Chapter 28 It was Everything
It was Everything
Claire
Ichecked the mirror one last time, smoothing my hands down the slate grey wool of my skirt. It fit like it was made for me, hugging my hips and ending just at the knee. I’d paired it with the medium blue cashmere V-neck, and my highest heels.
My usual ponytail was gone. I’d let my hair fall to my shoulders in soft, deliberate waves. A bit of mascara, a swipe of lip gloss. I looked… different. Like me, but a version of me that had decided to try.
A nervous flutter took flight in my stomach.
I knew what I was doing. This was the outfit I’d worn the first day we met, when he’d offered to show me his apartment.
The skirt he’d definitely noticed, if the quick, appreciative glance he’d tried to hide that day was any indication. The memory warmed my cheeks.
I inhaled slowly, counted to four, before letting it go.
This wasn’t just dinner. This was a date. Our first official date. The thought was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
A glance at the clock on the nightstand. 6:12. Three minutes.
I turned from my reflection, my heart beating a quick, hopeful rhythm against my ribs. It was time to go set the table.
I pulled my door shut and turned toward the living room just as Liam’s door opened down the hall.
He stepped out, his head bent as he focused on adjusting the cuff of a dark graphite-grey sweater.
A crisp white collar peeked out at the neck.
Dark grey trousers and sleek, sporty dress shoes completed a look that was effortlessly perfect.
His hair was slightly damp, tousled in a way that looked both artful and completely unintentional.
My breath caught. He looked… irresistible. The Hot Goalie, Brooke’s nickname for him, echoed in my mind, and for the first time, I understood it completely. It wasn't just about how he looked; it was the quiet confidence, the way he owned the space around him without even trying.
He finally looked up, his gaze landing on me. His steps slowed. His eyes, that intense green, did a quick, sweeping journey from my face, down the length of my outfit, pausing for a heartbeat on my legs and heels before snapping back up to meet mine.
A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He’d been caught, and he wasn't even sorry.
"Hey," he said, his voice a little lower than usual.
His grin softened into something more thoughtful. "That's what you were wearing the first time we met."
A quick shiver traced its way down my spine. He remembered. "Well," I said, my own cheeks warming. "I thought it was appropriate. Since this is our first date."
The words hung between us, formal and suddenly making everything feel incredibly real. We just stood there for a second in the hallway, the air buzzing with a new, slightly uncomfortable awareness.
Liam finally broke the silence, clearing his throat. "Right. Well. I should, uh...let me get my cooking supplies ready."
"And I," I said, too quickly, eager for an escape, "will get started on setting the table."
I managed a dignified retreat to the dining room, the sound of his soft chuckle following me.
I set our places at the corner of the table, so we’d be sitting beside each other. I lit two candles, the match hissing softly before the warm glow caught and pushed back the evening dim.
“Would you want wine?” I called toward the kitchen.
“Please,” his voice floated back, a warm rumble.
I took down two glasses. The delicate stems were cool and smooth against my fingers. The deep red of the wine caught the candlelight as I poured.
I turned from the set table and drifted back toward the kitchen. Liam was in his element, already deep in chef mode. On the other side of the large island, he had laid out his battlefield: lemons, asparagus, the blue box of rice, a precise line of pans and spoons at the ready.
I settled onto a stool at the counter, content to just watch from across the granite divide.
He moved with a quiet, intense focus, completely absorbed in his work, completely unaware of what he looked like with that dish towel slung over one shoulder and his sleeves rolled up.
I watched him for another minute. "Can I help you with anything?" I finally asked, my voice a little softer than I intended.
He glanced up, a quick, warm smile breaking his concentration. He motioned me over with a tilt of his head. "Actually, yeah. Feel like chopping the asparagus into one-inch pieces?"
I slid off the stool and rounded the island. As I stepped up next to him at the counter, he turned to face me. I was close enough to smell the clean, sharp scent of his soap from his shower, mingling with the earthy aroma of the vegetables. My heart hammered against my ribs.
What would it feel like to just close the last few inches? To touch my lips to his?
He leaned in a little, his gaze dropping to my mouth. I didn’t move. I couldn't.
I tilted my head. Just a fraction.
A loud, shrill, obnoxiously cheery ringtone shattered the silence.
We both froze.
