Pulling out his wallet, Liam hands her a card and silently nods toward the payment device. “We’ll take them.”
My gaze whips toward him. It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue with him but… Idolove gifts. Considering I saw the price of the bills both times we’ve been out together, have stayed in his nice ass hotel room, and clocked the twodifferent Dior colognes he had with him, I get the idea that a hundred and fifty dollars really isn’t anything to blink at for him.
Seeming to feel my confused but hopefully intimidating glare, he side-eyes me as he grabs the small bag. From the way a smirk easily pulls at his lips, I get the impression that he’s not put off at all.
“Promise to wear them at Brighter Daze sometimes, and it’s really a gift for myself.”
Thanking the vendor, I gently tuck it into my overstuffed bag. “So, I should expect to see you there more?”
Easily falling into step with me, he says, “Of course—I need to know what goes best with my coffee orders.”
Rolling my eyes, I lead us to Miss Willow’s stand and grab Liam’s arm to stop him. I shouldn’t care if we continue our morning together, but for some reason, I suddenly don’t love the idea of spending mine alone.
Mentally shaking myself out of the conflicting thoughts, I wait for Miss Willow to be done talking to her current patron and examine the olive bunches she has for sale. They wouldn’t be helpful for any of my pastries—and she doesn’t make large enough batches of olive oil to hire her as a vendor—but maybe Chuck could use them in a sourdough…
“Calypso,” Miss Willow greets warmly. “How’s your morning?”
“It’s going,” I say and gesture to my already-full tote bag. Liam stands to the side, quietly waiting, but Miss Willow gives me a knowing look. Not quite sure what shethinksshe knows, I hold a hand out in his direction. “Miss Willow, have you met Liam? Stanley’s nephew?”
He takes a step forward and reaches a hand toward her. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
I want to roll my eyes at watching this big city man try to play a small town local.
Miss Willow, on the other hand, looks mischievous. “Oh, we have met, dear.”
That pulls my attention back to her, but I turn toward Liam just as quickly. He’s confused, but there’s a small blush to his cheeks. It’s comically endearing.
“I live around the corner from Stanley and Willa,” she adds wryly. “The house with the bougainvillea bushes that you and Lucas were caughturinatingin a few summers ago.”
My mouth drops open slowly as I stare at Liam in shock. Miss Willow is in a small gardening club with a few of the other elderly women in town. It’s really an excuse for them to drink tea, argue over whose garden is the best, and gossip. Those pink flower bushes in front of Miss Willow’s house are her summertime pride and joy.
Liam clears his throat and squints at the sun while running a hand down the back of his neck. A few of his tattoos peek out from the sleeve of the linen button-down he’s wearing over a white t-shirt. Even his leg tattoos—a snake wrapped around his right leg and the ring of flames around his left thigh—are on full display today.
Under the warm morning sun, and with the ocean breeze twirling through his hair, it’s a gorgeous sight to behold.
“It was sixteen years ago, ma’am,” Liam says, ready to crawl out of his own skin. When Miss Willow crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him, he lets out a sigh. “I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Mhm,” she chastises. “It better not.”
Tilting my head, a mental lightbulb goes off. “Are you also the cousin who was caught stealing Lucas’s ex’s dad’s sailboat with them in high school?”
He groans and drops his head back as Miss Willow nods. “One and the same.” She points at Liam. “Don’t get this girl into trouble, or you’ll have a lot more problems.”
I shake my head, a mix of affection and exasperation for the old woman.
Liam stays quiet but holds his hand up in a scout’s honor gesture, even pulling a small smile from Miss Willow.
I step forward, taking the heat off of Liam, or we could be here all day. I buy a few olive bunches, as well as a bottle of olive oil for my own pantry. As she takes my payment, she reaches under her table and pulls out a cotton tote bag for me.
“Thank you,” I say, holding up the new bag because this is not the first time she’s provided me with one. I always give myself a budget, but I rarely ever stay inside of it.
With a quick goodbye, Liam reaches for the new bag in my hands and I pass it off easily. I may be independent and happily single, but I’m not stupid. If he wants to spend his morning following me around like a lost puppy and carrying my bags, who am I to deny him the simple pleasures in life?
Slipping the full bag off my shoulder, I hand that to him as well. He takes it while biting back a grin.
Ugh.
For the next thirty minutes, we stop at almost every stall we pass. Liam mentioned he’s having a hard time winning over the town, and it now makes much more sense why.
