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***
The three of them sit around the table, laughing at Frank’s chatter. Liam compliments her on her cooking again and makes appreciative grunts when she serves dessert, which makes Frank giggle until he falls off his chair. It is one of the best nights Willow can remember.
After she tucks Frank into his little bed, she returns to the living room to find Liam still there, his long frame stretched out across the sofa, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. She drops onto the opposite end and murmurs her thanks when he gestures to another sweating bottle waiting for her on the table.
“So…” he starts.
“You don’t have to talk, Liam. I know you’re one of those silent types. Don’t feel like you have to force anything around me.”
He raises an eyebrow at her and takes a swig from his bottle. “Friends talk, right?”
“I guess.”
“So, we’ll talk. Let’s start with why you didn’t go to work tonight. Or last night.”
“How did you know…? Never mind. Um, I don’t have sitter anymore, my last one wanted more money than I could pay her. So does everyone else I contact. Childcare is expensive.”
“Frank’s dad doesn’t help you out with bills?”
“Uh…” Willow starts plucking at the threads on the edge of her cut-off shorts. “He’s not around.”
“Sorry.”
Liam thinks about the fact that he has a habit of asking the wrong question and decides to stop talking.
“Okay, your turn.” Willow pins Liam with her eyes. “Were you really in jail?”
Liam looks squarely into her eyes, studying her as if he is trying to tell if she really wants to know the answer. “I was,” he answers shortly.
“Was it for...anything…bad?” Willow hears her voice pitch higher and clears her throat.
“It was prison, honey. I wasn’t there for yarn-bombing kittens.”
Willow chokes on her beer.
Liam laughs at her, and warmth rushes over her at the sound of his laughter. She likes his deep, throaty chuckle. She hopes he’ll laugh more. With her.
“No. It was ‘bad’, I guess. I didn’t physically hurt or murder anyone. It was theft. It was wrong, I know. But I was young. And under the influence of a…well, a person and various substances.”
“Ah,” Willow says. “And this ‘person’, is she still around?”
“I didn’t say she.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“But no. I don’t know where she is. Do you know where Frank’s dad is?”
Willow takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, thinking over her answer before she says anything. “I do know where Frank’s dad is. He doesn’t know where we are and it’s best that it stays that way. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Well, this got personal, fast.” Willow pushes up off the sofa and grabs her empty bottle. “Another beer?” When she reaches for Liam’s bottle, he grabs her hand instead, threading his fingers through hers and studying the lines criss-crossing her palm. She stands still and lets him trace the blue-green veins threading through her wrist. His touch is light but it burns across her skin.
He’s staring up at her. “I like you, Willow. And Frank.”
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, afraid to say anything. She’s still not sure about Liam, she’s afraid if she says the wrong thing that he’ll disappear. She finally settles on, “I like you, too.”
“I’m not going to hurt you or Frank. Not intentionally.”