He groaned, the moment snapping as he stepped back and pulled the phone from his pocket. "It's my sister's ringtone."
I blinked, the spell broken, suddenly aware of how close our lips were.
“Take it,” I said, a little too fast.
He was still staring at me. Then he smiled, like he couldn’t quite believe what almost happened either.
“I should probably tell her she has terrible timing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go. Answer it.”
He walked toward the balcony, still grinning.
And I stood there, alone, next to the asparagus and the cutting board wondering what would’ve happened if she’d called thirty seconds later.
Liam answered the phone with a groan and a half-smile.
“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You have impeccable timing.”
A beat of silence.
“Yeah,” he said, as he looked over at me. “I was about to kiss Claire.”
My stomach flipped.
No more wondering what would’ve happened. I set the knife down.
His eyes flicked down to my mouth before he added, quieter, “And I think she was going to kiss me back.”
There was a loud, high-pitched squeal from the other end of the line. Liam winced and held the phone away from his ear.
“She wants to talk to both of us.”
Before I could ask why, he held the phone away from his ear and tapped the speaker button.
“Claire?” his sister’s voice crackled through the tiny speaker. “Are you there?”
I crossed the room, slowly, still trying to remember how to walk normally. Liam held out an arm without looking, like it was second nature, and I stepped into it like it was mine to step into.
His hand settled around my waist. Warm. Confident. Not possessive—just... steady. Then his lips found the side of my head—right near the temple. A press more than a kiss.
I felt my heart skip once, then settle into something quieter.
“I’m here,” I said.
“Okay,” she said. “I wanted to give you both an update. I had my appointment this afternoon. We adjusted my meds, and my labs are already trending better. I actually feel like myself again.”
I felt Liam exhale beside me. Not dramatically, just a small shift in his shoulders, like the invisible weight he carried had released, inch by inch.
Neither of us said anything right away.
“Hello?” she said after a moment. “Did the call drop or are you both stunned silent?”
We both spoke at the same time.
“That’s great news,” Liam said, eyes still on me.
“That’s great,” I echoed, my eyes on Liam. “How often do you have to go back?”
“Every few weeks for now,” she said. “But honestly? I’m relieved. And my doctor thinks we caught it early enough to avoid a whole lot of mess.”
She paused. Then her voice dropped into something suspiciously smug.
“Okay. I’m going to hang up now and let you get back to… you know.”
Liam’s arm tightened just slightly around me. We both laughed.
“Subtle,” he said, smiling as he ended the call.
The room was quiet again—except it wasn’t really. The refrigerator hummed softly and the wind brushed against the windowpane. The candle flickered in its jar. And I could feel the tension in Liam’s body, not rigid, not hesitant, but contained.
Controlled.
He turned to face me fully. One hand still at my waist.
I turned toward him, unsure if I was actually moving or just reacting to the way he was looking at me.
His other hand lifted, slow and careful, until his fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His hand slid from my waist up to the small of my back.
Mine found his chest.
We didn’t speak.
The kiss started soft.
Just the press of his mouth against mine, slow and careful, like he was still giving me a chance to back away.
I didn’t.
Instead, I slid one hand up to the back of his neck, fingertips brushing the edge of his hair. His hand found my waist and pulled me closer—closer than we’d ever been, but it didn’t feel too close.
It felt like finally.
He paused, just a breath away, forehead resting against mine.
“I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured, “for a while.”
I didn’t answer right away. I just let my fingers settle at the base of his neck, where his pulse met mine.
Then I pulled back just far enough to see his face. “I really do love when you cook for me,” I said, my voice quiet. “But I think I found something I like about you even more.”
His brow lifted. “Yeah?”
I smiled. “I like the way you kiss me.”
Then I rose up on my toes, closed the distance between us and kissed him.
And this time, he didn’t hold back.
His hand slid from my waist to splay gently between my shoulder blades, pulling me flush against him. My own hand curled into the soft wool of his sweater, right over the fierce, rapid rhythm of his heart.
His kiss deepened, and the world narrowed to the feel of his mouth on mine, the scent of his soap and the solid warmth of him surrounding me.
For years, I told myself this kind of connection wasn’t meant for me. Too messy. Too hopeful. Too much.
But here I was.
And it wasn’t too much. It was everything.
I’d imagined this moment a hundred times. The reality was so much better.