Page 26 of City of Liars

We stood on the sidewalk, facing each other. A brisk breeze blew, rustling the leaves of the camellias that flanked the walkway and sending their cherry-red petals flying. From the backyard, Chloe’s laughter drifted toward me on the wind.

I smoothed my hands down my jeans, the way I often did when I got nervous, then caught Theo watching and folded my arms over my chest instead. “I kept my side of the deal. So, what about yours? Does Grandma Ella look like your mom or your grandma?”

He took a long time to answer, and my heart thumped hard as I waited. “No,” he said at last. “I don’t think so. But she’s…well, old, obviously. No insult intended. It’s hard to tell.”

I sighed with relief, but my stomach was still churning. “I hate hiding something this big from my family, Theo. It makes me sick. And how the heck did you come up with Theo Penn?”

“Penn is my middle name. I use it when I play at the bar.” He gave me a wry smile.

“So it’s your secret identity,” I said, doing my best to smile back. “Like Superman and Clark Kent.”

“Sure, Liv. Just like that. Except without the superpowers. Or the kryptonite.”

“I think,” I said, scooping up a fallen camellia blossom and rubbing it between my fingers so the musky scent filled the air between us, “that Carters are your kryptonite.”

Theo swallowed hard. He’d shaved this morning, but stubble had already started to darken his cheeks and jaw. The mossy hue of his shirt turned his hazel eyes a bright, translucent green, the color of sea glass, worn by the waves. I found myself mesmerized, as much by the deep emotion in them as by their striking color.

“Please stop looking at me like that,” he said, his voice gruff.

I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I love the way you look at me.”

He leaned forward, his breath warm on my cheek—rich dark coffee and a hint of marmalade, sweetness and a harsh bite together. Which pretty much summed up the way I felt about Theo. Having him this close made me want to rethink all the very logical reasons why it would be a mistake to press my lips to his. And from the way his gaze lingered on my mouth, I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only one.

“The problem is,” he said, each word slow and deliberate, “it makes me want to take you to bed and keep you there for a long, long time. And, given that our families hate each other, that would be a terrible idea.”

Heat broke over me, prickling my skin. “Would it?” I whispered before I could think better of it, and he gave a slow grin, equal parts hunger and regret.

“Thank you for letting me meet her. I know you didn’t have to.” He ran his fingers through my hair, a light, fleeting touch that made me ache for more. “Goodbye, Olivia.”

15

Liv

Iwatched Theo leave, convinced more than ever that I couldn’t just let this go. He’d seemed so sad, so resigned. If I didn’t at least try to sort out the mess between our families, how could I live with myself?

The question nagged at me as we cleaned up, as I made small talk with my mother. When Chloe begged to go back to my parents’ house, I took it as a sign. The three of them drove away, the flowered cashmere scarf tied jauntily around my daughter’s neck, and I gathered my courage.

Grandma Ella sat on the back porch, her legs up on the wicker ottoman, the butter-yellow chenille throw we’d given her for her birthday tucked around her so only her head stuck out. She looked, I thought with a sudden tenderness that pierced my heart, like a wispy, fragile dandelion puff. Maybe we were both dandelions in our own way, adrift and out of place.

Or maybe, this was exactly where my grandmother belonged.

“Hello, dear,” she said when I stepped outside, bearing fresh cups of tea.

“Darjeeling,” I said, setting hers down. “Your favorite.”

She raised an eyebrow, then sipped the tea, the fragrant steam rising to obscure her face. “I appreciate the gesture, Olivia dear. Now, what’s on your mind?”

I sank down on the sofa beside her, clutching my teacup so tightly, I worried I’d snap the handle right off. “How can you tell?”

“I did help to raise you,” she said mildly, reaching out her free hand to smooth my sweater. “Out with it, then. What’s troubling you? It’s not Brock, is it? I hope he behaved himself like a gentleman.”

I’d forgotten all about Mustache Man. “He was fine, Grandma. Not for me, but fine. This is something else. But I…I don’t want to make you feel bad.” My voice trembled.

“You couldn’t possibly. What is it?” She leaned forward, trying to read my face.

Was I really going to do this? Maybe I could ease into it, test the waters. That was reasonable, right?