“You went to Castelblangeois, and you’re having lunch at Place Dauphine—that’s blog entry thirty-six.”
He dips his head, ceding the fact. “Yeah, it is.”
My heart cinches; he’s practicing Evie O’Shea’s “Break in Case of a Hard Day” protocol.
“Are you okay?” The words stumble out with an odd, unfamiliar concern. The sudden widening of his eyes suggests he’s surprised by the question. “That post touches on going somewhere when you’re down, so I assume . . .”
A smile cuts across his face, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just frustrated and wanted to breathe.”
Ah well, I’m sure I helped that.
“Work?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Work’s fine.” He clears his throat and focuses on two pigeons sizing each other up not too far away. “A dynamic in my life is getting old, but I don’t know how to fix it.”
Mood. That’s why I’m here, too, isn’t it?
Honestly, he could be referring to a dynamic with a parent too. Not that Liam shared that kind of stuff with me, but I remember his dad pushed things on Liam he didn’t necessarily love and blocked him in other ways. Like when Caleb wanted Liam to join the basketball team, but his dad kept pushing winter football programs on him instead.
Growing up, Liam hated the creamery, so it makes absolutely no sense to me how he ended up the vice president of it now. Though, truthfully, not a lot of whoever I’m sharing this bench with makes sense.
“Have you thought about running away to Paris?”
He snorts. “No, but it’s an interesting solution.”
“Italy’s lovely too; your mom’s parents were from Naples, right? I bet you’d fit right in—although eating carbs there is a must. Oh, maybe the south of France would suit you better. Yes, somewhere in Provence. You’d be sunning and enjoying life in no time.”
“Seriously, Peaches, don’t worry. I’m fine.” He gently pats my hand like he knows I’m actually worried and passes me a napkin, standing.
“Thank you,” I mumble, wiping my cheek free of icing while he takes my empty bag and tosses it and his box in a green trashcan nearby.
He laughs. “You inhaled that.”
“I like donuts,” I say, cheeks full of doughy goodness.
“I’ll have to remember that for future screwups.”
My nose scrunches up under the pressure of a wide-spreading grin. “It would definitely buy you infinite grace if that’s your aim.”
“Noted.” A corner of his mouth curls up, and his dimple softly pricks his cheek. “So, what are you doing here? If this is your thinking place.”
“Oh, yeah.” I forgot why I was here in the first place. “My mom guilt-tripped me into going to the wedding now that she knows how expendable my job really is—and then immediately made me regret my decision.”
“Ah—hence the apolocheese.”
I quirk a brow. “Really?”
“I thought it was grate.”
“Are we about to fondue this?”
Pun-offs were a Nana O’Shea specialty. It was the one thing I was ridiculously good at, so, of course, Liam never played.
He shrugs. “In queso missed it, we already are.”
“Unbrielievable.”
“Hey, that was pretty gouda.”
