6. Levi

CHAPTER 6

Levi

Awkward didn’t cover it. The tension between us felt like walking into a room and forgetting why you came in—off, unsettling, and impossible to shake. Aiden stood there clutching his duffel, his frame small against the backdrop of the farmhouse. His wary eyes flitted over me and then away, as if he was looking for the nearest exit.

Was it the situation? Being shoved into this arrangement? Or had he picked up on the fact that I couldn’t stop noticing him the other day? Whatever the reason, I needed to pull it together.

“Let me grab that for you,” I said, reaching for the strap of his bag.

His hand shot up, gripping the strap tighter. “I’ve got it.” His tone was firm, but the quiet undertone—the don’t push me that lingered just beneath—had me pausing.

“It’s no trouble.” I kept my voice even, deliberately gentle. Slowly, I eased the bag from his shoulder. He huffed but let go, folding his arms like he was bracing for me to challenge him again.

“This way.” I adjusted the bag over my shoulder and gestured toward the chalets.

We fell into step, but every inch of space between us crackled with something unspoken. I tried to make conversation, asking about his trip, the farm, even the weather, but his clipped responses left no room for follow-up.

“It’s all coming along,” I said after another failed attempt. “Still a lot to do, though. You’ll see.”

Aiden hummed in response, his gaze fixed on the snow-dusted path beneath our boots.

We reached the first chalet, a cozy cabin with a steep, slanted roof that looked like it had been pulled straight from a winter postcard. The wooden siding was painted a deep forest green, blending seamlessly with the trees surrounding it, while tall windows let in the fading light of evening. The chalets were lined up in a row, each set back just enough to offer privacy but close enough to feel like part of the same story. The land stretched out behind them—rows of evergreens beyond the cleared space.

I nudged the door open, stepping back to let him inside. He hesitated for a moment, then crossed the threshold like he was testing the floor for traps.

“It’s not much yet,” I said, setting the bag down by the bed I'd put together just last night. “But it’s got potential.”

Aiden’s eyebrows rose as he surveyed the space. Bare walls, an unfinished floor, and minimal furniture greeted him. His lips quirked up on one side, a mix of amusement and incredulity. “Potential, huh?”

I laughed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s a work in progress. Mostly interior stuff now—paint, furniture, decorations. Whatever makes it feel like Christmas.”

He tilted his head, his skepticism obvious. “You have a plan for that? Or are you winging it?”

“Christmas-y,” I offered, immediately regretting the word.

His smirk deepened as he crossed his arms. “Christmas-y. That’s... descriptive.”

“Alright, so I’m not exactly a designer,” I admitted. “Garlands, maybe some lights. Rustic charm?”

“Rustic charm,” he repeated, clearly unimpressed. He pulled his laptop from his bag, settling on the edge of the bed. “Let me guess—you don’t have a Pinterest board.”

I frowned. “A what?”

Aiden’s grin grew. “A Pinterest board. For ideas, inspiration. Here, I’ll show you.”

Before I could reply, he logged onto the Wi-Fi and opened a series of carefully curated boards. Each one was organized down to the smallest detail—color schemes, textures, layouts. His voice gained momentum as he walked me through his process, his fingers darting across the trackpad to pull up mood boards and designs.

“You can’t just throw random decorations together and hope it works,” he said, animated now. “You need a theme, a vibe. Otherwise, it’s a mess.”

I leaned against the wall, trying not to stare at the way his expression softened when he got lost in his explanation. He was so focused, so... alive.

“I didn’t know graphic design could be so complicated,” I said, stepping closer.

“It’s not just complicated. It’s an art form.” His voice softened as he turned the laptop toward me. “See this? Campaign I worked on last year. The client wanted modern but cozy.”

I leaned in, our shoulders brushing. The contact sent a jolt through me, but I forced myself to focus on the screen. Aiden had pulled up a digital collage—images, color swatches, and textures arranged neatly.

“What am I looking at?” I asked, squinting at the screen.

“It’s a mood board,” Aiden said, his tone somewhere between patient and amused. “Basically, it’s a visual plan. You start with a vibe—like cozy, modern, or rustic—and build around that. See the green here?” He pointed to a swatch that matched the color of evergreen needles. “It ties in with the outdoors. Then the brass finishes add a little warmth and sophistication.”

“And these pictures of furniture?” I gestured to the images of chairs, lamps, and a soft-looking throw.

“They’re inspiration pieces,” he explained. “You don’t have to use the exact items, but they set the tone for the room. It’s about creating a consistent look.”

I nodded slowly, taking it in. “So... it’s like a blueprint, but for decorating?”

“Exactly.” He grinned, his voice gaining momentum as he continued. “See this armchair? Imagine it there, near the window, with a throw like this one draped over it. Suddenly the space goes from plain to inviting.”

“That’s impressive,” I said, meaning it. The thought he put into every detail was obvious, and I couldn’t help but admire how alive he seemed while explaining it all. “I didn’t realize graphic designers could contribute to home design like this.”

Aiden shrugged, the faintest blush creeping up his neck. “We don’t design the structure or layout—that’s for architects and interior designers—but we do a lot of the visual planning. Things like this mood board, branding a space, or even custom artwork.”

“Branding a space?” I repeated, intrigued.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at me with a small smile. “Every home has a personality, a feel. A good designer can help make it stand out—or make it feel like home. It’s all about the details.”

I studied him for a moment, his confidence shining through as he spoke. “I don’t know about branding,” I said, half-teasing, “but I think you’re doing a pretty good job of making this place feel like home already.”

He blinked, surprised, and for a second, the air between us grew heavier. But then he smiled, softer this time. “Thanks… um… I should get started,” he said, snapping the laptop shut.

“Right.” I stepped back, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ll let you settle in.”

He tilted his head, surprise flashing across his face. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Got some stuff to check on.” A lie, but staying any longer felt dangerous. “If you need anything, just call.”

He nodded, watching me as I backed toward the door. The cool air outside hit me like a splash of cold water, but it wasn’t enough to extinguish the heat in my chest.

What the hell was I doing? Aiden was brilliant, talented, and completely off-limits. I needed to act like a professional, but every moment with him chipped away at my resolve.

I glanced back at the chalet, his silhouette visible through the window. Staying away was going to be harder than I thought.

I took a few steps down the snow-packed path, the crunch of fresh powder underfoot breaking the quiet. Each step should have pulled me farther from the lingering tension inside the chalet, but my feet slowed, my body refusing to cooperate with my brain’s plea for distance.

I glanced over my shoulder, drawn back against my better judgment. Through the window, Aiden sat on the bed, his laptop still open, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the screen. His brow furrowed in concentration, his lips slightly parted as he worked, utterly unaware of the way he pulled focus without even trying.

I shouldn’t have stared. I shouldn’t have let the sight of him send another wave of warmth through me. But I stood there, caught between what I knew was right and what every instinct was screaming to ignore.

The problem wasn’t just how easily he stirred something in me. It was how badly I wanted to walk back into that chalet, to find a reason to linger, to hear more about his ideas, his thoughts—him.

I clenched my fists and turned away, the icy December air burning my lungs as I inhaled. Whatever this was between us—this pull—I needed to lock it down. Aiden was here for work, for a fresh start, not to get tangled up in whatever mess I was.

But as I walked toward the main house, one thought kept looping in my mind, louder and harder to ignore with every step.

I wasn’t sure who I was kidding. The hardest part wouldn’t be staying professional. It would be staying away.