Chapter 27
The next day, I’m sitting in the lounge of the B&B with my parents, picking at a sandwich and trying not to think too hard about tonight, when Will Flowers strolls in like he owns the place.
He’s got a bag from Knot and Spur in one hand and a grin that makes me immediately suspicious.
“Afternoon, folks,” he says, casual as can be. “Ms. Olive, this is for you.”
He sets the bag beside me and turns on his heel before I can even ask who it’s from.
I blink at the gift. “Okay. Which of you traitors is working with Liam?”
Dad looks up from his soup, genuinely confused. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
But Mom? Mom just grins, not even trying to hide it. When I lift my brow, she shrugs, all innocent.
“I wanted you to have a special night.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself as I open the bag. Inside is the exact outfit I wore on our first pretend date but tailored a little differently. Slightly more room in the hips and belly. Thoughtful. Specific. And so very Liam.
At five, I’m dressed and ready, standing in front of the mirror, smoothing my skirt and reminding myself not to expect too much.
But when Liam’s truck pulls up and I walk out to meet him, the breath leaves my lungs.
He’s in the same outfit, too. Dark jeans, black button-up, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the top two buttons undone in a way that has to be intentional.
His hair’s still damp, like he just showered, and when he leans over to open the door for me, his cologne hits like a memory wrapped in musk and sin.
He grins, trouble and charm personified. “Evening, honey.”
He opens the passenger door with an exaggerated flourish, and I roll my eyes as I climb in, adjusting my skirt carefully.
When I glance over, I catch him looking.
His gaze lingers on my legs before flicking up to meet mine. “You have sexy legs, Olive. Don’t know if I ever told you that before.”
Heat floods my face. “You didn’t.”
“I am now.”
He rounds the front and climbs in, filling the cab with that maddening scent. It takes everything in me not to lean closer.
“You look nice,” he says, like he’s commenting on the weather.
“You clean up alright yourself.”
He chuckles, shifts into drive. “Figured we could get to know each other on the way.”
“Oh?” I raise a brow. “What’d you have in mind?”
“The basics. My favorite color’s black. My dog’s name was Yeller, because I had an asshole for a father. And I didn’t take anyone to prom. Your turn.”
Ah. So we’re playing the game again.
“Pink’s my favorite, though red’s growing on me. Never had a pet until recently. A cat named Sammi. I went to prom with the same guy I lost my virginity to.”
Liam nods solemnly. “I feel like we could be best friends, Olive.”
“Is that so?”
He glances over. “My great-grandfather used to say you had to be best friends with the person you marry. He knew my great-grandma was the one within two weeks.”
I snort. “Kind of intense for a first date, sir.”
He shrugs. “Just laying my cards on the table.”
“If your great-grandparents knew after two weeks, what do you think it means when two people have known each other for years?”
He’s quiet for a beat.
“I think,” he says slowly, “it means if it doesn’t work out, it’s probably the guy’s fault. Especially if he had a father who broke everything good that came near him.” He looks over. “But don’t worry. That guy’s seeing a therapist now. He’s working on it.”
My chest tightens. God.
“And the father?”
“Out of the picture. For good.”
We share a long look. And then we’re pulling into the parking lot of the Italian restaurant in Sheridan at the same place where we had our first fake date.
Liam parks and taps my knee with his knuckles. “Come on, honey. We’ve got a reservation.”
Before I can answer, he’s already out of the truck, circling around to open my door. Palm up. Waiting. I take it.
Inside, I tease, “Didn’t peg you for an Italian guy. Figured you were more steaks and potatoes.”
He smirks. “I figured you’d like this place. Besides,” he leans in, “I’m growing fond of ziti.”
He leads me to the hostess stand, then to our table.
Pulls out my chair with a flourish. I murmur a soft “thank you” as I sit, smoothing my skirt down.
He stretches out across from me like he owns the restaurant—cool, confident, calm.
But his eyes… they’re watching me like I’m the most important thing in the room.
The server appears. Older man. Warm smile. Nothing like the first time we were here.
