by Callie Henry
“Sure,” answered Hannah. “But you have to tell me what happened with Todd.”
Nothing had really happened with Todd. Something had happened two years ago, and Todd knew about it. And frankly, Liam didn’t feel like getting into it with Hannah. Not right now. Not when he was just getting to know her.
“Later, okay? Tell me more about you and Shakespeare.”
“Okay. Like what?”
“Like when you’re going to let me take you out on a date to one of the festival plays in Ashland. It’s only twenty minutes from my house. We could—”
She stopped walking on the garden path, her brown eyes wide as she stared up at him. “Are you serious?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? And after the play, let’s have dinner so you can explain everything that I missed.”
One thing about repeating sophomore year in high school was that Liam had attended the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, OSF, in Ashland two years in a row. He’d seen Much Ado about Nothing two years ago and The Taming of the Shrew last year. He’d even worked at the festival for a week over spring break, taking tickets. And even though he hadn’t understood everything the actors were saying, he’d gotten the gist of the plays and ended up enjoying them.
Hannah was still staring up at him, unsmiling, an inscrutable expression on her face. “I guess I wouldn’t mind seeing a play…with a friend.”
“Hmm,” he hummed. “Methinks she missed the part where I said date.”
Her lips twitched. “I didn’t miss it. I just don’t think—”
“Please don’t interrupt me,” he said. “I’m about to have a very deep conversation with myself.”
He heard her laugh softly as he ducked under a weeping willow. The massive tree was so dense he couldn’t see her, but he grinned when she parted the pendulous branches and stepped into the cool, dim cavern with him.
He had one hand on his hip and another clutched his chin as he leaned against the trunk of the willow tree, looking over at her.
“Mayhap she doesn’t like you,” he said in a thick British accent.
He switched positions quickly, putting both hands on his hips and frowning at the tree trunk. “Not like me? Inconceivable!”
His hands went back to his hip and chin. “Dost thou think the lady absurd?”
He looked over at her, raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. “Nay.”
She giggled quietly, and with her defenses lowered, she was so pretty, she took his breath away. He had to force himself to keep playing his role.
“Is she heartbroken?” he asked himself.
Liam cocked his head to the side, looking over at her. “Not by a lover. She doesn’t believe in love.”
Her eyebrows creased for a second, giving her away. She believed in love just as much as every other girl he’d ever known. She was just terrified of it.
“Is she fair?” he asked himself softly, taking a step toward her.
Hannah took a deep breath, staring at him, hope and fear warring in her eyes. Her cheeks flushed as he stared back at her, her hands dropping to the hem of her cocktail dress, which she smoothed nervously.
“Aye,” he said, his voice low and soft under the half-light of the setting sun filtering through the willow branches. “Very fair. Very beautiful.”
She gasped softly. So softly, Liam almost missed it, but oh, how awesome that he didn’t.
“Tell me how she’s fair,” he said, taking two more steps closer. “Her hair is the color of coffee and her eyes are dark and deep. Her”—he looked meaningfully at her chest and sighed with admiration—“form is soft and inviting, and the touch of her hand divine. Yet one room in my lady’s house steals my peace, disrupts my thoughts, distracts my—”
Her lips parted, and she started to whisper, “Which par—”
“It’s very rude to interrupt a private conversation,” he told her quickly, closing whatever distance was left between them. Now standing toe-to-toe, only a breath could have fit between his chest and hers.
“Were you going to ask which part of her is so distracting?”
She nodded slowly, holding her breath as she stared up at him.
He dropped the accent, reaching up to cup her cheeks, his eyes searching hers. “I have no choice but to show you.”
He leaned slightly closer to her. A tiny whimper escaped from her throat as he bent his head, closing the distance between her face and his.
“Here,” he whispered, dropping his lips to hers.
CHAPTER 3
Liam
When Liam first ducked under the willow tree, it was mostly to conceal the disappointment he’d felt when Hannah had dropped his hand and called him a friend, but he could see her loosening up as he continued his silly, pseudo-Shakespearean soliloquy, so he’d kept on going.
And though stealing a kiss from her hadn’t been his goal when he started, as her face grew softer and her eyes dilated to almost black, he couldn’t help himself.
Her lips were soft and slightly parted as he brushed them with his, his thumb lightly stroking her cheek as she sighed into his mouth.
As he drew back, her eyes opened slowly and her lips turned up in a surprised smile.
“So distracting,” he murmured, staring at her pretty face.
The flush in her cheeks deepened as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “I didn’t expect that.”
“I didn’t plan it.”
She bit her bottom lip, and it took every ounce of willpower in his seventeen-year-old body not to kiss her again.
“Things like this don’t happen to me,” she whispered. “Like, ever.”
“Me neither,” he confessed.
She scoffed. “You’re a hot swimmer. I highly doubt that.”
He flexed his pecs and grinned at her. “You think I’m hot?”
Her already-flushed cheeks deepened to crimson, and she looked down at the ground, mumbling. “Oh, God. Shoot me now.”
“Hannah,” he said, chuckling softly when she looked up at him with a huge wince. “I wasn’t kidding before. I think you’re beautiful.”
