“But you hate all this business stuff,” I murmur.
Harry cocks his head to the side. “You do?”
“No—not really, it’s not that big of a deal.” He scrapes a hand through his hair. I catch the tremor and sigh. I wish Liam could understand where I’m coming from with Harry. There’s no way this guy wants him to force a career he hates, not after everything he’s done for Liam. But it’s not my place. He has to get there himself. “We should talk about this later, anyway. It’s not why we’re here.”
Mrs. Kelly clears her throat, glancing at Liam and me with a comforting, sympathetic smile. “Evie, Liam tells me you’re looking at opening some kind of pastry shop? That sounds exciting.”
“That’s the dream.” I chew my lip, avoiding my mother’s subtle, heated glare. “I’m finishing up the details for funding, and then, I don’t know—all the fun stuff is planned: the name, design, menu. I just have to wade through the logistical side a bit more.”
“You’re still going through with it?” My mom takes another measured sip of her wine.
I swallow, eyes flickering to Liam and back to my mother. “We’ll see.” I shrug.
“What about your family? Do you really think you can handle starting that and a new business simultaneously? You know it’s not going to be easy, what with your—”
“I think our family and its size will stay a discussion between Evie and me, Mrs. O’Shea. No need to put undue pressure on anyone. We’re still young, and this is still new. I know personally, I’m not ready for that responsibility.” Liam’s eyes laser in on my mother, and for the first time ever, she really looks five-two. I pick my mouth up off the table. Wonder Boy just snapped atCarolineto stick up forme?I never thought I’d see the day.
My mother smiles curtly, dabbing her lips with her napkin. “Of course, excuse me.” She pushes up from the table in an odd rush. My brows furrow as I watch her walk to the bathroom, too hurried to be proper.
My dad miraculously notices it too, and he follows her lead back into the restaurant.
The waiter emerges from the same door, carrying two trays of food with a grace I never could possess. I beam warmly at Liam, mouthing “thank you,” grateful to have him, photography incident aside, on my team tonight.
The waiter finishes grinding pepper on Caleb’s chicken piccata and lays a bowl containing a feast suitable for rabbits in front of me, eliciting very little excitement on my part. But again, my body probably needs this anyway.
Next to me, tomatoes, garlic, and basil bathe Liam’s ravioli in a rich, decadent aroma. My mouth waters in an instant.
Liam nudges me with his shoulder. “You mind splitting with me? Your salad looks good.”
I blink. Liam doesn’t eat carbs. It’s a realization I’m having far too late because my mind literally can’t comprehend it as reality. But it’s true. He’s only made a handful of exceptions to the rule in the past few weeks. “Are you eating carbs for real now?”
“Felt like trying something different.” He shrugs, grabbing a bread plate and putting more than half of the ravioli on it for me.
“Seriously? I fucking love you.” It slips out, but I don’t fight to take it back. Liam’s smirk grows into a wild, crushing smile as he leans, bringing his mouth to my ear.
“I fucking love you too, Peaches.” He kisses my cheek, and my insides twinkle like the stars winking to life in the night sky. As beautiful as Paris is, I haven’t seen stars in a good five years, not like this, and my heart yearns to look up into the cloudless expanse of sky overhead. I reach for my glass, still held captive by the celestial bodies above, and in my distracted state knock over my red wine, jumping as it spills all over my white tunic.
“Oh hell.” I stand quickly. “Excuse me, I should wash this off.”
I head toward the bathroom on the restaurant’s bottom floor, passing a few high school acquaintances in the basement bar.
Logan Stanley, a high school teammate of Liam’s, stumbles out of the long winding hallway that leads to the bathrooms. These old mill buildings are gorgeous but not laid out for easy navigation.
“Finally put him out of his misery, nice!” He lends out a fist to bump.
“Yup!” I nervously laugh, extending my fist to his. Hopefully he’s outgrown the handwashing habit (or lack thereof) that earned him a place on Clare’snever againlist.
“Went out a few months ago for my bachelor party, and the guy still had it bad. Higgins told him it was probably for the best it never happened. There was no way reality could match what he had built up in his head.”
“Oh.”Leave. Leave now.“Excuse me, I need to take care of this.” I gesture to my shirt, sidestepping Logan and attempting to leave before the anxiety earworm is laid, but it’s too late.
I will spiral over this later, without a doubt. But first, I need to get through this family dinner.
“Hope for the bastard’s sake it holds up.”
“Me too. It was nice to see you. Bye.” I hasten my steps, hurrying around the corner toward the bathrooms, but my mother’s panicked pitch slows my efforts.
“If he goes there, then she’ll never come home, Cal—I’ll lose my baby girl for good.”