“What would the lady like to start with?”
“Water, please,” I say.
“I’ll have the same,” Liam adds.
We chat lightly until our food arrives, and then, he shifts the mood again.
“So, Olive…” He tilts his head. “How do you picture meeting the love of your life?”
“Wow.” I blink. “That’s deep for a first date. You go first.”
He leans back. “Meeting at work. That’s romantic, right?”
“Depends. I’ve heard horror stories.”
“But what if they fake-dated? Got stuck in a tiny town, shared a house, maybe even a bed.”
I smirk. “That sounds oddly specific.”
“Think it could work.” He nods. “Maybe they go to a concert for a date. Then dinner. They take it slow.”
“Slow, huh? They wouldn’t fall into bed after the second date?”
He shakes his head, serious. “Not until the third.”
I laugh. He glances at my mouth. Then my eyes.
“And maybe the girl doesn’t realize how many nights he thought about kissing her even before they started fake-dating.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Because he’s an idiot.”
I sip my water, heart fluttering.
He leans in. “You’d be surprised how many boyfriends that girl had who broke up with her because the guy called too much. Always had an emergency.”
I stare at him.
“What did he do?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing major. Just made sure she was always thinking about him.”
“And why did he date other women if he was so in love with her?”
He smirks. “None of them were her. Didn’t matter how many names he forgot—they weren’t Olive.”
Something warm and dangerous curls inside me.
Then, of course, he changes gears.
“Do you like Mario Kart?”
“I do. Why?”
“You should come over. I’ll let you win.”
“I can’t. I’m shopping tomorrow with Mom and Phern.” I rub my belly. “And these two take it out of me.”
“I’ll give you a foot rub.”
“You’re playing dirty.”
He leans in, eyes lit with something dark and teasing. “Honey, everything’s fair when you’re trying to fall in love.”
The air between us hums.
I try to laugh, try to push back the tension. “Again, so forward for a first date.”
But I know he’s not joking. Not one bit.
We finish dinner. When the bill comes, he slides his card in the folder without blinking.
“Not going Dutch?” I tease.
He just looks at me, calm and steady. “Boyfriend always pays.”
I smile. He does, too. After he signs the receipt, he stands and offers his hand.
I take it without hesitation. Outside, the air is heavy with moisture.
The sky above Sheridan pulses with distant lightning and thunder rolls low, like a promise.
Liam leads me to the truck and opens the door with a little bow.
And I’m terrified that somewhere between “hello” and “goodnight,” I’ve started falling in love with him all over again.
The truck rumbles to life as Liam starts the drive back to Broken Heart Creek, headlights cutting through the dark stretch of highway. The lightning is still a soft strobe on the horizon, silent and pulsing, like the sky’s holding its breath.
We don’t talk for a few minutes. But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with everything we didn’t say over dinner. Everything I’m afraid to admit I still feel.
His hand rests on his thigh. I remember those hands. The way they used to hold me like I was something sacred. How his arms were my favorite place to wake up.
He catches me watching.
“What?” he asks, voice low, eyes on the road.
I shake my head, glancing away. “Nothing.”
But that’s a lie. Everything is something tonight.
Outside, the thunder rolls again. The air in the cab is warm, electric. My skin prickles beneath the fabric of the of my clothes and I cross my legs, mostly to keep from reaching for him.
Liam shifts, glancing over.
“You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Where you act like nothing’s bothering you even though you’re clearly overthinking everything.”
I huff a laugh. “And you’re doing that thing where you act like you didn’t just drop emotional bombs all over our date and then pivot to Mario Kart like it’s no big deal.”
He grins. “It’s called balance.”
I smile, but it fades as quickly as it comes. “Tonight was amazing. It really was.”
“But?” he prompts, already knowing.
“But I’m still scared.”
He nods, eyes steady on the road. “I am too.”
That throws me for a second.
“You are?”
“Yeah.” He exhales through his nose. “Because I know I’m the one who broke it. And I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve to get it back.”
