Chapter 31
I’d like to say the few days following what I’m now calling our Lasagna Night went by quickly, but that would be a lie.
It’s a few days before the exam period officially starts and students are panicking.
Thankfully, I’m ahead, as always, so all my papers are already written, because these students are not ready.
They didn’t have the sense to do things ahead like I did.
I’ve had a line at my office door twenty-four seven the past two days.
Luckily, as a PhD student, I don’t have any exams and I only need to supervise four exams this year, meaning the next three weeks will be a walk in the park.
And after that, we have a month for winter break.
“You look exhausted,” Liam says from across the dinner table.
We’ve fallen into a domesticated routine over the last forty-eight hours.
He makes me breakfast, kisses me goodbye at the door, and tells me to have a good day as he sends me off with a packed lunch.
Then, when I get home, he greets me at the door with a kiss and supper waiting for me on the table.
After eating together, and telling each other about our day, we make our way to the living room where we, or rather he, will watch a movie.
I fell asleep on the couch barely after opening credits the last two nights.
Then, he would wake me up when the movie ended and we’d crawl into my bed together.
“I am,” I confirm. “I hate the end of semester. It’s like they all forgot they had stuff to submit and that they should have been paying attention and learning the last four months, not doing whatever they were doing.”
He laughs and says, “I can’t say I was much different.”
“I was—still am. All my stuff was done and submitted two weeks ago. I don’t understand procrastination.” I really don’t. Why put off what you can do right away? My comment just makes him laugh even more.
I’ve noticed over the last few days that he’s been laughing more freely.
He even looks lighter. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t say I’m against it, even if I am a little suspicious.
It’s not like him to laugh, or at least it hasn’t been since he moved in with me.
In the past, he was always a little lighter and carefree with me, but not like this. This is different.
“You’ve never liked procrastinating, always needing to get everything done at the first chance. Even when you were a kid.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I say jokingly.
“Not at all. I’ve always admired that trait of yours, being a procrastinator myself.” I blush. “Speaking of admiring,” he starts, then looks away from me, but not before I catch the subtle red hue that graces his cheeks. Is he blushing? “I also admired how diligently you tend to your plants.”
That earns him a look, and I can’t control the snort that comes out of me at the memory of his comments toward my plants when he first moved in. Not to mention the words that just came out of his mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak in that manner.
His cheeks darken at my reaction.
“Is that so?” I ask, raising a brow. “If I remember correctly, you had a few choice words for my plants and how diligently I cared for them when you first moved in.”
“Anyways,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.
He’s the one who brought up this weird conversation, though, so why is he so uncomfortable?
“Anyways,” he repeats, “I found this place online—here in town—where we can go paint some ceramic pots, or anything else, really. They seem to have it all. I thought maybe we could go tomorrow morning and then grab lunch?” He nervously runs a hand through his hair, still not meeting my gaze.
Oh my God, is he asking me on a date? Unable to stop the words from coming out, that’s exactly what I ask him. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Would that be okay?” he asks.
Is he really that nervous? In what world does he think I would say no?
I mean, I kiss him goodbye every morning and hello every night—or, at least I have for the past two days.
I guess it’s only happened twice. Have I been reading too much into those interactions?
I really should have paid more attention when my undergrad roommates talked about boys. I have no idea what I’m doing here.
Looking up, I see Liam is still there, just looking right back at me, seeming nervous.
“Of course! I just wanted to make sure that’s what you were asking. That I wasn’t getting ahead of myself. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page . . .”
“Are you nervous, Sloane?” he asks, teasingly.
“Says the guy that’s blushing,” I sass back with an eye roll.
“I am not blushing,” he retorts.
“Sure you’re not,” I tease.
“You’re a little shit, you know that?”
“Oh, is that why you asked me out on a date?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Whatever,” he says, in his usual grumpy tone, this time throwing me a small smirk that makes my stomach swoosh before making his way past the living room and into my bedroom.
Why is he going in there? Usually we watch a movie before calling it a night. I quickly clear off the table and start the dishwasher before joining.