She didn’t say anything—just stared at him, her brown eyes uncertain but pleased.
“Okay,” he said, dropping his hands from her warm face but grabbing her hand so he could keep touching her. “I guess we should actually attend the reception, since Bree’s your sister and all.”
Her face relaxed into a grin. “If we don’t, she’ll think you abducted me.”
“That’s not such a bad idea,” he joked.
Hannah laughed, pulling him toward the edge of the willow branches, and the sound of her laughter was so awesome, Liam had to physically restrain himself from drawing her back into the quiet darkness beneath the boughs and kissing her again.
His heart was slowing down now, but he was so aware of it—of the way it had swelled and hammered when he’d kissed her. He’d only known her for an hour or so…how had she gotten under his skin so fast?
Because she was pretty? Sure, that was a part of it, but not enough for him to make a move on her so quickly.
Because they were at a wedding? Yeah, that was part of it too. Rules—especially rules for romance—were relaxed at weddings.
But it was more than that, he realized, as they walked side by side down the tiki-torch-lit path. It was because she felt hopeless about love, and Liam knew what it was to feel hopeless about life, and he didn’t want her to feel that way.
He glanced at her dark hair, the way it fanned out over her shoulders, and it occurred to him that while she projected hopelessness in order to protect herself, she really wasn’t hopeless. Not really. Not deep down inside, where it mattered. She said she didn’t believe in true love, but he saw the way she cried at the wedding, the way she looked at Todd and Bree in the receiving line, the way she let him hold her hand and kiss her under the weeping willow. She was scared—hell, terrified—of love. She had a right to her fears, after the way her father had treated his first wife and her half-sister. But
hopeless? No. She wasn’t. She just wished she was.
And all Liam wanted to do was prove to her that she didn’t need to be so scared.
It was dark as they walked hand in hand up the garden pathway toward the big white tent covered in white twinkle lights.
“So, date,” he said, “how are you at dancing?”
“Not great,” she answered glumly.
“If I lead, will you follow?”
“Maybe,” she answered, “but there’s just as good a chance I’ll step on your toes.”
“My toes are pretty tough,” he reassured her.
“Are you a good dancer?” she asked.
No, he thought, but it’s such a nice excuse to have you in my arms.
“I guess.”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
He stopped walking and gave her a look. “You hold on to someone and sway. It’s not that hard, Hannah Banana.”
“Hannah…Banana? Banana!” She pursed her lips and shook her head at him. “Oh no. That’s not going to stick. Absolutely not.”
“It’s either that or Mina.”
“Why ‘Mina’?”
“From Giacomina,” he said. “All the guys on the swim team have nicknames. I’m into them right now.”
“What’s yours?” she challenged.
“Let me call you Mina.”
“Mina.” She rolled her eyes, but a grin wasn’t far behind, and she looked super cute as she bit her bottom lip, considering the nickname. “Okay, fine. You can call me Mina. Now, tell me your nickname. Is it Lee?”
“Please, no,” he groaned. “I feel like a first grader when someone calls me that.”
“Well, no one would mistake you for one.” She gave him a saucy look, flicking her eyes to his broad chest, then back up to his face.
“Do that again and I’ll drag you back to the willow tree.”
She giggled, and it sounded like music in his ears. “Okay. Not Lee. Cal? From Callaghan?”
He took a deep breath. “Otter.”
“Otter?” she exclaimed, giggling harder.
“Otter. Like the superfast swimming mammal.”
“Swimming rodent.”
“You love giving me crap!” He laughed, shaking his head. “The guys love saying things like ‘We otter let Otter go first’ or ‘You otter bring a hot date tonight, Otter.’ It’s ridiculous. You’re not going to call me that, are you?”
“I might,” she teased.
“You don’t like Liam?”
Her kissable lips tilted up in a lovely smile. “I like Liam very much.”
And there is was again—that feeling of his heart swelling and hammering from the sweetness of her words.
“Hey, you know what?” he asked. “You didn’t let me finish my pitch before, when I asked you to go on a date with me.”
She sighed, her eyes losing a little brightness and her smile dimming as she turned away to look at the reception guests on the dance floor. He tilted his head to see her better, and though he didn’t know her well enough to read her expression with accuracy, he saw wariness as her eyebrows knitted together. But when she sucked her lower lip into her mouth, he perceived a little bit of longing too, which made him press his advantage.
“Didn’t you wonder how I knew all that Shakespeare stuff?” he asked.
“Yes, actually,” she said, looking surprised by his question. “Come to think of it, I did wonder, but then you distracted me.”
He grinned. “Good distraction, right?”
She rolled her eyes, but her lips tilted up a little, which made him happy. “You were saying?”
“The OSF is close to my house, soif you’d like to go with me sometime—as a date—I might even be able to take you backstage. I’m sure Julia would give us a tour of the Allen Elizabethan Theatre.”
“Julia?” said Hannah, raising an eyebrow.
