by Nicole Helm
No matter that a little curl of embarrassment seemed to flush his face hot, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. “Romance sells, Kayla.”
She gave a little wondering laugh. “Mercenary romance. Well, I can’t say I disapprove. Can I see one?”
“Hmm.” He looked around his workshop. “You know, I don’t think I have any finished. I’ve got one in progress.” That he’d put aside to make her bear. Which was not something he needed to tell her.
He went over to his lineup of in-progress works and picked up the spoon. “I’ve only got the spoon part done, but I’ve kind of outlined what I want to do with the top,” he said, handing it to her.
She took the heavy piece of wood that only had the spoon carved out. She ran her colorfully painted fingertips over the lines he’d sketched out.
“My mom had one that was a family heirloom, so I studied up on them when I was a kid. The different symbols mean different things. A lot of them have these little keyholes to represent home and security. Then there’s . . .” He stopped himself. “You don’t want to hear me yammer on about this.”
Her blue eyes met his gaze and she smiled. “Of course I do. It’s so fascinating. What’s the bell for?”
“Marriage.”
She continued to ask him questions about the lovespoons, and eventually she convinced him to show her his website where he had pictures of past works. She exclaimed over everything like it was a revelation, and Liam didn’t know what exactly to do with that.
Dad had always called his woodworking a nice hobby, but as it was mainly decorative, he’d had no interest. And though Liam had been inspired to go into this hobby by his mother’s love for that old lovespoon that had been in her family for generations, she’d never cared much for a hobby that wasn’t about helping people. Aiden, of course, had either ignored his interest or teased him relentlessly for it.
Liam had impressed a few women with his handy skills, but most hadn’t taken an actual interest in how he worked. Kayla asked a million questions, and when she picked a little bird to give her cousin, she’d even asked questions about the type of paint he used.
He’d gotten her set up with the paints and brushes she’d need and surreptitiously watched as she studied the bird from all angles before she chose which color to use first.
A boom of thunder, a bolt of lightning, and then they were plunged into total darkness.
“Well, shit,” Liam muttered, digging his phone out of his pocket and flipping on the flashlight feature. Kayla had done the same and crossed over to the little window that looked over his backyard.
Lightning flashed and the rain came down in hard sheets. Liam stepped next to her and winced a little at the potential damage. A flooded yard and basement. His roof was in good repair, but old, and his gutters hadn’t been cleaned yet this spring.
Crap.
He glanced at Kayla who was staring at the window, her eyes a little wide. Maybe she didn’t care for the dark.
“I have flashlights and candles in the house, but not much out here. We could make a run for it if you want.”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind waiting it out. Always kind of fascinating to watch what nature can do.” She smiled, then glanced up at him. “This was fun even if I didn’t get to start painting.”
“You really think it’s fun?” he asked. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her. It was just he’d never met anyone who’d taken such a keen interest in this thing he loved to do.
“Of course. You’re not so bad to hang out with,” she said, a teasing curve to her mouth, which was just barely illuminated by their phones and the occasional flash of lightning.
She was always pretty as a picture, but there was something almost fairy-ish about her in the odd flickering light. Her red hair seemed redder; her blue eyes seemed to glow. He was tempted to reach out and touch a freckle, just to see if it would fall away like glitter.
A flash of lightning and an almost simultaneous crack of thunder had him jumping back and Kayla squeaking in surprise.
They both laughed a little breathlessly, but Liam didn’t go back to his previous spot next to her at the window. This was all a little too tempting, and regardless of temptation, of actually liking Kayla, Aiden had made his intentions clear, and Liam didn’t need any other awkward, bitter thing between him and his brother.
“I better make sure everything’s unplugged so the electricity doesn’t get overloaded when it comes back on.”
“Oh, I’ll help,” she offered cheerfully. A friendly gesture, and nothing else. An interest in woodworking was not an interest in him, and he’d do well to remember it.
Chapter Seven
As the storm raged on around the little garage, and the power continued to not come back on, Kayla could only sneak little glimpses at Liam as he double-checked to make sure all of his machinery was unplugged.
There’d been a little moment at the window there, almost like . . . She had to be fooling herself thinking for even a second Liam had been looking at her in a considering kind of way. They’d had plenty of interaction in their lives and he’d never looked consideringly at her.
Of course, the Liam Patrick she’d thought she’d known was not this Liam Patrick. Very near artistic, no matter how masculine his materials were. Romantic, even if it was because lovespoons sold.
It wasn’t as if she’d ever thought him hideous. The Patricks were a handsome lot. She’d just always been dazzled by Aiden because he paid attention to her.
Now Liam was paying attention to her and she was dazzled by him, and maybe the problem was not the Patrick men, but Kayla herself. What did it say about her if she was easily swayed into liking one or the other simply because they gave her a few minutes of their time?
She frowned. This whole figuring herself out thing was neither fun nor comfortable, but it was necessary. So maybe she should stop thinking about either Patrick brother as a possible romantic entanglement.