“Bed already?” I question, walking into my room.
“No, but you were about to fall asleep in your stir-fry so I figured we could watch a movie on your laptop tonight. That way I won’t have to wake you up after you fall asleep,” he explains.
My heart melts that much more at his thoughtfulness. I know he hates having to wake me up. He’s never come out and said it, but it’s written on his face every time he has to do it.
“Come on, get in. Gigi’s already made herself comfortable under the blankets,” he says, holding up the blanket for me to get in next to him.
I don’t waste another moment and jump into bed with him, happy that I got in the habit of taking a shower right when I get home so I don’t have to waste any of this time with him.
“What are we watching tonight?” I ask.
“Summer suggested The Holidate,” he says, surprising me. I never knew him to spend much time with his sister.
“Another rom-com?” I ask. “You know we can watch something else, right?”
“They’re your favorite,” he states simply, before pressing play.
It doesn’t take me long to fall asleep.
I got to sleep in this morning and I feel like a million bucks. Liam was sweet enough to take care of Gigi this morning, answering to her six thirty a.m. call for breakfast. If she’s not fed by six forty-five she starts acting like she hasn’t been fed in days—the drama queen.
Now, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my SUV.
Liam insisted that he’s been cleared to drive—a while ago, apparently.
He said, since he was driving, he could pick the music, which I’m not mad about.
He put on a band called Wild Rivers and I have to say, they will be added to my regular mix of music.
“How did you find this place?” I ask him as we pull into the parking lot of what looks to be a coffee shop called Sip & Paint.
“Google,” is his one-word answer as removes his seat belt. “Don’t move,” he orders before I watch him get out of the car and carefully make his way to my door. Then he does something I never thought he would do: he opens my car door for me.
Is Liam a secret little romantic at heart?
He’s really taking this date seriously, and the thought makes my heart falter. The effort and thought that he put into this date hits me again, making some of the cracks on my heart that he had caused over the years heal.
He looks down at me, then down to the hand I’ve slid into his, giving me a small, shy smile before leading us to the door of the shop we’re going to this morning, where he opens the door for me again.
This time, it makes me blush, and makes me wish I would have put more thought into my hair and outfit.
I’m wearing simple black-wash jeans, brown Blundstones, and a plain, black long sleeve under my beige shacket with my hair in its usual top knot.
“What’s wrong?” Liams asks, pulling me out of my thoughts as we get in line for a coffee before getting a table.
“Nothing,” I lie, playing with one of the buttons on my jacket.
“I know you’re lying,” he calls me out, pulling at my hand that’s still in his, trying to shake the truth out of me. “Just tell me. You know I won’t judge you.”
“It’s stupid. Don’t worry about it. What are you going to get to drink?” I ask, trying to redirect the conversation.
“Sloane, come on, just tell me. I doubt it was stupid. Nothing you say is ever stupid,” he says, avoiding my obvious attempt at changing the subject.
“I was just thinking about how I could have put something nicer on. You happy?” I ask, frustrated that he couldn’t let it go.
He turns and places himself right in front of me so our chests are almost touching.
Squeezing my hand, he leans down so his lips whisper against my ear.
“Sloane Callahan,” he says, making me physically shiver, “you are the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Nothing affects me more than how comfortable you are with me.
It’s a constant fight to keep my eyes and hands to myself.
The way you look wearing a baggy sweatshirt and leggings with your hair looking like you just got freshly fucked should be illegal.
Especially when you walk around in my sweatshirt.
Don’t even get me started on how your ass looks in a pair of jeans like you have on right now.
Trust me when I say that you look gorgeous no matter what.
But if it really bothers you, next time I’ll take you out somewhere so you can wear those heels and the soft, sexy little sweater dress thing you wore to go out with that douchebag. ”
Speechless, all I can do is nod my head yes.
“We good now?” he asks.
“Yes,” I manage to squeak out.
“Good,” he says firmly, taking his spot beside me again. “And I’m thinking of getting a vanilla latte.”
