Something Anna said on the night I messed up comes back to me. “You know what I wish? I wish you’d show me exactly how you feel. Break your own damn rules and go crazy. I wish I could see you with me with zero inhibition. Doing what you really want to do. You know what I think, Liam? I think it would be perfect.”
I’m not one to seek advice, reassurance, or consult with others when it comes to my decisions or paths I choose to take, but at this moment I feel like I need to talk to someone. Someone neutral, just get this thing off my chest and maybe . . . maybe hear another opinion, just in case. I check the time and quickly calculate the time difference, yeah, he must up . . . probably way before the rooster crowed. The phone rings twice.
“Hey gramps,” I say.
“Liam, son.” And already I feel a little better. He listens quietly as I unload into the phone everything that’s been weighing on me. He hums affirmations when due and waits for me to let it all out. “Son,” he says in his low, comforting voice. “Doing the right thing isn’t always the right thing to do.”
No One Has Ever Died from a Tiny Speckle of Paint . . . or the Mother of All Pangs in the Heart
“Food delivery, ma’am,” Jesse announces, presenting the takeaway bag in his hand as evidence.
“Punctuality is everything,” I say with a matching smile to the easy one he’s sporting.
I lock up the studio and pile up the last cans of paint, the old sheets I used as floor protection and paintbrushes in the basket mounted on my bicycle. Three smaller rooms, a bigger room, the little office, and the foyer, double-coated and freshly light-pink painted. Phase one of the studio makeover – complete!
I pull my hair up in a bun and nod at Jesse, signaling we’re good to go. Jesse’s eyes run over my paint-splattered jean coveralls to my face, an assessment that ends up in a smirk. “Your face is full of speckles of paint, you goof.”
I don’t even bother rubbing it off. “Don’t you think pink is my color?” I ask instead of attempting to wipe it off. I strike a pose, brushing a hand over my spotty cheek.
“Glamorous,” Jesse says and chuckles.
“Well, no one has ever died of a tiny speckle of paint,” I add on a shrug. We walk leisurely side by side, Jesse carrying our lunch and me rolling the bicycle by my side, as we head to my apartment.
“Wow, I can’t believe I’m done with the paint job,” I say, quite impressed by my determination and will power. I’m rather exhausted, what with staying for a couple of hours more every day to paint a little after full days of teaching. I was more than enthusiastic to finish the project and equal part grateful to be occupied. Fewer thoughts wander to a certain person who left me a little heartbroken. The studio, as well as the girls and Jesse, provided such pleasant distraction. I’m immensely grateful to each one of them.
“You sort of wore yourself out, but not gonna lie, place looks great,” Jesse says. “It looks like it belongs to you now. You gave it much more character,” he adds and then grimaces playfully. “Don’t ever tell grandma I said that. I’ll deny everything.”
I laugh in response, saying, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The smile still plays on my lips as we turn the corner to my apartment building. I do a double-take and said smile freezes on my lips just before, putting it plainly, it collapses. My mouth hangs a little in tandem to the pang to my heart. Well, it’s not a pang really, more of a full-body, violent reaction.
Jesse, confused by my sudden pause, follows my line of vision to the few steps at the entrance and the person sitting there. I just stare for a few stretched beats. Still. Silent. At the steps, with a dusty large duffle bag by his side, clothes that have probably seen better days, hair in much need of a haircut, with a well-formed short beard, sits Liam.
Shaking off the initial shock, realization dawns on me, kicking my heart up to my throat. The thing is, my mind sort of came to terms with the fact that if someone doesn’t see my worth I should let this someone go. My heart, it seems, didn’t get the memo.
Liam stands, his eyes lighting up in marvelous blue at the sight of me. His features crumble not a beat later when he notices my companion. Stare locked with Liam’s, I reach for my bag and fish out the keys to my apartment. I turn to Jesse with the keys, hand him the set and say, “I’ll be right up.”
Jesse cocks his head, wordlessly asking, “You sure?”