He saw it in her eyes, the way she was mentally backing away from him at the mere mention of another woman. Is that how she saw all men? As players? As someone who’d hurt her and cheat on her if she let her guard down? He couldn’t help the way his feelings for her surged as he watched her—how much he wanted to be the person to prove to her that she could give her heart to someone who would keep it safe.
“Julia is my mom’s friend who works in group sales, is married, and has two kids.” He pulled Hannah’s hand behind his back, holding it hostage and drawing her closer until her chest pressed against his. “And to be clear? I wouldn’t ask you out if I was seeing someone else. I don’t do that. I’m not with anyone right now, Hannah…except you.”
She flinched, and her face went utterly blank, except for her eyes, which looked worried and uncomfortable.
“You’re not with me,” she said softly, loosening her hand from his grasp and stepping away from him.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I have to use the ladies’ room. I’ll find you in a little bit, okay?”
She turned and started walking away while he babbled incoherently at her back: “Wait. Hannah! No, I didn’t…I just—I just meant…Crap!”
He stopped talking when she was out of sight.
Dang it, Liam! Why do you have to be so freaking intense?
Probably because it bothered him that she kept trying to friend-zone him when he didn’t feel friendly toward her and pretty much hadn’t from the moment he’d laid eyes on her.
There were some girls he met—especially the shallow, self-absorbed ones—who turned him off the moment he met them. Most of the popular girls at his high school thought he was trouble, and even after he’d straightened himself out, they didn’t give him a chance. Not really. They’d fool around with him at a party—there was never a shortage of popular girls who wanted to make out with a bad boy—but on Monday morning, they’d act like they’d been too drunk to remember kissing him. And it sort of sucked, because Liam Callahan was one of those guys who quietly longed for a girlfriend, even though his reputation had pegged him inaccurately as a player.
He wanted to date someone. He wanted to leave a party with her on Saturday night and hold her hand when he walked into school on Monday morning. He wanted to be the first person she texted when she was happy or upset about something. He wanted to invite her over for dinner with his mom. He wanted to introduce her to his friends.
You guys, this is my girlfriend.
He’d imagined saying those words about a thousand times, but he’d never had the chance to say them, and it bothered him. A lot.
But tonight? Meeting Hannah? Somehow it felt like maybe what he wanted was actually, finally, possible. When Hannah looked up at him with those huge, vulnerable, dark-brown eyes, he felt idiotically hopeful.
“Damn it,” he growled softly, frustrated that he’d pushed her too hard.
Maybe he was being pushy, but he liked her, and for all he knew, she was driving back up to Brookings in the morning. He wanted her to say yes to a date—his heart needed to know that he’d see her again.
Catching sight of the open bar, he walked over and was about to order a stiff drink when he heard Coach G’s voice in his head: Your body’s your temple. Treat it right.
“What can I get you?” asked the bartender.
“Ginger ale, please.”
He hated it that his eyes gravitated toward the direction where Hannah had beelined in search of the bathroom. Would she come back? Or would she avoid him for the rest of the evening?
Be cool, Liam. Be way cooler.
Liam stalked out of the tent, back into the darkness, wondering when and if he’d see Hannah again.
***
Hannah
As she walked to the bathroom, Hannah rubbed her arms, feeling uncharacteristically cold, and tried to get her riot of emotions under control.
She liked Liam.
No, she hadn’t known him for very long, but she liked him.
A lot.
She liked the way he’d sat next to her at the ceremony, offering her his handkerchief and t
easing her out of tears. She liked their easy banter and the way her hand felt small in his because Hannah never felt small.
But she didn’t like the way her heart had started free-falling the second she met him. She didn’t like the way he made her hope and wonder and wish. She didn’t like the way she was risking her heart just by holding his hand in the dusky light as they walked around the beautiful gardens at I Tri Merli. She didn’t like the way he made her long for things that would only hurt her in the long run.
Staring at herself in the mirror of the small powder room on the second floor of the vineyard tasting room, she had a feeling she wasn’t supposed to be up here. Restrooms for the guests were clearly marked on the ground floor, but she needed a quiet moment to figure out what the heck was going on and give herself a stern talking-to, so she’d poked around a bit until she found this quiet room at the end of a dimly lit corridor. She sat on a small, fussy stool at a vanity table, probably meant for brides checking their faces before heading downstairs to say “I do.”
For a moment she imagined herself in a white veil with her brown hair falling in waves down her back, but the fantasy only lasted for a moment before she grimaced at her reflection. She wouldn’t look tiny and perfect like Bree. She’d look like a big fat marshmallow.
“Get real, Hannah,” she said to her reflection. “Stop wanting things you can’t have.”
From the moment she’d locked eyes with Liam Callahan, she’d been throwing caution to the wind, and while a stolen kiss could be forgiven at an event as romantic as a wedding, Hannah wasn’t behaving like herself, which bothered her most of all. She didn’t hold hands with people she didn’t know or kiss strange boys under weeping willows. She was more careful and practical than that. And yet every time she turned around, there he was, offering her a teasing smile or looking at her like she wasn’t size-sixteen Hannah Giacomina. And she had to admit…it felt a little bit awesome.
