All of Me: Liam & Sophie

by Callie Harper

  The realtor picked up and as soon as I mentioned the property she broke into effusive praise. The space was historic. It was a charmer. It had an ocean view. It was perfect for whatever I had in mind! Even I knew a hard sell when I heard it, and I instantly sensed that there had to be something horribly wrong with the property. Maybe it was built on a sinking swamp, or an Indian burial ground. But I agreed to meet her the next day at ten a.m. so she could show me around. Maybe it was time for me to make my own decision, even if it was a bad one.

  A project sounded like just what I needed. Something to throw myself into. I needed a distraction. I could already feel myself unraveling with too much time on my hands. I wasn’t good at sitting around idle.

  I’d already started seeing things. Specific things, like Liam driving a truck. And looking damn fine as he did it, too. I’d like to sit next to him as he drove his truck, like I did that summer we were together. He’d had an old truck, no bucket seats to keep us apart, and I used to sit right next to him pressed along his side. We couldn’t stand being apart. Even the shortest amount of time or the smallest distance seemed like too much.

  That had been crazy. That kind of fierce, intense love didn’t last. It was a good thing I’d walked away when I did and pulled the plug on it. It would have been far worse for it to die slowly. Or what if it had gone up in flames? What if he’d come to New York and fallen in love with one of my roommates? I might have come home and found them together and then had that image burned into my brain forever.

  Shaking my head, I started up the stairs to my room. Yes, I needed to get myself occupied. What I needed was to take on a project, ideally an impossibly big one that would absorb all my time and thought. Otherwise, I’d think way too much about Liam.

  4

  Liam

  Thursday I got a call from a guy I knew who ran fire inspections. He had a good gig, checking out commercial properties and deciding what was and wasn’t up to code. He was stretched thin tomorrow, supposed to be in two different places at the same time, and he wanted to know if I could help him out.

  Of course I said I would. It made sense to have my finger in that pot, too. You never knew when you might get injured. Work as a firefighter tended toward long stretches of not much punctuated by medical emergencies and false alarms. But every now and then, shit went down. It was good to have fallback options like carpentry and inspections. And I knew the fire code like the back of my hand.

  Before the end of my shift at the stationhouse, I looked up the property I was supposed to inspect the next day. It gave the guys and I a laugh. It was a historic building, one of many on Naugatuck. The historical preservation society had major bees in their bonnets and cared a hell of a lot more about bullshit like faithfulness to the original architectural intent than they did about whether or not a building was a death trap. The fact that we’d learned a lot about fire safety in the last 250 years didn’t seem to matter much to them.

  The building in question dated back to 1789, or at least the foundation and one of the exterior walls. Which meant that any prospective owners were fucked. You couldn’t do a damn thing to alter historic buildings in general, and if you went back before the 1800s you may as well just hand over your wallet and tie your hands behind your back for good measure. New owners would never get approval from the Naugatuck Historical Society to update the building, but without major upgrades they’d never meet current fire codes and get approval from the city to operate a business. That’s why the building had sat vacant for the past several years. The former owners had been able to grandfather themselves in using old codes, enabling them to operate legally in non-compliance. Not any more, though. Whoever was stupid enough to be looking at this storefront had another thing coming.

  I’d feel like a bastard walking in with my strict ultimatums if I hadn’t seen fires up close wreaking complete havoc. As a young kid I’d always thought my firefighter dad was over-reacting, making too big a deal out of fire safety. But then I’d had my own up close and personal experience with fire, and let me tell you once was all it took to put the fear of God in me for the rest of my life. Out on the water with my three friends, all of us dumb teenagers, we’d had no idea that a boat in the middle of the ocean could go up in flames.

  But engines could catch fire even in the midst of a sudden storm. That’s what had burned Ian. Chase had gone overboard, knocked unconscious by a beam, and I’d made a split-second decision. Down I’d gone after Chase, hauling him up and keeping him alive. But Jax hadn’t been able to help Ian, and now Ian had a lifetime of suffering because of it.