I nod in confirmation and he walks to the door. I release the kickstand with my foot next. Well-aware of Liam’s eyes on me, I lean the bicycle to a stand and with a typhoon in my stomach, walk calmly toward Liam. While trying to ignore the jitters his eyes on me cause, I take a seat on the stairs and he sits back down next to me.
I don’t invite him up.
I don’t hug him warmly like I want to or would with any other friend.
I keep enough space between us.
Truthfully, this coolness I’m portraying is a real act of resistance.
“Welcome back,” I finally say in a leveled tone, giving him a sidelong glance.
He smiles, his stare still boring into mine. His stupid, familiar and utterly missed smile makes me edgy. “Hi,” comes out soft, sweet, and intimate.
There’s a tense silence between us as he watches me while my eyes run over his duffle bag and move on to roam over his somewhat disheveled yet attractive appearance. The tension is an overstretched rubber band on the very verge of snapping. “Did you come here directly from the airport?” I ask.
His stare never averts from mine. He licks his lips and nods, “Yeah.”
I drop my gaze to my shoes. My turn to nod. I force myself not to read into the little tidbit and swallow over the nervousness that’s lodged in my throat. “Have you been waiting for long?”
He gestures at what looks like two empty cups of coffee from the café at the corner. Another notion that has a direct effect on my belly. “How are you?” Liam asks.
I lift my eyes back to his. “I’m good. Been busy working hard, giving the studio a bit of a facelift.” I gesture to my coveralls.
His lips tip and his eyes dance as he follows my gesture. “You look great.”
I roll my eyes.
“You look cute,” he corrects over a chuckle. “Messy looks good on you.”
He’s about to ask me something, but I interfere his flow with, “How was your trip?”
His brows pinch. “Wow, that place is like nothing you’ve ever seen. It was different, intense, depressing, heartbreaking, fulfilling, surreal. Such an experience. The kind of thing that stays with you forever.” Coming back from a momentary stupor, his stare on me intensifies. He takes a deep breath, seeming troubled, as though having an internal battle. He throws his thumb in the direction of the building behind us and asks, “Are you guys—”
I cut him off before he’s able to complete the question. “Having lunch? Yeah.” It’s an inward game of tug of war, one part of me wants to tell him there has been no one else, the other wishes to keep him in the dark.
Liam drops his head in defeat and nods to himself a couple of times, his thumb and finger come up to pull at his bottom lip as he contemplates. I can hear him take his next breath before turning to me, utter tension marring his features. “Anna,” my name comes out a bit hoarse. “Are you and him, are you seeing anyone?”
For a silent, tense stretch we stare at each other. “No, we’re not. No, I’m not,” I finally say.
The relief washing his face is hard to describe. It’s like a few good pounds were just lifted off his chest. He thinks for a moment. Then he parts his lips, about to say something, and snaps them shut. His brows squeeze, and he finally says whatever he’s been inwardly debating. “I’m sorry.”
I look at him, waiting for him to elaborate on the sudden emotive apology.
His eyes hold mine as he resumes, “The last time I saw you I nearly kicked you out of my bed. And the way I treated you, I’m sorry.”
I turn to face him completely. “You know,” I say. “I just realized something. The thing is, we just
see you differently. You remember kicking me out, I remember a few things. Our viewpoints are very different.” I hold my shoulder with the opposite hand, half hugging myself. Maybe an unconscious act of protection. “You hurt me Liam. You did. And yes, you could have handled your timing better. But you also were there when I needed you. The last time I saw you I was at the hospital. You were helping me get information about my mom. I don’t think you realize what a Godsend you were in that terrible moment.”
His hand covers mine and I jolt by the sudden tangible current. “Have dinner with me tonight,” he says, releasing a wave of warm sensations in me. He cocks his head, eyebrows raised with a plea. “Please?”
“Why?” I ask on a breath.
I notice a pulse in his jaw before he says, “I need to talk to you. Not like this, not here on the stairs.”