“We got them all,” Liam announced, standing from the crouch he’d been in to check the last outlet.
She turned her phone to him, her light illuminating his face. He held up a hand to shield his eyes.
“Hey, careful where you point that thing. I feel like I’m in an interrogation room.” He grinned. “No, officer, I swear I had nothing to do with the blackout.”
Her stomach swooped, something a little giddy working through her, much against her will. She could order her brain to be sensible and careful, after all, but her body seemed to react of its own volition to Liam. Especially grinning, joking Liam.
She’d had no idea something like that existed, but it was easy to see he relaxed here in his workshop. Maybe he’d even relaxed around her because they’d spent some time together. Or because he’s seen you puke. Well, that too. Maybe, when it all was said and done, Liam was just shy and all those years she’d thought he’d looked at her with disdain he’d just been uncomfortable.
“Well, I think painting may have to wait until another day. Last time the power went out it took them something like ten hours to get it back.”
“Oh, okay.”
“It does look like the rain stopped,” he offered, peering out the window. “I, um, if you want to come inside, I have a book you might like to borrow.”
“A book?”
“It’s about lovespoons,” he said, his gaze still on the window. “The origin and the symbols and all that. If you’re interested, that is.”
“Oh, that sounds great,” she said, trying to stop herself from grinning stupidly. She found the concept of lovespoons fascinating, almost as fascinating as she found the man Liam was turning out to be.
He flicked a glance to her, and in the faint glow of their phones she couldn’t read the expression on his face, but something in her stomach swooped again.
“Okay, let’s go before it starts up again.” He walked over to the garage door and pushed it up and over. The wind howled and the sky had an eerie tint to it, dark clouds making it seem al
most midnight instead of seven or eight o’clock.
Liam pulled the garage door down and locked his padlock. “Don’t think the storm is done yet, do—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of rain pounded toward them and then it was upon them. A hard, relentless downpour soaking through her clothes and hair in a matter of seconds.
“Inside,” Liam yelled above the din, taking her hand and leading her at a jog toward his house.
She followed, a laughter bubbling up from somewhere. Liam’s hand was big and warm and rough, and her flimsy shoes splashed through the mud and puddles of his yard.
He hurried up the porch steps, but for a second Kayla stood in the rain, soaking in the cold downpour, listening to the roaring sounds of droplets on concrete. It smelled like spring, and spring was all about renewal. Rebirth.
Wasn’t that what she was after? A new birth, a new Kayla? Or maybe not so much new as a bright colorful blossom from a brown, dull stalk that had been hiding in the underbrush, but no more.
No more.
“Are you coming?” Liam asked. He’d flipped on his porch light and he was bathed in a faint yellow glow in the middle of this dark world.
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed in the sky. The wind started blowing the rain harder into her face, and she thought she might remember this moment and this feeling for a very long time.
Still, she walked over to the porch and stepped up under the overhang of his house. Water dripped from every part of her body—hair, nose, fingertips. “You better not let me into your house. I’ll drip everywhere.”
“You’re old hat at wearing my clothes at this point. We’ll get you a towel and some dry clothes to change into.” He stepped inside, tugging his shoes off and tossing them onto a rumpled rug in the entryway corner. There was a pair of scuffed work boots already haphazardly on top.
Kayla followed suit, pulling her shoes and socks off and placing them a little more neatly next to his.
“I’ll grab you a towel,” he offered. He crossed his darkened living room quickly, heading to the hallway she knew led to his room. She nearly squeaked when he lifted his shirt up as he rounded the corner, as though making a move to taking it off. She didn’t realize she was leaning to keep a glance of his now bared retreating back until she bumped into the wall.
She righted herself, pressed a wet, chilled hand to her hot cheek. Okay, so if she was operating under New Blossom Law, then maybe she said something about the shirtlessness. And wanting to see it. Maybe she went ahead and kissed him or said something outrageous.
Yes, she would do any or all of those things.
Except when he returned, towel and a bundle of clothes in hand, a camping lantern in the other, she could only manage an odd squeaking noise.
If he noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. He simply put the clothes and lantern down on a little end table and handed her a towel. “Here. Dry yourself off, then help yourself to the bathroom to change. Let me know if you need anything else. Do you want something hot to drink? I think I have hot chocolate mix around here somewhere.”
“You are full of surprises,” she murmured, rubbing the towel over her face and hair.
“Are you insinuating a single man in his early thirties shouldn’t have a chocolate beverage mix in his pantry?”
She couldn’t stop herself from grinning stupidly at him. “Everyone should have a chocolate beverage mix in their pantry, Liam. But few men realize it, I think,” she said as faux seriously as she could manage.
“I’ll have you know, hot chocolate can be very manly,” he returned, crossing his arms over his chest. She remembered suddenly and out of the blue watching him fix a sink in the Gallagher’s kitchen once. She’d been transfixed by his muscled, working arms.
But then Aiden had swept in and told her an outrageous joke and she’d forgotten all about Liam’s arms.