  I couldn’t change the past, but I could do my part to prevent future catastrophe. Specifically, I could read this new prospective buyer the riot act. He was probably some billionaire who thought he could do whatever he wanted, no respect for any laws. The elements be damned! What were fire codes when you were made of money? I’d set him straight.

  I left my shift at eight a.m., took a nap for a few hours at home, showered and headed to my noon inspection. It wouldn’t take long, I was sure. The place would be crawling with problems no new owner could possibly solve.

  The realtor must have already arrived, because the door was open. I turned the knob, walked in and then stood stock still. What. The. Fuck.

  Sophie Douglas stood there in the middle of the room. She wore a simple white sundress and I almost thought she was a ghost or a figment of my imagination she looked so ethereally gorgeous. But then she turned, looked at me and dropped her bag hard on the floor with a bang. An apple rolled out of it, wobbling slowly across the planks like it was trying to escape but wasn’t sure which way to exit.

  “Oh, hello!” The third person in the room called out, making no difference to either Sophie or me. “Are you the inspector? I’m Marion Markenson with the realty group. I don’t believe we’ve met.” She inserted herself in front of me, gold jewelry snaking all around her wrists and neck.

  “’lo,” I muttered, shaking the hand she extended.

  “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she prompted.

  “Liam,” Sophie whispered from behind her. So it was Sophie, not her twin, not a figment of my imagination. Sophie Douglas was standing in front of me in a store in Naugatuck. Or at least in the same room as me, though behind the realtor lady who was now standing in front of her.

  “What’s that?” the realtor turned.

  “Liam.” I cleared my throat. “I’m Liam Connolly.”

  “You’re doing inspections?” Sophie asked. She spoke quietly, as if she were stunned. I just nodded.

  “Well, we are so glad you made some time in your busy schedule to swing on by here this morning. Or I guess it’s afternoon, isn’t it?” The realtor laughed, clearly thinking she was buttering me up. But my hands felt numb and I didn’t think I could discuss much at the moment, let alone perform a fire code inspection.

  “’Scuse me,” I muttered, taking the phone out of the pocket of my jeans and using it as an excuse to step out of the building for a minute. “Be right back.”

  “Of course!” the realtor called after me. I stepped out into the fresh air and hung a right around the side of the building where I leaned against the bricks. What. The. Fuck. What was Sophie doing back on Naugatuck? Maybe that actually had been her I’d seen in the grocery store parking lot the other day.

  Damn, she looked beautiful. She wore her hair pulled back, simple and neat, and she held herself with such elegant grace. But of course she looked good. She’d studied elegance, I reminded myself, bought and paid for it with years of dance instruction. She’d cultivated and crafted that look. I’d fallen for it hard seven years ago and look where it had gotten me. She’d ditched my ass and never looked back.

  So now she’d decided to return, had she? Who knew how long she’d been back on Naugatuck, and she hadn’t even bothered to get in touch. Like it was no big deal if she waltzed back here. And it seemed as if she had some sort of half-assed plan to buy this crumbling building. That couldn
’t happen, for a whole bunch of reasons. I was sure she had better ways to throw away her trust fund money.

  Resolute and outwardly composed, I tucked my phone into my jeans and headed back into the store. This time I was prepared. And I was determined to wrap things up quick.

  “So you need this place inspected for a possible sale?” I pulled the brim of my baseball cap down low, all the better to make no eye contact. Ballpoint pen out, clipboard at the ready, I started making my way into the back of the store.

  “We’re so excited to have a local interested in snapping up this incredible property!” The realtor twittered along behind me like an eager bird. I shook my head almost imperceptibly at her use of the word “local.” “Local” described year-rounders, the actual working people of the island who took care of all the wealthy idiots who descended during fair weather months. Sophie was as local as the pope was Jewish.

