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“I’ll figure it out.”
“Really?” Not that I can’t do it alone, I am obviously primed for that part of life, but having someone there with me for an occasion this momentous would be nice for once.
“Yes.” He says it with absolutely no hesitation.
He doesn’t offer to talk for me, coach me, or use someone else’s name to make the opportunity larger.
Liam is going to come with me. Not for the opportunity––but for me.
There are no words for how much that means.
The security guard waits several feet ahead, pretending not to listen. Somewhere behind us, the greenroom door opens and another burst of laughter spills into the hallway.
I look back toward it. That world is full of people who love me. It also carries every old fear I have about being seen as an attachment to someone more important.
Ahead of me is a studio where I’ll stand beneath my own name and talk about something I built in the one place I chose to put down roots.
And Liam is choosing to stand beside me.
“Okay,” I say.
His thumb moves across my knuckles. “Okay.”
I’ve spent most of my life wanting something that stays.
With his hand wrapped around mine, I let myself wonder if Liam just might.
CHAPTER 23
EVA
I’ve had the television in the shop downstairs for one hour and thirty minutes, and so far, no one has commented on it. Which is mildly disappointing.
Not because I want attention. I own a store. Attention is generally something I prefer directed toward the merchandise and, ideally, followed by a credit card or payment of some kind. But I carried that sucker down two flights of stairs all by myself, balanced it on the counter where the café used to display its pastries, and spent twenty minutes convincing it to connect to the Wi-Fi.
Someone should at least admire the achievement. Gold star, anyone?
Instead, the three customers browsing Side B move about the store as if it’s normal for me to have a hockey game on at this time of day.
Let’s be clear: it’s not.
I straighten the stack of new releases beside the register and glance at the screen. The pregame coverage is already underway, muted beneath the music playing through the store. Two men in suits stand in front of a graphic of the Dominion’s logo, discussing tonight’s—or technically this afternoon’s—matchup in Los Angeles.
Four o’clock is the puck drop here. One o’clock in California. I know this because I checked twice. Possibly three times.
I also know Liam had eggs and toast at the hotel this morning, complained about the coffee, and planned to nap until the team bus left. This information arrived by text, along with a photograph of Owen asleep at breakfast with his head propped in one hand.
This is apparently what a long-distance relationship looks like when the distance is temporary and one half of that relationship travels with twenty-three large men who have no respect for one another’s privacy.
The bell over the door rings, and Mrs. Green walks in carrying a canvas tote bag decorated with tiny embroidered books. I don’t need to look at a calendar to know she’s here to set up for book club. A book club that doesn't meet until tomorrow, but hey, I like my regulars quirky.
“Good afternoon,” she calls.
“Hi, Mrs. Green.” I smile as she walks up to the counter. “You’re a full day early.”
“Yes, but I thought I should make certain you had the copies of the book I reserved last month. Are they here?”
I reach beneath the counter and pull out the two reserved copies. Mrs. Green checks the covers, nods her approval, then looks toward the back of the store, where the café has been temporarily repurposed as a one-woman sports bar. The television sits on the counter beside the espresso machine, which still has a CLOSED sign leaning on its silver front.
