“I think you showed your hand coming here, Evie. You’ve got it bad.”
“Yeah, but so do you. And who could blame you? I’m a freakin’ catch.” I flutter my lashes as Liam sparks my insides back to life with his lips. “But maybe we should go back to my room first. I have this thing that helps with penetration in my suitcase. I’ve been doing exercises, but still—”
“I could just take care of you, and we don’t push it today.” He traces the curve of my jawline with his mouth.
I pull away with a shake of my head. “No. If we’re serious about this, we take care of each other. That has to be my condition.”
“You can take care of me by letting me take care of you,” he murmurs against my skin.
“I’m serious,” I scold, pressing my fingers to his lips to stop them from crashing into mine. “I know this is your love language. I get it. I love it. And I appreciate it. But I’m not okay with a one-sided dynamic. I want to work you into a stupor too.”
He pauses, searching my eyes and conceding with a nod.
“So maybe you can take me back, and we can use it? Pack up my stuff while we’re there... bring it home.” The final three words curl my lips into a cheese-busting grin.
I’ve got a home.
A dream.
Here.
With Liam.
And really, who could ask for anything more than that?
25
Happily Endo After
Ican’trememberhisname. Dan? Maybe? My brain lists every stereotypical New Englander guy’s name, and none seem right. No matter. If I make his order now, I can slide it over without having to call his name out, saving us a whole bunch of awkward. I contort my body, bending down under a shelf in the glass case. Of course he wanted the last damn confetti donut. I pluck it with the tongs. Victory! Thank you, yoga.
I pull my body out of the case, and my head raps on flesh.
Not just flesh. A hand. A hand that is saving me from whacking my head on the glass.
“My hero.” I flutter my eyelashes at the man hovering over me with an agitated scowl.
“If you could watch your head, so I don’t have a heart attack before I’m thirty, I’d appreciate it.”
“Glass case came out of nowhere.”
“Glass case has been where it’s always been, baby.” Liam’s lips twitch.
The man lumbering over the counter waiting for his confetti donut clears his throat. Right! A customer! Whose name I have definitely forgotten.
“Sorry. Here you go.” I smile, handing him his order.
He nods, which is the silent thank you in New Englander, before walking away and settling into one of our overly foofy Marie Antoinette-inspired chairs, giving the glass of rosé he ordered to a pretty blonde across the table. Our café has become a prime date spot, and I am here for the people-watching.
Except I can’t right this second because I have a serious conundrum that needs to be solved. Namely, how to get my leprechaun donuts to wear the cute hats I made for them. “I just want you to wear your damn hat. I don’t understand why you have to be so difficult!” I scold one as his fondant hat falls in a rebellious, rather droopy plop.
“Does the donut really need a hat?” Liam asks, being absurd as his hand falls on the small of my back. He tightens the strings of my hot water bottle wrapped around my waist. One of the lovely things about owning my own business is the uniform can be anything, and here—the uniform includes a hot water bottle wrap most of the time.
“Of course it does. It’s a goddamn leprechaun. Stop being ridiculous.”
“Yeah. I’m the ridiculous one.” Liam rolls his eyes as I shove the donut into my mouth. “Don’t—we need to sell those, you know.”
“If it won’t wear its hat, it’s dead to me,” I say, voice muffled through my mouthful of donut.
