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* * *
Stormy
The soundsof rustling plastic and stomping feet alert me to Liam’s return.
“Sorry, that took longer than I meant,” he says, coming into view, too many bags for takeout in his hands, keys dangling from his pinky finger, and a heavy dusting of snow melting over his head and shoulders.
Eyes wide, I rush over to help. “What, did they make you wait outside while they cooked it?”
“Yeah… It’s really coming down. Even worse out west by you guys.” He shifts uncomfortably, apology-filled eyes meeting mine. “They shut down the expressway.”
My heart does a little stutter. “We can’t drive back tonight?”
He looks out the window and grimaces. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you all the way out here.”
“Let me rephrase. What you’re saying is… I have a totallyjustifiableexcuse for not going home and facing my little sister’s wrath? A legit ‘act of God’ intervention?”
“You don’t seem too broken up about this.”
I take a breath and pull another bag from his arms. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m kind of a ‘run from my problems’ kind of girl.”
Walk in on my fiancé with his dick in another woman’s mouth the night before our wedding… run to Las Vegas.
Chance encounter with the stranger I married the year before… run for my apartment.
Possibility of having to own up to all of the above when I see my sister… runanywhere.
He looks at me the same way he did that first night in Vegas. Like he can see everything. And he got it. “Sometimes we all need to take a beat.”
I swallow past the rise of emotion that simple acknowledgment stirs and reach up to brush the remaining snow from his hair. It’s only when my fingers sift into the damp strands that I realize how I’ve stepped into his space like it’s my own.
Our eyes meet, and I get a little lost in them. In the stitch deepening between his brows, temping me to touch. To ask what it is he’s thinking that put it there.
A blink breaks the connection. Stepping back with matching awkward laughs, we load his haul onto the island.
I peek at the bounty. “So, what’s all this?”
Definitely more than takeout.
“I have exactly three eggs in my fridge. When I realized I couldn’t take you home, I hit the little market on the corner while they finished our order.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” And I mean it until he pulls the bottle of champagne out and a not-so-indifferent squeak slips free.
He chuffs a laugh. “It is our anniversary. What kind of fake husband do you take me for?”
The kind who surprises and saves me.
I’m grinning like a fool. “The best.”
* * *
We update Misty and Noel,who are surprisingly still together and significantly less hostile than I think either of us were bracing for. Liam pulls down a couple flutes while I open one takeout container after another, wondering just how much an NHL player actually eats because this looks like half the menu.
The Thai food is fantastic. I eat at the bar, and Liam stands with his back to the counter on the other side. We sip champagne and Google uncontested divorces in Illinois. I check Nevada too, but he’s right. There’s no such thing as a same-day divorce in the US.
It makes the whole situation feel all too real, and my thoughts start circling the consequences drain until Liam snaps his fingers.
“I’ve got an idea,” he says, stacking the empty containers before sorting them into the recycling under his sink. “Since we can’t do anything more about dissolving our marriage tonight, let’s play a game.”