I stare at him; my heart is banging like a huge church bell. Loud, clear, echoing through the walls of my chest.
“Anna,” He cocks his head once more, eyes running between mine. “Please?” He squeezes my hand gently.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” His face lights up. “I’ll pick you up—”
“Just text me the address,” I say sliding my hand from under his and then add, “If you didn’t delete my number.”
He grimaces. “I guess I deserve that.”
“Text me the address,” I repeat and stand up. “I’d better go.”
“Sure,” he says, a little deflated. “See you tonight.”
I turn and walk into the building, not looking back. I don’t want him to see what’s coming over me. Once inside, I lean on the wall and take a rich breath, taking a moment to find my equilibrium.
“Victoria,” I say my sister’s full name with enough gravity to let her know I’m done playing. Waiting for her to respond on the other end, I skim my wardrobe in search of what to wear tonight while I clinch my phone between my shoulder and cheek.
“I don’t understand, what’s with the sudden urge to start a whole federal investigation. I told you I got this loan—”
I stop her. “Did you though, Vic? I don’t know that I believe you. Cut the bullshit.” There’s not an ounce of humor in my tone.
“Gosh, you can be stubborn sometimes,” she says, still avoiding the very simple answer.
I huff with frustration, taking a step back from the wardrobe to drop on my bed. Lying on my back staring at the ceiling, I say to the phone, “Look, I didn’t want to tell anyone yet, but I’m meeting Liam for dinner soon and I want to know if he had any part in the stimulus package for mom appearing out of thin air.”
“Oh, wow, Liam’s back!” Vicky sounds thrilled. “You guys are having dinner together, ah? What a development. That’s . . . ”
Somewhat impatient with my sister’s insistence to keep information from me, I say, “That’s not what we’re discussing right now. Vic, the money. Where did it really magically appear from?”
“Panda, Kayla, me,” Victoria says on a sigh. “I took a bit of a loan from work and Panda and Kayla helped out with whatever they could. We knew you’d never allow it. You were going to give up your studio. We couldn’t let that happen. But we knew you wouldn’t let us help either if you knew anything about it. That’s the reason for the secrecy. I’m sorry.” Then she says, “No, I’m not sorry at all. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
My heart swells to an impossible size. “Thank you,” I say softly over the little lump in my throat.
Vicky hums. “No matter what, we’ll always have each other’s back. You know that.”
My sister voices my thoughts. I know, no matter what, I’ll always have their friendship and support. They’d do anything for me, just as I would for them, including deeds of the grey area variety if need be. Valuable, strong friendships are everything.
My sister clears her throat on the other line. “Just so you know, Liam tried quite persistently to make me take his offer. Even after we left the hospital.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I say. Even if things played out differently between Liam and me, I would still feel more comfortable sorting this out by myself, or with the girls’ help as it turned out. The whole damsel-in-distress saved by a guy thing might appeal to some, but for this girl, women helping each other out feels much more right.
“So . . . dinner with the handsome doc, you say?”
“I say nothing, Vic.” I pause and resume reluctantly. “He wants to talk. I agreed. I really don’t want to delve into this and start analyzing the hell out of it. I’m done doing that. Had more than enough of that when it comes to him. I’ll meet him, see what he wants and—” I sigh. “Now, I got to go,” I say, not too inclined to start a whole discussion on the matter.
“Anna!” Vicky scolds.
“Bye, Vic.” I end the call.
Trying not to further stress myself with the thought of meeting Liam, and what he might have to tell me, probably just an apology for how he ended things. Clear his conscience so we can both move on, grudge free. I jump off the bed, grab my faux leather jacket and shrug it over a white t-shirt. Yep, t-shirt and jeans, that’s the outfit for tonight. The I’m-not-trying-to-impress-you-just-tell-me-whatever-you-want-to-tell-me-and-let-me-get-back-to-my-life sort of outfit.
Five minutes later I close the door behind me, drop my keys in my purse, and whisper to myself like a complete weirdo, “Here we go, you got this.”
