Page 95 of Just Between Us

My phone vibrates on the coffee table, pulling me to the present.

I reach for it, expecting Josie or Penny, but my heart leaps in my chest when I see a text from Liam.

An image populates on my screen, a flier taped to the window of Old Town Tavern. Written in bright red font it advertises a Valentine’s Day pet adoption event at the Singing River animal shelter.

Cupid’s Companions: Find your Perfect Match.

The event runs from noon to four today.

His text comes through a second later.

My Favorite Person

How’s that list coming along?

My Favorite Person

They need volunteers.

I feel properly chastised. It’s been so long since either of us mentioned the list, I almost forgot we wrote it. The night I suggested we do something low-key illegal seems like ages ago. Life has been busy with wedding planning, finalizing the transfer of my therapy license to Alabama, and worrying about both my mom and Liam. Needless to say, our list has been buried under other notes in my app. So far down, I’d have to scroll a minute to get to it.

But he remembered. Item number five on my list readsVolunteer in the community. The fact that he thought of me when he saw that flier causes a weightless sensation in my chest.

I stare at the screen, a popcorn sensation going off in my belly, a smile splitting across my lips.

Is this you asking me to be your Valentine?

A trio of dots appear, disappear, appear again, then disappear. In my mind, I can see him clear as day on the other side, hand raking through his hair, typing and deleting, trying to figure out how to respond.

Instead of a text, a second photo comes through. It’s the back of a receipt, his handwriting scrawled across it in black ink:

Cassandra James,

Will you be my Valentine?

? Yes ? No

I press a hand to my mouth, laughing. God, this man. Grabbing a notebook, I scribble out a response.

Yes

I snap a photo and send it, still wearing the biggest smile. His response is immediate.

My Favorite Person

Meet me at my house around 10:45?

An hour later, I’m in the passenger seat of Liam’s truck, classic rock playing low on the radio while Liam hums along. The cabin of the truck smells like him, clean and woodsy with traces of tobacco, and I soak it in. I’m hit by how much I’ve missed this. How easy it is being with him. How comfortable I am to just be me.

It’s warm for February, but the shade still belongs to winter. Liam’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt with a faded band logo I don’t recognize showing off the ink on his arm.

Over the last month and a half, I’ve watched the slow transformation. Where purple smudges were once under Liam’s eyes, they’ve mostly faded, leaving only the faintest trace of a sleepless night. He’s put on some weight, filled out through his shoulders and chest in a way that makes it impossible not to stare. Added muscle that I definitely don’t mind. Not one bit.

His fingers drum against the steering wheel in time with the beat, and I catch myself watching the movement, those calloused hands that gripped my hair that night in his kitchen. I swear my lips even part.

When I tear my eyes away, he’s watching me with that lopsided grin like he knows exactly what I was thinking. The popcorn sensation kicks up in my belly again. Before I can look away, Liam reaches over and hooks his pinky with mine where my hand rests on the console.

We ride like this for a couple minutes until Liam breaks the silence.