I swallow hard. My fingers twitch in my lap. “You’re not supposed to say things like that when I’m trying not to fall for you again.” I pause. “And you’re not the only one who broke it. I ran, too.”
He glances over, and even in the dark, I can see the heat in his eyes. “I think we both stopped trying a long time ago.”
My breath catches. I stare out the window, heart pounding.
Silence settles again. But this time, it crackles.
I feel his hand inch closer on the center console. Not touching. Just there. So close. I don’t move away.
The storm gets closer as lightning flares in a bright burst over the distant hills, illuminating the road, the dash, the outline of his face. He looks good in the light. He looks dangerous in it. And for the first time in months, I don’t feel tired. Or sick. Or broken. I feel alive.
His voice is softer when he speaks again. “Can I tell you something?”
I nod, barely breathing.
“You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up. Still. Even when I was pissed off and full of pride and convinced you’d be better off without me… you were still it.”
My chest aches.
“I don’t need a perfect ending,” I whisper. “I just need something real.”
“You’ve always been real to me.”
Another beat.
Then I say the thing I’ve been holding inside since he first walked into that bar like a ghost from my past.
“I missed you.”
His jaw tightens, like the words hit somewhere deep.
“I missed us,” I say, softer. “Even when I hated you. Even when I wanted to move on.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches out and slips his fingers between mine. And I let him.
I don’t know what tomorrow brings. I don’t know how this ends. But for tonight, the air between us is warm and alive, the past behind us and the possibility of something more flickering in the space where our hands meet.
By the time we pull up to the bed and breakfast, the sky has opened up just enough to release a steady mist. Not quite rain. Not quite nothing. Just enough to make the air heavy and my skirt cling a little closer to my legs as I step out of the truck.
Liam comes around and opens my door like he has all night, but this time, he doesn’t immediately step back. His hand lingers at the small of my back as I slide down.
We stand there in the quiet just the hum of the truck engine, the scent of wet asphalt, and the soft flicker of the porch light above us.
I should go in. I should say goodnight and escape the thudding pressure behind my ribs. But I don’t move.
Neither does he.
“Thanks for tonight,” I say softly, breaking the silence. “It was a lot to process, but good.”
He nods. “Yeah. It was.”
I take a slow breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble. The clothes. The restaurant. The questions.”
“I didn’t want to fix it in one night,” he says, stepping closer. “I just wanted to show you I’m still trying. That I’m not the same man I was when you walked away.”
My throat tightens. “Liam, I didn’t want to walk away. I had to.”
“I know,” he says, voice quiet. “And I let you. I didn’t fight. Not really. I shut down. Let fear do what it always does to me.”
His eyes lift to mine, searching.
“But I’ve been fighting since you left. Therapy. The ranch. Myself. I’ve been trying to become someone who doesn’t just love you but knows how to love you.”
I blink hard, trying to keep it together. “I didn’t expect this version of you.”
“I didn’t know I could be him,” he admits. “Until losing you showed me who I didn’t want to be anymore.”
I look away, the ache in my chest sharp and full.
“What if I get hurt again?” I whisper. “What if I trust you and you break it all over again?”
He steps closer, slow, like I’m something fragile and sacred.
“I’m not asking for forever tonight,” he says. “I’m asking for now. For another chance to earn it.”
The porch light flickers. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles low and deep.
I nod, swallowing hard. “I’m scared, Liam.”
“I know.”
“And I’m tired.”
“I’ll carry some of it,” he says without hesitation. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and he catches it with the back of his hand.
I should go inside.
But instead, I whisper, “I missed your arms.”
That’s all it takes.
He steps in, slowly, carefully, and pulls me against him.
I don’t resist.
I fold into his chest like I never left, like his arms were built to hold this weight, and maybe they were. He’s warm and solid and familiar in all the best ways. His cheek rests against the crown of my head.
“I missed everything about you,” he says into my hair. “But mostly? I missed this. The way you fit.”
I close my eyes and let myself feel it. Just for tonight.
Tomorrow, there’ll still be questions.
But right now?
There’s this.
And it’s real.