18. Lucy
Chapter eighteen
Lucy
When Liam pulls up in front of his house, I can’t help but stare.
The place is undeniably stunning. At first glance, it seems simple, almost modest, but there’s a delightful charm to it.
There’s something timeless about the structure — the kind of house that doesn’t need to scream for attention but demands it just the same.
The smooth lines of the architecture, the large windows that seem to invite the light in — it’s all so... Liam. Nothing flashy, nothing outlandish. Just calm, refined, and quietly perfect in its own way.
I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a life like his. The kind of life where everything feels effortless, everything is polished, yet there’s still space for warmth in the design. The kind of life where there’s room to breathe.
I glance over at him, already out of the car holding the basket with Pip and Nibbs, and for a moment, my heart skips. The way he moves — casual but graceful, confident but never arrogant. It makes me feel like I’m walking into a dream I’m not ready for.
He dramatically opens the door for me, that playful grin of his lighting up his face.
"Welcome to my humble abode," he says with a mock bow.
I laugh, stepping inside. "Humble, huh?" I take in the space before me, the high ceilings and the sleek furniture. It’s all so... him. "This is breathtaking."
He smiles, stepping in behind me, shutting the door with a soft click. "I’m glad you think so."
I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of being overwhelmed by it all. This isn’t my world, and it feels so far removed from everything I’ve ever known. This is pale woods and linens. My world is ebony and polished bronze.
It doesn’t help that the more I look around, the more it feels like I’m seeing something I don’t belong to. His house is perfect — beautiful in a way that I know I’ll never be able to replicate.
"Make yourself at home," Liam says, his voice warm as he gently sets the ferret basket down. "I’ll put these guys in the living room so they don’t tear up the place."
I nod, trying to fight the knot in my chest. I know I should be enjoying this, but there’s a part of me that’s already bracing for impact, already feeling like this will come crashing down.
How long until he realizes that I’m not the kind of person who belongs in a place like this? How long until I mess everything up?
I take a deep breath, trying to push the doubts out of my mind as Liam walks off to the living room with the ferrets. It’s hard to ignore the ache in my chest, but I don’t want to think about it right now.
Instead, I take a slow look around the entryway. The clean lines, the soft neutral colors, the simple yet elegant art on the walls — everything feels so... considered. It’s so much more than anything I’ve ever known.
When Liam returns to the kitchen, his footsteps light and purposeful, I snap out of my thoughts and focus on him.
He’s already moved around the kitchen, grabbing things from cabinets and the fridge, a casual ease to the way he works. "Would you like something to drink?" he asks, without even turning to look at me.
"Juice or water?"
I hesitate. I should say something, but for some reason, I just watch him instead. The way his shoulders shift as he moves, the concentration in his expression as he goes about making breakfast. It’s like watching someone who knows exactly who they are, someone who’s comfortable in his own skin.
"Juice is fine," I say finally, trying to shake the thoughts from my mind.
I watch him, my gaze lingering as he moves through the motions of preparing a meal. His confidence is almost magnetic. And for a moment, I let myself indulge in the feeling of being in his world, just for a little while.
He finishes with the juice, handing me a glass with a grin. "Here you go. I’ll be right back with the ferrets."
I nod, sipping the juice slowly. The taste is sweet, refreshing. I can feel the warmth in my chest at the simplicity of it all. I hadn’t expected to feel this way, this comfortable, in his home.
When Liam returns, he’s already setting the ferrets up in their little corner, making sure they have enough food and water. His attention to detail doesn’t surprise me. Everything he does feels measured, thoughtful, like he’s always considering how his actions will affect others.
As he finishes up with the ferrets, I stand and walk over to the kitchen counter, watching him closely.
"I should cook," I say, as if to justify my being here. "It’s the least I can do after you’ve already set everything up."
He gives me a playful look, his eyebrows raising. "I insist, Lucy. You’ve cooked enough for everyone at the clinic. Let me take care of breakfast today. All I need is your company."
I open my mouth to protest, but the look on his face stops me. It’s impossible to argue with him when he looks at me like that.
"Fine," I relent, setting the juice down on the counter. "But only because you’re being so insistent."
