that made Briar wonder what he knew that she didn’t. “I’ll text him.”
“Pete, no—”
But he’d already hung up.
Briar spent the next hour in a state of anxious anticipation, jumping every time the bell over the door chimed. But Magnus never showed. By noon, she’d resigned herself to working around the leak and hoping nothing else broke before Thursday.
She was wrong.
The espresso machine died at two o’clock, right in the middle of making a latte for Rosie.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Briar said, staring at the dark, silent machine. “I just had this serviced last month.”
Rosie peered over the counter. “That’s weird. These machines usually last forever.”
“Tell that to mine.” Briar flipped switches, checked plugs, tried every trick she knew. Nothing. “I’m cursed. That’s the only explanation. I’ve angered some kind of café deity.”
“Or the building’s just old.” But Rosie’s expression was odd—knowing, almost amused. “You should call Magnus.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Briar threw her hands up. “The man clearly wants nothing to do with me. He practically broke the sound barrier leaving here last time.”
“He came though, didn’t he?” Rosie’s smile was gentle. “Twice. And I’ve lived in Pine Haven my whole life. I’ve never seen Magnus Wolfe volunteer to help anyone with anything. You must have made an impression.”
Briar thought about the way he’d looked at her in the basement. The intensity in his dark eyes. The careful way he’d steadied her before dropping her like she’d burned him.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I just don’t know if it was a good impression or a ‘please leave me alone forever’ impression.”
“With Magnus, those might be the same thing.” Rosie hopped off her stool. “Call him. Worst case, he says no.”
After Rosie left, Briar stood in her broken café and weighed her options. She could wait until Thursday for Pete, assuming nothing else broke. Or she could swallow her pride and call the mountain man who’d made it very clear he wanted distance.
Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
Pete says your sink is leaking. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning to fix it. – Magnus
Briar stared at the message, her heart doing complicated acrobatics. He was offering. She didn’t even have to ask.
She typed back: Thank you. The espresso machine also died today if you know anything about those.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: I’ll look at it.
That was it. No pleasantries, no explanation for why he kept helping despite obviously wanting to avoid her. Just a simple agreement to fix her problems.
Briar hugged her phone to her chest and tried not to read too much into it.
Magnus showed up at dawn, before the café opened, which Briar suspected was deliberate. She’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep, too keyed up about seeing him again, and probably looked like a zombie. Perfect.
“Hi,” she said, unlocking the door. “Thank you for coming. Again. I promise I’m not intentionally breaking things to make you come down from the mountain.”
His mouth twitched. “Didn’t think you were.”
He looked tired too, she noticed. Dark circles under his eyes, tension in his shoulders. Like he’d been sleeping as poorly as she had.
“Coffee?” she offered. “I can’t make espresso drinks, but the drip is fresh.”
Magnus hesitated, clearly torn between accepting and maintaining his distance. “Black’s fine.”
Progress.
She poured him a cup and watched him take the first sip. His eyes closed briefly, and something in his expression softened. “This is good.”
“Thanks. It’s a local roaster from—” She stopped herself from launching into the full explanation. “Never mind. You probably don’t care about bean origins.”
“I don’t mind.” He set down the cup and grabbed his toolbox. “Show me the sink first.”
They fell into an easier rhythm this time. Briar stayed quiet while Magnus worked, just holding the flashlight or handing him tools when he needed them. The silence felt less hostile than before, more… comfortable.
“There’s your problem,” Magnus said after fifteen minutes of investigating. “Someone loosened the coupling. It didn’t break on its own.”
Briar frowned. “Loosened it? But who would—” She stopped, a chill running down her spine. “You don’t think someone broke into the café, do you?”
“No signs of forced entry.” Magnus’s expression was carefully neutral. “Probably just worked itself loose over time.”
But something in his tone suggested he didn’t believe that. Briar filed it away to worry about later.
The espresso machine was trickier. Magnus spent almost an hour taking it apart, his movements precise and careful. Briar tried not to stare at his hands—tried and failed. There was something mesmerizing about watching him work, the way he approached each problem methodically, patiently.
“Power cord was cut,” he said finally. “Deliberately.”
“What?” Briar’s stomach dropped. “Cut? As in, someone cut it on purpose?”
Magnus’s jaw tightened. “Looks like it. Clean cut, not frayed. Someone wanted this machine to stop working.”
“But that’s…” Briar wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the working heat. “Why would someone sabotage my café? I haven’t done anything to anyone here.”
“You haven’t.” Magnus stood, and the protective edge in his voice made something warm bloom in her chest. “Some people don’t like change. You’re new, you’re different. Could be someone sending a message.”
“A message to leave?” The thought made her throat tight. She’d worked so hard, invested everything she had. “I can’t leave. This is all I have.”
“You’re not leaving.” The words came out fierce, almost angry. Magnus caught himself, softening his tone. “I’ll fix this. And I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“How?”
He didn’t answer, just gathered his tools. “I need to get some parts for the espresso machine. I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“Magnus—”
“Lock your doors at night. All of them. And call me if anything else happens.” He pulled out his phone. “Give me your number.”
Briar recited it, watching him save it with fingers that seemed too large for the phone’s screen. The domesticity of it—exchanging numbers, him promising to come back—felt significant in a way she couldn’t name.
“Thank you,” she said as he headed for the door. “For taking this seriously. For helping.”
He paused, his back to her. “Someone’s messing with you. That’s not okay.”
Then he was gone, leaving Briar standing in her café wondering what the hell was going on.
Magnus returned that afternoon with a new power cord and an expression that suggested murder. He fixed the espresso machine in silence, tested it three times, then did a thorough walk around the entire café checking locks and windows.
