Page 128 of The Overtime Persuasive

At the moment, she’s trapped in a conversation with Tripp, Owen, and Lucy, although trapped may be the wrong word. Dakota is laughing while Tripp argues that barbecue sauce should never be applied before meat reaches the plate and Owen insists all meat benefits from “a little goalie intuition.”

“I don’t think that means anything,” Lucy tells him.

“It doesn’t have to. It sounds right,” he argues.

Juliette and Sawyer are sitting on the steps with Theo between them, while Vivian passes around pastries. Lucy informed me that Campbell is on his way with more of the team, although she said it while walking away—possibly because she knows I need time to process additions to a guest list, but she could also be getting out of “smacking distance.”

Liam has even set up a television beneath the covered section of the patio, with an extension cord running through the kitchen window. The Sunday Breakfast Show is already playing, muted while everyone gets food.

Liam comes up beside me and rests his hand at the small of my back. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” I look up at him. “You’ve asked me that four times.”

“You have several different ‘I’m okay’ faces.”

I bark a laugh. “I do not.”

“You do. There’s actually okay, pretending to be okay, and trying to work out how long you have to stay before leaving is socially acceptable.”

My smile falters.

For all the ways my dad has gotten me wrong, he’s always known my tells––like when he hears the way I respond. He knows from a tone in my voice. He can take one look at me and see straight through whatever version of “good” or “okay” I’m offering.

But Liam hasn’t known me my entire life.

That realization finds the tenderest part of me and sinks in deep.

Somewhere along the way, while I was busy telling myself this was casual, Liam learned me.

Not the version everyone else gets.

Me.

“Which face am I wearing now?” I ask, my voice softer.

“Actually okay, with early signs of spinning out.” He studies me with unnecessary seriousness. “We can go inside whenever you want. Or upstairs. I’ll tell everyone you need to prepare.”

“For the announcement or the people?”

“Either. Both. I’ll invent something.” He takes a step closer. “Did I mention the part where I can take you upstairs?”

I slap his arm, but when he pulls me into an embrace, I go willingly. His arms close around me, warm and sure, and for a few moments, I let myself stand there with the man who knows when I’m okay, when I’m pretending, and when I need an escape route before I’ve even asked for one.

Yes, there are more people here––that aren’t customers––than I would normally choose to see before ten in the morning. There’s also coffee, excellent food, and a six-foot-three hockey player monitoring my emotional and energetic battery level like it’s part of his new leadership responsibilities.

“I’m okay,” I assure him. “I promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” I curl my fingers into the front of his sweatshirt and pull him down for a quick kiss. “This was a good surprise.”

Relief eases across his face. “Even though it’s a party with eggs?”

I sniff the air. “The brisket is doing a lot of work in your favor.”

“I’ll tell Dakota,“ he says as he kisses my forehead before heading over to help Sawyer move another table into the sun.

I watch him go, taking in the Dominion sweatpants, backward cap, and the A that isn’t visible but somehow seems to have changed the way he carries himself.