11. Liam
Chapter eleven
Liam
I can’t focus. I can’t concentrate.
I’ve been trying to work all day. I’ve had meetings back-to-back, calls with branches across the United States, discussions on potential new deals, all the usual.
But my mind keeps drifting. Every time I sit down to talk numbers, I feel the pull of something else.
Something more important than spreadsheets and business strategies.
Something that, despite all my efforts, I can’t seem to escape.
I shake my head as I scroll through the emails on my laptop, trying to drown out the thoughts of Lucy. I need to focus. I have responsibilities. I have deadlines. But the truth is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since the day we met.
There’s something about her. Something quiet and steady that draws me in.
I can’t explain it. I’m used to control.
I’m used to keeping things in check, keeping my emotions in line.
But with her? I don’t know what it is. It’s like she’s a magnet, and I’m stuck in her orbit, pulled in by her calm, her strength, her… everything.
But no matter how much I tell myself to focus, to keep my distance, the thoughts of her never fade.
By the time I finish a call about expansion in Chicago, the sun is beginning to set, and I realize I haven’t seen her in a few days. The tech project is winding down, and I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t had the excuse to stop by the clinic.
I lean back in my chair, glancing at the clock. It’s almost evening now, the day slipping away faster than I anticipated. I’ve been so absorbed in my thoughts about her that the hours have passed without me realizing.
And then, as if on cue, I remember.
Bryan’s get-together.
The small dinner he’s hosting in a few days.
I had nearly forgotten about it in the whirlwind of work, but now that the thought’s in my head, I can’t shake it.
Not only would it be a chance to spend more time with Lucy, but I could also introduce her to the people I trust, to the people who are like family to me.
It feels right. But I don’t want to make it sound like anything more than what it is — just a casual evening with friends. No pressure.
I grab my phone and type out a quick message, my fingers hesitant at first. I don’t want to push her into anything.
I’ve learned that much about her — she doesn’t like to be rushed.
And I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.
This has to feel natural. This has to feel like something she wants, not something I’m trying to force.
Liam: Hey, Lucy. There’s a small get-together at Bryan’s place this weekend. Nate, Liz, Emma, and I will be there. Nothing formal, just a casual dinner. I thought it might be nice if you wanted to join us.
I stare at the message for a moment, wondering if I’ve made it sound too casual or too eager. I don’t want to seem desperate, but I also don’t want her to think I’m not interested. I want her to feel comfortable, to feel like she’s a part of my world — without making her feel overwhelmed.
I hit send, but even as the message leaves my phone, I feel the familiar tightness in my chest. What if she says no?
It’s an invitation, nothing more. But the truth is, I want to spend time with her.
I want to get to know her more than just the moments we’ve shared in passing.
I want to know what makes her laugh, what makes her tick.
I want to hear her thoughts, to be part of her world — just like she’s starting to become part of mine.
The hours pass slowly after I send the message, my mind once again consumed by thoughts of her. I find myself wondering what she’s doing, what she’s thinking. Is she still considering the invitation? Is she even interested?
The next day, I make another excuse to go to the clinic.
I know, deep down, that I’m not going there to check on the tech setup or make sure the systems are working. I’m going there to see her.
I walk into the clinic, taking a deep breath, trying to shake off the anxious energy coursing through me.
I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I’ve been to countless meetings, held discussions with major investors, and yet, every time I’m around Lucy, my pulse quickens.
Every time she looks at me, even for a second, I feel like I can’t breathe.
When I get to the clinic, I find Emma and Lucy talking in the back office. They both look up when I walk in, and I can’t help but feel a slight flush creep up my neck. I didn’t plan on interrupting their conversation, but when Lucy’s eyes meet mine, it’s like I’m stuck.
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual, but my voice feels too thick. Too full of everything I’m trying to ignore.
“Hey,” she replies, her voice soft but warm. I can tell she’s trying to act like everything’s fine, but there’s a small hesitancy in her step as she stands up to greet me.
I feel the pull between us again, that unspoken connection I can’t seem to escape. I glance at Emma, trying to push the tension down, but she gives me a knowing look, one that’s hard to miss.
“I brought you something,” I say, my voice a little more strained than usual. I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I just know that I don’t want to leave without saying something more, without making this moment last just a little bit longer.
I hand her a small bouquet of flowers, a simple gesture, but it feels so much more than that. It feels like a piece of me that I’m offering to her.
Lucy takes the flowers, her eyes widening slightly. “Thank you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She looks at the flowers for a moment, and then back at me, her smile soft but unsure. “These are beautiful.”
I feel the awkwardness between us, the weight of everything I haven’t said. I try to keep my tone light, even though I can feel the tension thickening. “I thought you might like them,” I say, stepping back a little. “Just a little something.”
She smiles again, but I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. “I’ll put them somewhere nice,” she says quietly, her gaze lingering on me for just a moment too long.
I hesitate, unsure of what to say. I want to ask if she has the message.
What is she thinking? Why haven't I gotten a response? I’ve said too much already, and I don’t want to push her.
I don’t want to make things uncomfortable.
So I stand there, awkwardly, my hands in my pockets, my chest tight with everything I want to say but can’t.
“Well,” I finally say, clearing my throat. “I guess I’ll leave you to it. I don’t want to keep you.”
“Thanks again for the flowers,” she says, her voice soft.
"You're welcome," I turn to leave and stop.
"I was wondering if you saw my message?"
“Yes, I did. I'm sorry I didn't send a response. I’ll think about the dinner, okay?”
I nod, forcing a smile. “Take your time. No rush.”
I leave the clinic, feeling like I’ve missed something, like I’ve missed an opportunity to say what I really want to say. I want to tell her how much I’ve been thinking about her. How much I want to see her again.
But I don’t.
I can’t.