She didn't want to leave.
TEN
Liam
He was cooking a woman dinner.
He hadn't - as far back as when he finally moved out on his own - cooked anyone dinner save for himself.
He rarely gave it much thought, simply knowing what he liked personally, tossing a bunch of that together, and calling it a meal.
Now, not only did he have someone else to feed, but he had something to prove. That vegetables could be good. Not just healthy, but tasty.
He walked down the aisles of the market, considering the options with an intensity he had never needed to do before.
"Boy, cooking ain't rocket science," Maude's voice said at his side, making his head swivel over his shoulder.
"She doesn't even like carrots," he told her, shaking his head a bit helplessly.
"Know what I find?" she asked, pausing, waiting for him to beg for it.
"What's that?"
"A little oil and a lot of garlic makes almost anything palatable. Though, of course, if you are thinking about kissing tonight, maybe try some balsamic reduction instead."
With that, she moved away, leaving him watching her back, wondering a bit - for possibly the first time - if she was actually, maybe, possibly a tad bit psychic after all.
He snagged the vegetables, meat, drinks, and balsamic glaze - as suggested - and made his way back to his apartment to get to work.
He found as he chopped and prepared that it mattered a lot more. That she liked it, as odd as that was.
His apartment was spotless from his speed-cleaning earlier.
He'd even set an extra blanket on the foot of the bed in case she was one of those women who were always cold.
He wanted her to be comfortable, he realized.
It didn't matter how many times Eric had been around, how many times he'd brought Lena with him. It never occurred to him to scrub, to shuffle his books into predictable places.
But with Riley on her way, he wanted everything to be right.
He wanted her to feel, well, at home.
It was an asinine goal, seeing as she wasn't going to be around long enough to actually settle in.
But he wanted it nonetheless.
Normally, he wasn't one to sit around and think about sex that was supposed to be casual since, well, he liked casual.
But he didn't seem to want it to be casual.
He didn't know the woman that well, at least compared to how well he knew all the people in town, having been around them his entire life.
But he knew she was something unique, someone he wanted to get to know better. As well as possible, in fact.
He found himself oddly fascinated with the highs and lows of her personality, generally being someone even most of the time. He couldn't predict how she might respond to any situation. He never would have called himself someone who liked surprises, but he liked her surprises, liked learning more and more about her through her mood swings, her inability to hold her tongue, mark her tone.
She would leave, eventually, he knew.
He shouldn't have let himself become so drawn in, knowing it was a dead end.
But he figured it was harmless to be interested for the period of time he did get with her.
Why not take all you could out of a situation when it was presented to you?
You never really knew when you would get one again. If you would get one again.
He was choosing not to analyze his attachment too deeply, deciding instead to just go with it, take things as they came, get everything out of this situation while it lasted.
He couldn't help but wonder as he put the meat in the oven to broil if she was enjoying the book he had suggested, what she might have to talk about regarding it while they ate dinner.
He'd never really envisioned that as a possibility - sharing a meal while discussing a good book.
It always seemed like a pipe dream, like something completely unattainable.
But he was about to have it.
"So, you are going to have a lady caller," Eric's voice called, making Liam turn to find him standing in the doorway to the bookstore, leaning against the jam, brow quirked up, smile devilish.
"Maude gets around fast," Liam said instead of answering.
"She's practically bouncing around, all proud of herself."
"Right. Because she did all the work," Liam rumbled, turning away from his brother to move the vegetables around the skillet, pretending it required his utmost attention.
"Come on," Eric encouraged. "Out with it."
"Out with what?"
"Oh, fuck off. You're in here cooking for a woman in an apartment that still reeks of bleach and lemon cleaner..."
"Your observations kills are truly other-worldly. You sure you're not psychic?"
"That prick thing doesn't work with me, bro. So put down the defenses. Talk to me."
"When did you become Dr. Phil?"
"Listen, I get it. This is uncharted territory. No one understands that any better than I do. But I think you are even more out of your depths than I was when Lena came around. So maybe you could use a sounding board. That's all I am saying, man. You need to get some shit out, I'm here."
"She doesn't like carrots," he repeated, finding himself oddly fascinated by that random fact about her.
"Okay..."
"Who doesn't like carrots?"
"Off the top of my head... every single child on the planet. Those freaks on TV who only eat like wall plaster and shit..."
"So she's like a child who eats plaster like on some reality TV show?"
"She's like a person who has likes and dislikes," he corrected, shrugging. "Is it serious?"
"How can it be serious? She's leaving."
"Mmmhmm."
""What?" Liam asked, shooting his brother a look.
"I didn't ask if it was long-term. I asked if it was serious."
"There's no difference."
"Isn't there?" he asked, shrugging. "I think there is. I think some people have life-changing affairs that only last a summer. And others have long-term commitments that aren't quite as life-changing."