How, she wasn’t quite sure. Maybe teenage girls didn’t understand the appeal of a broad chest and strong forearms and . . .
Okay, so she had to get her head in the game. Ogling only led to embarrassing squeaking.
“Manly hot chocolate. Is that the difference between using jumbo marshmallows and miniature marshmallows?”
He made an odd noise, and it was only that which offered any hint to the way that could be misconstrued. Her face flamed hot and surely bright red, but no matter the embarrassment a giggle escaped her mouth.
Ask him if he’s a jumbo or a mini man himself, some unknown voice in her head whispered, but the thought only made her giggle more and turn what was surely an even brighter shade of red.
“I’m going to go change,” she squeaked, holding the towel somewhat over her face as she grabbed the clothes and scurried down the hall. She got to the door that she hoped she was remembering correctly as the bathroom door. She darted a look over her shoulder and Liam was standing there with the lantern in his hands, illuminating everything around him.
Watching her. Some expression on his face she still couldn’t read. Something that reminded her a little bit of years spent watching him work in her family’s restaurant. Stiff, blank, maybe a little aloof.
But when his gaze met hers, she didn’t think those blue eyes were any of those words. No, there was something warm, something . . . magnetic in his gaze.
Hot. He didn’t break it either. They stood on opposite ends of the hall, staring at each other. Kayla’s heart hammered hard against her rib cage, her pulse a noticeable thud in her throat. What would happen if she forgot about the change of clothes and just walked back down the hall. To him. What if she did all the things this more honest version of herself wanted to do?
“I’ll make that hot chocolate,” he said gruffly, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her in an eerie dark.
She let out a long breath and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. As she peeled off her sopping wet clothes in the dark, she tried to find the courage within herself to do something for once.
* * *
Liam didn’t know what the fuck his problem was. One minute things felt very close to easy. Friendly and joking. He relaxed around her in ways it usually took him months to relax around a person.
At least when he wasn’t looking at her. Relaxed wasn’t quite what he’d felt watching her stand in the rain, her clothes plastered to the subtle curves of her body. Easy was not the reaction his body had felt as she’d held eye contact with him down the hallway, her cheeks faintly flushed as though . . .
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. Yes, he was attracted to her, and maybe she was even attracted to him, but he’d played this game enough in high school to know he didn’t want any part of it.
It seemed as though he and Aiden were always interested in the same women when they were in the same social circles. Liam wasn’t stupid. He knew where any contest ended when it came between him and his brother.
Plenty of women liked the dependable guy well enough, but when the charming, exciting guy came along, it was hard not to want to be part of all that dazzle. Liam couldn’t blame them. Aiden was like the sun, all bright and warm and engaging. People flocked to him.
Liam didn’t want to be that guy. He didn’t want to compete with Aiden, and he’d promised himself a long time ago to stop trying to be something he wasn’t. He would always be dependable, responsible Liam Patrick, not just because he had to be, but because that’s who he wanted to be.
How Kayla Gallagher wanted to make him forget that promise to himself was beyond his ability to reason through.
He pushed it all away. Maybe there’d been a moment. Maybe there hadn’t. It didn’t matter because he wasn’t playing a game. He was a person. She was a person. They liked each other’s company and she had the oddest interest in his wood . . .
Woodworking. Woodworking.
He shook his head to try and get his brain to clatter into functioning in its usual, reasonable by-the-book way. He lit candles and pulled out the
little backpacking stove he’d never actually used because he was always too busy to actually go backpacking.
He went to the sink and filled the little camping pot with water. It would be something of a process without electricity, but it was better than letting his thoughts dwell too much on wet Kayla.
“You don’t make it with milk?”
He turned to face her in the entrance of his kitchen. She wore one of his T-shirts, just a plain navy blue that seemed to make her skin glow. Or maybe that was the candlelight. She had some of his sweatpants on, clearly tied as tight as possible and still a little baggy on her and definitely too long.
He could spend eternity watching her in his clothes.
“Uh, no, princess. When you’re watching your pennies, you make hot chocolate with water.” He walked over to the little backpacking stove he’d set on his counter and tried to look like he knew what he was doing.
“I paid you ten dollars for that bear,” she said, moving next to him in the kitchen. “You could buy a gallon of milk or two. But watery cocoa is fine, as long as there are plenty of marshmallows. And if you tell me I can drink it without marshmallows, I’m going to have to call you out.”
“Call me out?” he replied, his lips curving in spite of himself. She said the strangest things sometimes.
“Like a duel,” she replied, matter-of-factly. The corners of her generous mouth quirked, though she clearly fought valiantly for a serious expression.
“And how does one duel in the twenty-first century?” Liam asked, stirring chocolate mix into one mug and then the next.
“Hm.” She tapped a finger to her chin as though considering. “Cage fighting?”
He barked out a laugh. “I am fresh out of cages.”
“You better have marshmallows then.”
It was his turn to fight for a serious expression when all his mouth wanted to do was grin at her.