  “I hate seeing any storefronts in our jewel of a downtown lie vacant, don’t you agree, Liam? It’s such a shame with all the revenue stores can generate for the town. And Sophie here wants to open a professional ballet academy!”

  “Just a dance school,” Sophie murmured, lingering behind in the doorway to the back room. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to know the details. It killed me to even be in the same room as her.

  Acting on a hunch, I headed directly over to the fuse box. I figured it would be the best way to get the inspection over with as soon as possible. And look: jackpot. “Right here, that’s your main problem.” I pointed with my pen at the box. The building had knob and tube wiring. That had gone out of style around 1930. There wasn’t even a line item on my checklist for it. I had to write it down in the “other” section.

  “Oh!” the realtor exclaimed, peering into the box. “That’s historic!” Leave it to a realtor to try to put a positive spin on everything.

  “The whole place needs to be torn apart and rewired.” I turned my attention to the inspection sheet, checking off a long line of “nos” all the way down.

  “Well, I’m sure something can be worked out.” The realtor laughed nervously. “How’s the rest of it look?”

  I kept my eyes on the clipboard as I read off of it, tapping each infraction with my pen. “No illuminated exit signs, blocked egress in back, no fire doors.” I ripped off the realtor’s copy and handed it to her. “You can read the rest.” I strode toward the front exit. I needed to get the hell out of there.

  “Who can I talk to about this?” That was Sophie’s voice, calling after me.

  “I’m the end of the road,” I answered without turning around. “There’s not enough money in the world to buy your way out of this problem.”

  “I wasn’t talking about buying my way out of this problem.” She sounded mad. I paused at the door.

  “I know some guys who can come take a look at the place,” the realtor interjected nervously, trying to calm down Sophie. “They’ll give you a fair price.”

  “That’s not the problem.” I turned around to explain it in plain terms. “The problem is this is a historic building. You’re not going to be allowed to make the upgrades this place needs so it won’t be a death trap.”

  “Is that right?” Anger flashed in Sophie’s eyes as she stared back at me, defiant.

  “That’s right.” Why was she acting like I was being a jerk? She was the one about to make a huge mistake. I was helping her out. “Did you not know this is a historic building?”

  “Of course I know that!” Her face was getting flushed. She gestured with a hand in the air like I remembered she used to do when she got upset. “I’m not stupid. I’ve already talked with the historical society.”

  “Oh, right.” I nodded, remembering her socialite mother. She’d probably chaired the historical society’s annual fundraiser and all Sophie had to do was make a few calls. “You’re using your mother’s connections.”

  “What did you say? Using my mother’s connections?” She took a step forward like she was going to slug me, fury coursing through every inch of her body. She was close to me now, close enough to reach out and touch, grab, and shake some sense into her. Or kiss her senseless, leaning her back and devouring her until she started panting, breathless.

  “I’m going to head out.” I turned, opened the door and exited the building before my thoughts could bleed into reality.

  “I’m buying this store,” she called after me.

  “That’s a mistake,” I shouted back as I walked away.

  “Yeah, well, it’s my mistake to make.”

  I climbed into my truck, revved the engine and pealed out a little too fast. Adrenaline coursed through my limbs and I had to force myself to slow it down, then stop at a crosswalk while an elderly woman walked along with assistance.

  What the hell was Sophie doing back on Naugatuck? The girl had all the money in the world and from what I’d heard, she owned the world of ballet. She could go anywhere. Why wasn’t she living it up in New York City or summering on some island off the coast of France?

  And what was this about opening a dance school? As if she might be considering moving here permanently? That was a bad idea. That wouldn’t work at all. Anyway, it wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t buy that property. It was a money pit of epic proportions. And even if she did somehow pull off opening up a school, there was no way she’d actually manage it and teach there. Leaving stardom behind at the pinnacle of her career to hole up in some tiny tourist town teaching kids how to plié? I didn’t see that happening.