"When the fuck did you become a philosopher?"
Eric snorted at that. "I get it," he told him, moving into the room, going into the cupboards for two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, pouring two fingers of amber liquid into each.
"Get what?" Liam asked, still prickly, defensive, even as he took the glass, sucking down the contents.
"Why you're so into her. She's the dream girl, right? Not just pretty, but interesting, well-read, unpredictable."
"I like predictable," Liam insisted.
"Your life is literally as predictable as one can get. You crave something in it that isn't. Something that you can't control. A force of nature. And from what I have heard of and seen of her, she is that. She's her own force of nature, ripping your metaphorical house off its foundations."
"You know what a metaphor is?" Liam asked, deflecting.
"Fuck off, dick," Eric said, snorting. "I'm not an idiot. Compared to you, maybe I look like I have the intelligence of a slug, but that's only because you are a genius. Besides, have you noticed that you have yet to contradict me? All you're doing is trying to change the subject, or curve the conversation toward more comfortable things. What's going on, Liam?"
Liam turned away, watching the vegetables sizzle, wondering if he should add more reduction or not.
"I like her," he admitted, hesitantly.
"More than for just a lay."
"Yes," he agreed unequivocally.
He'd had her already.
And whereas that may have normally been enough for him, just enough to last him another couple of months, he had found it hard not to throw her on that bed in her room at the inn and have her again. He was already thinking about getting her into his bed after dinner.
"But you're trying not to care too much because she's not staying."
"Something like that," he agreed, wanting so badly to shut
the conversation down, never having been someone who was comfortable talking about his feelings, especially in detail.
And this was worse than anything else because it wasn't simply about his feelings toward the town or certain political policies or things going on in the world around them.
This was about a person.
This was, at its core, a matter of the heart.
And as someone who had always been a bit of a proud tin man, he didn't like the idea of admitting he had a heart, even if it was rusty and hardened. He certainly didn't want anyone to know that he could feel it beating a bit, just a hint of a real heartbeat, but there, something real, something new, something both exciting and terrifying at the same time. Something that he didn't know how to feel about, what to think about.
So he certainly didn't want to talk about it.
Seeing as he was someone who liked to know what he was talking about when he did so.
"How is she feeling about it?" Eric asked, rolling his eyes when Liam's gaze fell. "You haven't talked about it at all, huh?"
"Things just... became something a few hours ago. I hardly think it is time to have a 'where is this going' conversation. In fact, I don't think those conversations are ever appropriate. If you don't already know, then that is likely all the answer you need."
"Fair enough," Eric allowed. "Do you even know how long she plans on staying?"
"It hasn't come up, I guess. She works on her laptop. So she can do that anywhere."
"What does she do?"
Liam's head shot over to his brother, mouth falling open a bit as he realized he didn't know. She'd said she worked with books, but hadn't elaborated on that.
"Shit. You don't know? Seriously? Are you even sure her name is actually Riley?"
"Fuck off. Don't you have somewhere to be?"
"Better than teasing my kid brother on his first real-life girlfriend? Nope."
"You have a woman of your own at home."
"She moved on from baby name books to color swatches. I am enjoying an excuse not to look at fifty different shades of gray that all look exactly the same."
"She probably has dessert waiting for you," Liam insisted, wanting him gone, wanting to be able to go back to actively not thinking on the subject of Riley and what they were or weren't and how long they had - or didn't.
"Probably," he agreed, tucking his hands into his pockets, something he had always done as a kid right before saying or doing something Liam knew he wouldn't like. "I hear your girl has a sweet tooth. Maybe I can drop by later and..."
"No."
"I can just let myself in and..."
"No."
To that, Eric's smile went big. Happy even. "You two kids have fun, yeah? And, Liam?" he asked, already at the doorway.
"Yeah?"
"Don't overthink it, but maybe...think about this a little bit."
With that, he was gone, leaving Liam alone with his thoughts.
This time, there was no stopping the thoughts from breaking through his usual steel trap of a mind, making him feel jittery and unsure of himself - things that were so foreign he almost misinterpreted them as sickness before calling them what they were.
How could he not know her job?
How didn't he know when she was planning on leaving?
For all the talking they had done, he hadn't gotten concrete details like that.
Though, to be fair to himself, he felt that she was purposely being vague, trying not to give too many details.
Which seemed a bit at odds with her general devil-may-care personality.
She was the kind of person who threw casual tales about her most embarrassing moments into a conversation about books.
She was refreshingly open about so many things, but avoided talking about others.
Why, he wasn't sure.
But he wanted to find out.
He wanted to get the whole picture.
He knew he shouldn't have.
He knew the inevitable end of things would be easier to deal with if he didn't get to know everything about her, having the sneaking suspicion that he would like all the parts if he was somehow able to enjoy her temper tantrums.