“What?” I ask, looking over at him, confused.
“To drink. You asked me what I was thinking of getting to drink,” he says with a cocky smirk, knowing his little speech distracted me.
“Oh yeah, I’ll have one too,” I answered half-heartedly, still in a daze from what he said. I know he has a sinfully dirty mouth in bed—I remember our one afternoon together well enough. I’ve played it over in my mind more than once.
Is it hot in here, or just me? I take off my shacket, earning myself a raised brow from Liam then a smirk, as if he can read my mind, making my cheeks darken.
He keeps his eyes locked on mine as I hear his voice telling me to sit on his face, telling me I’m a good girl.
I can feel his fingers trace my spine, feel his heart beat against mine .
. . I need to look away. My breathing is getting heavier, but I can’t pull my gaze away from him.
My stomach clenches at the thought of breaking the connection.
Finally, he breaks the hold he has on me, leans back in, and tells me to behave.
Jesus . . . this man. I need to behave, yet he can read my mind and get me hot and bothered in the middle of a coffee shop. Enough, I tell myself as I do an internal shake to bring my thoughts back to an appropriate nature.
I need a distraction. Looking around, I finally take in the shop.
The front is a coffee counter with some pastries on display.
To the left, the room opens up to a bunch of tables with colorful plastic chairs.
The far wall is floor-to-ceiling shelving showcasing dozens of ceramic items to paint.
The counter along the window at the front of the space has paint in every color imaginable.
Our turn to order comes up and Liam orders two vanilla lattes with oat milk and two blueberry muffins, my favorite.
I pick up my coffee and the plate with both muffins for us as we make our way to the painting area, selecting a quiet table in the back corner away from the other patrons.
He set our coffee mugs down on the table and I wish I would have ordered an iced coffee, because yes, I’m still running hot from my earlier thoughts.
It doesn’t help that the thoughts are still in the background of my mind.
“What do you want to paint?” Liam asks, as we stand in front of the wall of options.
“I’m not sure. Too many options,” I tell him, fingering a little mushroom figurine. “How about you?”
“Something you can put a plant in,” he answers, grabbing a simple pot.
“Something I can put a plant in?” I ask, turning toward him. “I thought I had more than enough?” I sass.
“Yeah, well, someone told me it was impossible to have too many plants,” he says, putting the pot away to grab a bigger one. “Plus, I figured we could stop at a nursery I found online not far from here.”
And just like that, my heart melts that much more. “Then new pots are a must,” I agree, grabbing the one he just put back and throwing him a wink before dropping off my painting project on our table and going to pick out some colors.
“I’m thinking a strawberry motif, how about you?” I ask him, pouring some light pink, red, and green into one of the provided palettes, then grabbing a couple of paint brushes.
“I don’t know, something pink,” he answers, filling every one of the six spots with a different shade of pink.
“Pink?” I ask, as we make our way back to our table.
“Yeah, Rosie. I noticed it was still your favorite color.”
I raise a brow in question as I drop our brushes, palettes, and my project on our table.
“I know you, Sloane. Every single pair of comfy socks you have are pink, not to mention your favorite blanket is pink,” he says, selecting the thickest brush and dipping it in a blush pink color.
I freeze, coffee cup halfway to my mouth. He’s too concentrated on his task at hand to notice how much his words have affected me. Once again, he has me completely blown away by his attention to detail. He doesn’t forget anything, and he wasn’t lying about me being on his mind over the years.
“Don’t act surprised, Rosie,” he says, not looking up from his painting. “I told you I remember everything, and you’re too tempting for me not to notice everything about you. Plus, you’re painting your own planter pink right now.”
After his last comment, we keep painting in silence, sharing glances here and there as our feet touch under the table, hands grazing as we rinse our brushes.
The rest of the morning goes by in a blur, and mostly in silence, as we keep exchanging glances and small touches. Everything gets more and more heated as the seconds go by. I never thought of plant shopping as foreplay, but by the time we get home, I rush to my room to change my underwear.