  Unless she’d gotten injured. The thought gave me pause. Sometimes professional athletes got cut down in their prime, suddenly struck with a career-ending injury no surgeon could mend. Was Sophie in pain? Devastated and trying to piece her life back together?

  Well so fucking what, I told myself, kicking my truck back into gear. She’d had the world handed to her on a silver platter. A little humility would probably do her good, give her a taste of how the other 99 percent lived. Only she never would get it, not really. The trust fund she laid her head down on every night buffered her from ever experiencing real life, the way the rest of us did.

  Fuck. Before the inspection I’d been looking forward to my day off. I had nothing planned, no commitments, my favorite kind of day. Now I wished I was booked solid, or at least at the stationhouse where I’d be so busy it wouldn’t fucking matter who’d walked back into my life unannounced.

  Sitting in stop-and-go traffic, my mind wandered. Sophie looked good. Better than I remembered. She still had that rosy bloom in her cheeks, though the color had drained right out of her when she’d first seen me. She’d looked exactly like I’d felt, like a ton of bricks had fallen down out of the sky onto both of our heads.

  I headed home. I went for a run at a faster pace and for a longer distance than usual. I made some calls, filling the rest of my afternoon and evening with people to see and places to go. Even on a random Wednesday, during the summer there were always multiple parties from which to choose. I headed out to pick up a friend, then drove out to see a hot girl I’d met last week and her hot friend. We all went out to a beach where other friends were waiting, the girls’ friends, my friends.

  The girl, whose name might have been Melissa, asked me to rub lotion on her back. I did it with practiced movements, skimming over her lovely skin slow and sensual. She moaned a little and leaned back into me, showing me exactly how much she enjoyed me touching her. And giving me a clear idea of how much more she wanted me to touch.

  She was pretty, ready and willing. She had an easy smile and seemed to have no complexity at all, no backstory of pain, no dark pull at my heartstrings. She was perfect. I should have taken full advantage, finding somewhere for the two of us to indulge in carnal pleasures.

  Instead I found myself wandering off and having a chat with a guy I knew who’d just come in from checking his lobster traps. Little known fact: every Massachusetts residence was allowed a non-commercial fishing license to own and operate a maximum of te
n lobster traps. He had a sweet 17 ft. whaler, nothing fancy, perfect for tooling around on days off and he’d caught himself two fat lobsters he and his wife could enjoy. I might have to look into getting a boat like that one day. But the honest truth of it was I still hadn’t 100 percent regained my taste for boating. Almost dying in a freak storm could do that to you.

  He offered me a beer and we sat at the back of his truck for a few minutes, shooting the shit. Then Melissa came over wearing nothing but a string bikini on the windswept beach. In the late afternoon, it couldn’t be much more than high of 65 degrees. The girl needed a jacket.

  “Aren’t you coming back?” she pouted, dusting sand along the asphalt of the parking lot with her toe.

  “In a few minutes,” I assured her with a smile, then went back to drinking my beer. She flounced around, giving her hips an exaggerated sway as she stalked back to the blanket alone.

  “That is a fine looking woman,” my buddy observed, watching her go much more attentively than I was.

  “You’re welcome to her,” I offered.

  “Don’t think the wife would appreciate that much.” He laughed. “Anyway, she’s making potato salad and coleslaw tonight to go with the lobster.” He patted his ample stomach. “I’m not passing that up.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “But I’m an old married man,” he teased, though I knew at the most he was maybe five years older than me. “I’m supposed to be boring. What are you doing passing that up?” He gestured in the direction of Little Miss Pouty.

  “Yeah.” I drained my beer and nodded. “I’ll go see about that.”

  “You make it sound like a job, man.” He laughed and folded up the back on his truck bed.

  “Sometimes it feels like it,” I admitted. Heading home to a nice home-cooked meal with a woman who loved me? That sounded like a pretty good alternative.