Page 43 of A Simple Reminder
I shoot him a glare, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes that’s hard to resist.
We walk through the gallery, Liam’s arm still resting on my shoulders, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. My heart is still pounding, though I can’t tell if it’s from the sprint I just did or the fact that I’m here, in this situation, with him. My shirt clings to my back, damp from exertion, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a nearby glass case—hair slightly disheveled, makeup smudged, and a faint coffee stain blooming on my blouse. Great. Just great. I’m the epitome of a professional. Oh, scratch that, fiancée now apparently. I’m so confused.
The boutique is beautiful, the kind of place that seems to hold secrets in every corner. Stunning furniture, colorful paintings, and intricate sculptures fill the space, each one mesmerizing—yet none of them hold my attention. All I can think about is the warmth of Liam’s arm around me, the way his fingers graze my skin, caressing my shoulder, and the ridiculousness of our little act.
“As I mentioned during our call, my fiancée and I are very excited to meet you and see your beautiful pieces. I know you usually don’t allow private viewings around this time, but we’re so grateful that you made an exception,” Liam says smoothly, his voice low and convincing.
I glance at him, a little startled by how easily he’s slipping into this role. He catches my eye and gives me a small, reassuring smile, squeezing my shoulder gently. The whole situation feels surreal like we’re playing parts in a play we didn’t rehearse for, but somehow, we’re pulling it off. Or he’s pulling it off, not me.
The shop owner nods, clearly pleased with Liam’s charm. “No worries at all. I can’t have you disappoint your beautiful fiancée,” he says with a warm smile. “Take your time, and let me know if you need any help. I’ll be just over there.”
I smile back at him, leaning my head on Liam’s shoulder. “Thank you, sir.”
Liam’s warm hand slips into mine, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world, as if his fingers were made to intertwine with mine. There’s comfort in it, but also an electric charge buzzing through my whole body, as if the argument never happened yesterday.
I glance down at our joined hands, a knot tightening in my stomach. Since when am I okay with this kind of charade? Since when am I the kind of person who plays along, who rests her head on someone’s shoulder like we’re a happy couple scoping out a venue for our wedding? I feel a mix of confusion and unease creep in, but the strangest part? It doesn’t feel as wrong as it should. It feels…too natural. Too easy. Too good.
And yet, part of me can’t shake the thought of yesterday’s argument. I still don’t know why I didn’t tell him about Jared. Maybe a part of me wants to protect Jared from Liam because I know he’d fire him without hesitation. And now that Jared’s here, it’s not so bad having someone to discuss ideas with.
Besides, I’d feel terrible if he got fired because of me—I’m not wired like Jared. Like heusedto be.
Liam gently tugs me forward, leading me further into the shop. As we move past the exquisite displays of art and antique furniture, his touch sends a warm shiver through me. I know I should pull away. I shouldn’t let myself feel even a sliver of this, but I can’t.
He moves us toward a breathtaking glass sculpture. It’s an abstract piece with swirling blue and gold shades that seem to dance under the light. Its design is flowing, almost like a wave frozen in time. It would look incredible in the hotel lobby—elegant, yet striking enough to catch anyone’s eye.
He releases my hand and gently guides my fingers over to the cool surface of the glass. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice soft, almost intimate as if we’re sharing a secret. His fingers linger over mine, close enough that I feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“It’s beautiful,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nods, his eyes fixed on mine rather than the piece in front of us. “It is. But I think it needs the right place to truly shine. Don’t you think?”
I can’t find the words to respond. The silence stretches, charged and heavy. His hand brushes against mine and my pulse jumps, but I keep my gaze steady on the piece, pretending not to notice the way my body reacts to his closeness.
But then he steps back, clearing his throat and breaking the spell. The distance he creates feels like a cold rush of air against my skin, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and pull him back. “Let’s keep looking,” he says, his voice slightly rougher than before. “There might be something else that catches your eye.”
We continue walking around the store, the earlier tension settling into quietness. It’s a little bit awkward, and I think we’re both sensing the discomfort.
Thankfully, something catches my eye–a beautiful flower vase.
Without thinking, I almost jump. “Look!” I exclaim, my voice a bit too loud in the quiet space. “That would look beautiful in my apartment.”
I rush over to it, too excited for my own good. The vase has a beautiful antique brass finish that glows softly in the room's light. It feels homey. Its rich color would contrast perfectly in my living room. I can already see it sitting near the window, where the sun would hit it just right.
But as I step closer, my eyes catch the tiny tag hanging from it, with a not-so-tiny price. $1,800. My heart sinks. I can’t afford that. Sure, I might have splurged on a pricey pair of shoes once or twice, but nothing in that price point and to justify that price for a flower vase feels ludicrous! I mean, it’s notthatpretty.
I quickly move away from the vase, trying to mask my disappointment. “You know, when I think about it, I don’t really need a new vase,” I say forcing a casual tone. I turn away, pretending to admire something else, but the image of that perfect vase stays with me. Damn New York boutique pricing.
“But you just said it would look perfect,” Liam says, noticing my abrupt change of heart. He steps toward it, clearly intrigued. Quickly, I grab his arm and tug him away, pulling him toward another piece—a stunning sculpture of a dancer caught mid-twirl, her form delicate yet powerful. “Look at this,” I say, trying to redirect his attention. “This would be amazing in the hotel lobby, don’t you think?” I don’t know why I said that. The piece may be beautiful, but it’s not the vibe we’re going for at the hotel, and Liam is well aware of that.
He pauses, glancing between me and the sculpture, his brow slightly furrowed. But before he can ask what's gotten into me, the shop owner approaches us, his warm smile returning.
“When’s the big day?” he asks, nodding toward our linked hands.
Liam smiles warmly, slipping effortlessly back into our little act. “It’s coming up soon,” he says, his voice light. “Just working out the final details.”
“You make a beautiful couple,” he says softly, but there’s a hint of something else there— maybe regret. Because his eyes don’t quite match the warmth of his words. It’s as if he’s speaking from a place of experience, from a memory that still lingers, bittersweet.
“Just remember, young man, to cherish what you have,” he says, his tone filled with quiet sincerity. “Never let her get away. If you’re lucky enough to find your love—the one meant for you—fight for it. Always fight for it. Because a love like that is rare, and once it’s gone, you’ll spend your life searching for something that can never quite compare.”