A soft smile eases into my lips as I notice the restaurant Liam booked for tonight. I heard of it, only good things, but never been before. Plants, an upscale vegetarian place. As I walk in, I regret my outfit choice a little. It’s a dimly lit, small, and elegant space. Just a few tables, each with a candle in the center, an atmosphere that screams romantic. I’m a few minutes early, the roads were open, and the enthusiastic Uber driver took advantage of it. I wasn’t sure if I’d drink tonight and decided not to take a chance and Uber it.
The friendly host with the ginger man bun and goatee combo tells me that Liam is already here, waiting for me at our table. I thank him with a smile and walk over to where he gestures. At a table for two, by a floor to ceiling window with a view to a quaint garden, Liam sits a little hunched, focused on his phone. Sensing my presence, he lifts his eyes that turn genuinely glad at the sight of me. He immediately stands up to meet me, leaning in to place a kiss on my cheek.
“You look beautiful,” he says in a way of greeting.
His freshly showered scent lingers after he pulls back. I inhale deeply, wishing for another lungful. He pulls out a chair for me before taking back his seat. “Thanks for agreeing to have dinner with me,” Liam says way too formal if you ask me. Sounds like a good intro to a formal, conscience clearing meal.
“This place has been on my list for ages,” I say, watching him as he pours water for me from a carafe. The beard is gone. He’s clean-shaven, sporting a black V shirt and black slacks. His eyes sparkle in enchanting blue under the candle’s glow. I missed these eyes. I missed these lips. I missed this person so incredibly much. A notion that adds to my prior nervousness. All the damn feels are back. This time with reinforcement.
A waiter materializes beside us, asking with a kind smile if we are ready to order. When I say that everything looks delicious, Liam suggests getting everything that’s on the menu. Maybe it’s just me, but he appears to be somewhat restless. I can’t decide if he’s trying to get rid of the server, or he’s just starving? Impatient? Or . . . nervous?
The waiter smiles at Liam’s suggestion, and with the same friendly grin says, “How about a few starters to the center of the table and a couple of mains to share?”
“Sounds good, but won’t it be a bit too much?” I ask.
My edgy dinner partner quickly jumps in. “It’s perfect. Brings us your best dishes and a bottle of—” he turns to me in question.
“Chablis, Chardonnay?” I say, looking at Liam for confirmation.
“Sure,” he says absentmindedly, looking rather impatient.
Our
server does his best to keep his friendly demeanor and turns to me, probably realizing that my companion wants him gone, and the sooner the better. When the waiter leaves with our order and a less enthused smile, I’m surprised to find Liam even more agitated. I’ve known the guy for a while now. I’m well-familiar with his restless signs, the unconscious tapping of his foot, a quick temple scratch, pointer finger rubbing repeatedly over the surface of his thumbnail. All there, telling me I’m not the only nervous one.
However, looks like Liam is even edgier, his demeanor throws me back to our night together, The Night, to the part which I tried very hard to forget. The Grand Finale. The part that still makes me feel a little queasy even a few good weeks later. With each passing second my guards come a little higher. I feel like I need to lighten the atmosphere for both our sakes because it’s becoming slightly awkward. “So we’re gathered here tonight to,” I say and gesture my hand for Liam to take it away.
Liam looks tense, murmuring something with a shade of conviction under his breath. He looks up at me and that’s when he drops the bomb.
“Let’s move in together.”
I jerk back a little, afraid my hearing is out of whack. I try to make sense of what I thought I heard. “Let’s do what together?” I ask because what I heard simply can’t be true.
Appearing more relaxed, Liam repeats his words, this time calmly. “Let’s move in together.”
I look at him puzzled. “Sorry, I think I didn’t hear right over the ludicrousness.”
Liam’s lips stretch into a side-smile. “You heard right the first time, I said,” he repeats slower, annunciating each word. “Lets. Move. In. Together.”
I gape at him; he grins in return like he’s not being completely ridiculous.
by Mistake: (Poison & Wine, book 1) Page 20