As he turned the flame under the veggies to low to keep warm, checking the meat, then setting the table, setting his copy of The Lost Queen on the edge of it in an attempt to set her at ease, get her excited about the upcoming book conversation that he absolutely planned to have, but also sneak in little questions about her while they did so.
A little covert, a little backhanded even? Maybe. But he had a feeling he wouldn't get any straight answers if he just tossed them at her like normally people might do on a date.
If he tried that, she would likely freak, bristle, storm off.
And he didn't want that.
He wanted her to eat - and enjoy the vegetables - then have a good conversation, then get in his bed, scream out his name while she came another two or three times, and then stay there.
Stay there.
That was the purpose of the blanket, right?
And the extra towel on the rack in the bathroom and the wrapped toothbrush he'd picked up at the market.
So she would stay.
Over.
Another first.
He never had women in his space.
And on the occasion that he ended up at their place, he always left, never slept over, never wanted anyone to get any ideas that it was more than it was.
Casual.
But everything about his cleaning, meal planning and cooking, foresight to have comforts for her - he'd bought her a package of cookies for Christ's sake - should she need them, yeah, it sounded anything but casual.
He was just trying to suck up every bit of her that he could for the short period of time she was around, he assured himself.
It wasn't like, if they liked each other enough, they could commit to book discussions and the occasional sex session should the mood strike like they could if she lived in town.
For whatever short time he had her, that would be all he would ever get.
He just wanted to make sure he took as much as he could, let it sustain him, somehow knowing deeply that he never would find anything akin to it again.
Someone beautiful, interesting, who could quote obscure seventeen-hundreds poems, who could also critique modern bestsellers, who was unpredictable, who kept him on his toes. Someone who challenged him, called him on his shit, wasn't intimidated by him.
That wasn't common.
In fact, in his experience, it was rare.
So it made sense that he wanted as much of it as he could get.
It was nothing more than that.
Mental and physical stimulation.
Or, at least, that was what he was trying to convince himself of, interrupted by the bell out in the bookstore signaling her arrival, and the end of his overthinking for a while.
Taking one last look around his place, he rolled the tension out of his neck, then made his way through the bookstore to let her in.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when he saw her standing there still wearing the hilariously oversized sweat clothes she'd been in back in her room at the inn despite the heat outside.
Then again, she knew from experience that he liked to keep his space cool, and was likely simply planning ahead.
He liked that more than if she had shown up in some slinky dress and heels. He liked that she was so comfortable with herself that she didn't give a damn about her ridiculous pajamas.
Besides, there was nothing more asinine in the world than high heels.
He noticed as he pushed open the door that she had her purse in one hand and her book tucked under her arm.
"Come on, it's hot as balls out here," she declared as soon as he pushed open the door, making him snort. "Oh, it smells good," she added, taking a deep sniff of the air.
"You could try not to sound so surprised."
"Well, it's not like broccoli smells pleasant while it is cooking,
" she shot back, shaking her head at him.
"Well, I didn't make broccoli," he informed her, locking the door, not entirely trusting his brother not to show up.
"What did you make then?"
"You can see when it is on your plate."
He lead her through the bookstore, into his apartment, watching as she moved right over to the table, putting her copy of the book on top of his, making him realize she had read at least another hundred-and-fifty pages since he'd seen her last.
"Okay. Feed me," she demanded, dropping her napkin onto her lap with a flourish.
He was smiling as he turned away to load up their plates.
"I like your hair down," he told her as he put her plate on the table before her, watching as a smile flickered on her face, as the barest bit of pink teased over her cheekbones.
"Thanks. It's more practical to wear it up, but sometimes it gives you a headache."
She didn't have a headache.
She'd worn it down because it was different, because she thought he might like it, because she liked the feeling of being complimented.
Oddly, he realized for possibly the first time in his life, he liked giving compliments. He liked the way she responded, the way her response made him feel.
"Okay," she said when he'd sat down in front of him. "So... what do we have here?"
"Take a deep breath," he encouraged. "They're just vegetables."
"They're taking up half of my plate."
"that is the correct percentage for them to take up."
"What do you gain from lying to me?" she demanded playfully, spearing a piece of asparagus with a grimace. "What is this on it? The liquefied flesh of his comrades?"
A low chuckle moved through Liam at that. "It's balsamic reduction," he assured her. "You'll like it. It's sweet."
"Sweet?" she asked, eyeing him dubiously. "Balsamic isn't sweet. It's tart."
"Technically, I think it is sweet-tart. But when it is reduced, it is mostly sweet. Stop procrastinating and try it already. Do I need to move it all around the air around your head and make airplane noises?"
She attempted to shoot him a glower, but only managed a snort-laugh as she shoved the piece of asparagus into her mouth before she could talk herself out of it.
"Not bad, right?"
What The Heart Learns Page 14