“Everything secure?” Briar asked, watching him inspect the back door for the second time.
“For now.” He straightened. “But I’m going to reinforce these locks. And I’m installing better lighting outside. You’re too exposed.”
“Magnus, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.” The intensity in his eyes pinned her in place. “Someone’s targeting you. Until I figure out who, I’m making sure you’re safe.”
The protective edge in his voice did things to her insides that were entirely inappropriate. “Do you really think I’m in danger?”
“I think someone wants you uncomfortable enough to leave. That makes them dangerous.” He pulled out his phone. “I’m calling Pete. He’s bringing over supplies tonight.”
“Tonight? But it’s already four—”
“Tonight,” Magnus repeated firmly. Then, softer, “I’m not taking chances with your safety.”
Briar felt something in her chest crack open. Here was this man who could barely stand to talk to her, who fled every time they got too close, and he was rearranging his entire evening to make sure she was safe.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Pete showed up at six with a truckload of supplies and a knowing grin that made Briar want to sink through the floor. “Heard you got yourself a bodyguard.”
“I’m installing locks,” Magnus growled. “Not bodyguarding.”
“Sure, sure.” Pete winked at Briar. “I’ll leave you two to it.”
The next three hours were a study in controlled chaos. Magnus worked with single-minded focus, installing deadbolts and motion-sensor lights and reinforcing door frames. Briar made dinner—sandwiches and soup from the café kitchen—and forced him to take breaks.
“You need to eat,” she said, pushing a plate at him. “I can hear your stomach growling.”
Magnus looked at the food, then at her, something unreadable crossing his face. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“You’re working for free. Again. The least I can do is feed you.” She settled onto a stool across from where he was eating. “Can I ask you something?”
His shoulders tensed. “Maybe.”
“Why are you helping me so much? And don’t say because Pete asked or because it’s what people do in small towns. You barely come to town at all, but you’ve been here four times in a week.”
Magnus was quiet for so long Briar thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, “You remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
“My mother.” His voice was rough. “She was trying to leave my father. Make a fresh start. But he made sure she couldn’t. Sabotaged everything until she felt like she had no choice but to stay.”
Briar’s breath caught. “Magnus…”
“I’m not saying your situation is the same.” He set down his sandwich, not looking at her. “But I know what it looks like when someone’s trying to destroy another person’s chance at freedom. And I’m not going to let that happen to you.”
The raw honesty in his words made her throat tight. “Is that why you live alone? To get away from him?”
“He’s dead.” Magnus’s jaw clenched. “Has been for ten years. But yeah. That’s part of it.”
Briar wanted to reach across the counter, to take his hand, to offer comfort for a wound she could tell was still bleeding. But she remembered how he’d reacted to touching her before—the panic, the immediate retreat.
“I’m sorry,” she said instead. “For what he did to your mother. To you.”
Magnus just nodded and went back to eating.
They worked in more comfortable silence after that. By ten o’clock, the café was locked down tighter than Fort Knox, and Magnus was packing up his tools.
“That should keep out anyone who’s not seriously determined,” he said. “But call me if anything happens. Anything at all.”
“I will.” Briar walked him to the door. “Magnus? Thank you. For everything. For understanding why this place matters so much to me.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and the warmth in his dark eyes made her breath catch. “It should matter. You built something here. Something good. Don’t let anyone take that from you.”
Before she could respond, he was out the door and climbing into his truck. But this time, he didn’t peel out. He sat there for a moment, engine running, like he was fighting the urge to come back inside.
Then he drove away slowly, carefully, like leaving hurt.
Briar locked the new deadbolt and leaned against the door, her heart pounding. Something was shifting between them. Slowly, carefully, like two wounded animals learning to trust. She could feel it in the way he looked at her now—not with panic, but with something softer.
Something that felt like the beginning of letting her in.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Magnus: Sleep with your phone nearby. Call if you need anything.
Briar smiled at the screen, warmth flooding through her. Then she noticed something through the window—a truck pulling away from the side street, parking lights off.
Had someone been watching?
She texted Magnus back: I think someone was parked outside. They just left.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then: Describe the vehicle.
Dark colored truck. Couldn’t see the make. They turned their lights off when they drove away.
I’m coming back.
No, I’m fine. You just left. The doors are locked.
I’m already turning around.
Briar’s heart warmed even as she felt guilty for making him come back. But fifteen minutes later, when Magnus’s truck pulled up and he did a thorough patrol around the building with a flashlight, she couldn’t help feeling safe in a way she hadn’t in years.
“Nothing now,” he said, coming back to the front door. “But I’m not comfortable leaving you alone. Not tonight.”
“Magnus, you can’t stay here all night.”
“I’ll sleep in my truck. Won’t be the first time.” His expression brooked no argument. “You won’t even know I’m here.”
“That’s ridiculous. At least come inside where it’s warm—” She stopped. “Actually, do you want to just stay in my apartment? I have a couch. It’s probably more comfortable than your truck.”
The panic was back in his eyes. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why? You’ve been working here all night, you’re exhausted, and now you’re planning to sleep in your truck in November?” Briar crossed her arms. “That’s the bad idea.”
Magnus looked torn, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he fought some internal battle. Finally, “Just tonight. And I’m taking the couch.”
“Deal.”
It wasn’t until he followed her upstairs, his presence filling her small apartment, that Briar realized she’d just invited the mountain hermit who could barely stand to be around her to spend the night.
And the terrifying part was how right it felt to have him there.
How safe.
How much like he belonged.
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