19. Liam
Chapter nineteen
Liam
When I step out of the car and round to her side, I catch her staring at the grand entrance of the Ocean Bay Community Hall, her fingers clasped tightly around the little black clutch in her hands.
She doesn’t notice me at first — she’s too busy taking in the sight of the white-lit archway above the double doors, the soft strains of a string quartet drifting faintly through the open windows, and the buzz of people in formal wear mingling just outside.
It’s beautiful, sure. But nothing here tonight even comes close to how she looks standing here now.
Her dress is simple — navy blue, sleeveless, a subtle shimmer in the fabric that catches the light — but the way it hugs her figure, the way it brings out the softness in her shoulders and the glow in her skin, makes it impossible for me to look away.
I reach for her hand, my thumb brushing gently over her knuckles as I murmur, “You ready?”
She startles slightly, her eyes snapping up to mine. And even now, even when she’s clearly nervous, her lips curve into a shy smile.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “I think so.”
I grin, leaning a little closer, just enough that only she can hear. “You don’t sound convinced.”
Her laugh is quiet, almost self-conscious. “I just… don’t want to embarrass you.”
That stops me cold for a second, and my chest tightens.
I step closer, lowering my voice even more. “Lucy… nothing about you could ever embarrass me. Don’t you know how proud I am to have you here?”
Her cheeks flush at that, and she glances down, fidgeting with her clutch.
I take that as a win, though.
A week ago, when I invited her to the charity gala, she looked at me like I was out of my mind. Like she thought there was no way she belonged in a place like this.
I had to promise her — over and over — that it wasn’t a big deal. That it wasn’t the kind of gala she was probably imagining. Every two years, Nate, Bryan, and I host this gathering.
Sure, there are a few big names — rich friends from out of town who contribute to the town fund and help us support orphanages worldwide — but we keep it small. Intimate. The whole town is welcome. No one here cares about status.
I wanted her to see it.
But even now, as I guide her toward the doors, I can feel how tense she is next to me. Her arm is stiff, her steps just a little too careful.
Halfway up the steps, I lean down and whisper into her ear, “Hey. Relax. You look perfect. And if you want to leave, all you have to do is say the word, and we’re gone.”
She glances up at me, surprised, and then shakes her head, a little more sure of herself now. “No. I want to stay. I’d… like to enjoy my night.”
I search her eyes for a moment, making sure she really means it. And when she nods again, a little more confidently this time, I feel something ease in my chest.
“Alright,” I murmur, giving her hand a little squeeze. “Let’s go in, then.”
The double doors swing open, and we step inside.
The room glows with soft golden light, fairy lights strung from the beams above and candles flickering in glass holders on every table. There’s a quiet hum of laughter and conversation, the clinking of glasses, the subtle strains of live music weaving through it all.
It’s perfect.
But nothing — nothing — compares to having her here on my arm.
I guide her through the room, greeting familiar faces, feeling a little thrill every time someone’s eyes catch on us — on her — and light up in recognition.
“Liam!” someone calls, and I turn to see Mayor Patterson approaching, his broad smile warm as he extends a hand.
“Mayor,” I greet, shaking his hand firmly.
He glances at Lucy then, his smile softening. “And who’s this lovely young lady?”
I glance at her and feel a surge of pride in my chest as I say, “This is Lucy Whittier. My date tonight.”
Her cheeks flush beautifully at that, and she gives a little nod, murmuring a polite hello.
We move on, weaving through clusters of townspeople, some of my business associates, and a few out-of-town guests. I make a point to introduce her to everyone who matters to me — letting them see her, letting them know she’s someone important.
She keeps her composure through it all, her quiet grace shining through even when she’s clearly nervous. She’s polite, warm, even offering shy little smiles when someone makes a joke.
But then —
We stop at one small group, and as I shake the hand of Mr. Fernandez — one of my longtime business contacts — I notice something strange.
His eyes land on Lucy, and for a brief moment, his brow furrows.
“You look familiar,” he says slowly, tilting his head. “Have we met before?”
Lucy freezes beside me, her body going rigid.
But then he shakes his head, giving a little laugh. “Ah, never mind. Must be mistaken. My apologies.”
I don’t think much of it. People see faces they think they know all the time.
But when I glance at her, her smile looks just a little too forced.
I don’t like that.
I slide an arm around her waist, leaning in close and murmuring, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She blinks up at me, startled. “But… we—”
I shake my head. “Dance floor.”
Her lips part in surprise, but I don’t wait for her to argue. I lead her through the crowd, my hand warm and firm at the small of her back, until we reach the wooden floor at the center of the room.
The music slows, the soft melody filling the air, and I turn to her, holding out my hand.
She hesitates for just a second, then slides her hand into mine.
As we sway to the music, her other hand resting lightly on my shoulder, I feel something in me settle.
For the first time in years, I feel completely… present.
There’s no work waiting for me in the morning. No meetings to prepare for. No past mistakes clouding my mind. Just her.
Her quiet smile. The warmth of her hand in mine.
We move in easy rhythm, her dress brushing softly against my legs as I guide her across the floor.
I lower my voice so only she can hear. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
Her gaze darts up to mine, surprised. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you are,” I murmur simply.
She looks away, her cheeks pink.
I grin, leaning just a little closer. “What are you thinking about?”
She lets out a breath, her lips quirking up in a faint smile. “That I probably stepped on your toes at least five times already.”
I laugh at that, and she laughs too — soft, genuine, and it feels like the whole room fades away.
We keep swaying, and I find myself murmuring little things just to keep her smiling.
We talk about the pets back at the clinic — Pip and Nibbs’ latest antics, Buddy’s habit of stealing socks, Boomer’s refusal to walk on wet grass.
She laughs at every story, her eyes lighting up, and I can’t help but drink it all in.
Her.
Here.
With me.
I catch myself thinking, maybe this could be it.
Maybe this could be the start of forever.
The thought settles deep in my chest, warm and heavy, and I don’t try to push it away.
Not this time.
Not when she’s looking at me like this — like she’s just as surprised as I am to find herself here.
The song slows to its end, but I don’t let her go right away.
I just hold her there, in the middle of the floor, her head resting lightly against my chest, and I close my eyes.
For the first time in years, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.