I move to the side, giving him space, but my eyes don’t leave him. As he begins cooking, I can’t help but be mesmerized by the way he moves — how comfortable he is in his own space. Every movement is fluid, like he’s done this a thousand times.
I find myself just watching him, captivated. It’s ridiculous, I know. But there’s something about the way he seems so effortless, so self-assured. It’s the kind of confidence I’ve always admired in people. The kind of confidence I’ve never been able to pull off myself.
The smell of breakfast fills the kitchen, and I can’t help but feel my stomach rumble. The simple act of him cooking for me, for us, feels so... right.
It feels like everything I’ve been missing.
I lean against the counter, my arms crossed, and for a moment, I let myself relax. Let myself enjoy the calm of the moment. I can’t remember the last time I felt this at ease, this at peace.
But then, as if reading my thoughts, Liam turns to look at me, a playful smirk on his lips. "You’ve been staring at me for a while. I’m starting to think you like watching me cook."
I roll my eyes, trying to hide the blush that’s creeping up my neck. "You wish."
His grin widens, clearly amused by my reaction. "I don’t mind if you’re watching. It just means I’m doing something right."
I chuckle softly, feeling my cheeks flush. I should probably tell him to stop, to remind myself that we shouldn’t be here. But I don’t. Instead, I just watch as he finishes preparing breakfast, the sound of eggs sizzling in the pan and the smell of bacon filling the kitchen.
He finishes quickly, setting everything on the table with a flourish. "Breakfast is served," he announces.
I sit down, trying not to let my feelings get too tangled up in everything. He’s just being nice. He’s just cooking for me because he cares. I can’t let myself believe anything more than that.
But as we eat, the rain begins to fall outside, soft at first and then picking up in intensity. The sound of it on the windows only makes the atmosphere more cozy, more intimate.
I glance at him, noticing how effortlessly he holds my attention.
"You’re really good at this," I say, motioning to the breakfast. "The food, the tech business— everything. How do you even handle it all?”
He shrugs, the modesty in his movement making me smile. "I won't say everything. I'll just say Tech. And it's just because I found a purpose in giving solutions. Tech was the only way to go."
I’m surprised by the depth of his answer, by the way he speaks about it so passionately. There’s a fire in him, a spark that makes everything he says feel like it matters.
I watch him closely, intrigued. "What about you, Lucy?" he asks, his voice gentle but insistent. "Have you always known what you wanted to do? Or did it just come to you, like me?"
I pause, thinking carefully about my answer. "I don’t know," I admit. "I’ve never really discovered my purpose. I just know being with animals makes me happy. It’s the only thing I’ve ever felt sure about."
He smiles, that warm, genuine smile of his. "I think that’s enough."
We eat in silence after that, the rain still pattering against the windows. There’s a sense of peace here, in this simple moment, in the way the world outside feels distant, and all that matters is the here and now.
I don’t want it to end.
***
By mid-afternoon, the rain hasn’t let up.
It’s still coming down in steady sheets, tapping against the windows and casting the world outside in a muted gray.
Inside, the atmosphere couldn’t be more different.
There’s warmth in Liam’s home, and it has nothing to do with the heating system or the soft glow of the lights.
It’s something more — a kind of quiet energy that wraps around us, cocooning us from the outside world.
Breakfast has long been cleared away, and now we’re sitting at the kitchen table, playing Monopoly. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself here, in this kitchen, with Liam, of all people, playing such a silly game.
But it’s the perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon. The kind of afternoon that feels slow, intentional, like the hours stretch just enough to make every moment feel significant. I’m not even paying attention to the clock anymore.
Liam’s been teasing me for the last hour. Every time I get a little too cocky, thinking I might actually win a round, he pulls out one of his signature moves and takes me down again.
I groan, pretending to throw my piece of paper money across the table in frustration. “That’s it,” I say, sinking back into my chair. “I’m giving up. You win every single time.”
Liam’s grin is smug, but there’s something more playful behind it. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to play, Lucy.” He leans back in his chair, his fingers brushing against his glass of wine. He’s clearly enjoying this way too much.