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On Monday, during our morning writing session, Liam informs me she’s had a fight with her fiancé and needs a place to hide out. He hopes I don’t mind.
“It’s not a good idea,” I say.
“It’s a fantastic idea,” he assures me. “She’s happy here. She said so herself.”
I start to elaborate. I start to ask him to ask her to leave. In the end, I bite my tongue. Never get between someone and their desire because you will lose every time. I’ve been around long enough to know these things usually have a way of working themselves out.
He glances up from his phone. “You’ll see.” His fingers furiously text away. “I’m going to make her fall in love with me.”
With a curt nod, I turn back to my writing. It’s probably better not to push it. Obviously, she hasn’t told Liam of our encounter, and the last thing I want to do is to force her hand. Or his.
“She’s a big fan of yours, you know,” he adds, proving he can’t let it go. Something tells me this is a problem, where she is concerned. “In that way, you’re helping me too.”
“The party…it was for her wasn’t it?”
He offers his signature grin. I gather Liam could have nearly any woman he wants, probably that one included, if he’d just lay off a little. I’ve seen the way women flock toward him, the way they swarm around. Men, too, for that matter. “It was for everyone.”
“But mostly for her.”
“She likes to be entertained,” he shrugs. “Who doesn’t want to be impressed?”
“No woman I’ve ever met.”
He laughs in a sardonic way, matching my sentiment. “She makes me nervous. But in a good way, you know?”
“I do know.”
“She makes me want to be better.” He places his phone on my desk. I watch as a string of texts come in, lighting up the screen. “How did you know with your wife, that she was the one?”
“I don’t know. I just did.”
“I guess you can’t explain love, can you?”
“No, but it never stops us from trying.”
Her presence does more than make me nervous. It forces me to look deeper into Liam’s past, further into his motivations. This time, instead of a search bar, I go straight to the source, over afternoon tea.
“It occurred to me,” I remark, blowing steam away from my mug, “that I really don’t know anything about you.”
Liam is standing in my kitchen looking out of place, like an apparition from a different time, in his tweed pants, matching vest, and crisp white button down. I’ve invited him to stay for tea, which I usually take with Eve, but she’s down with one of her headaches again. After several beats, he looks up from his phone. “Hmmm. I’m sorry.” He presses his lips together and widens his eyes. “Did you say something?”
“My wife,” I repeat. “She’s very fond of you. And yet, I hardly know anything.”
“I’m afraid there’s not a lot to know.”
“I hit the best seller list.” I sip my tea and try to gauge his reaction. “Surely, you knew that.”
“Yes.” He smiles, raising his cup. “Congratulations are in order.”
“You’re not
just a junior level editorial assistant, are you, Liam?”
Stuffing his phone in his back pocket, he sets his cup on the counter and leans back against it. “Not just, no.”
“Why are you doing this? Helping me, fixing up my house?”
“You could say I’m a fan.”
