Chapter 13
Kendall
“Okay. We figured out the venue and the menu for the rehearsal dinner. Now show me that dirty poem.”
I almost spit up the sip of beer, I’m laughing so hard.
“Wow. Someone’s impatient.” I glance over at Liam, who’s standing on the other side of the kitchen island.
“I had to listen to the bartender of that restaurant go on and on for thirty minutes about ten different types of vodka. Hell yeah, I’m impatient,” Liam says as he cracks open a fresh beer.
I laugh while I pull up the poem on his laptop. “Oh, come on. Moscow mules are Aidan’s favorite cocktail. The bartender just wanted to make sure everything is perfect for the rehearsal dinner.”
Liam makes an annoyed grumbling sound before sipping his beer, but I can tell by the teasing look in his blue eyes he’s just playing around.
I pull up “I Love You” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on the laptop screen as Liam walks over to stand next to me.
I turn the laptop to him. He sets his drink aside and leans down, bracing his massive hands on either side of the counter.
I watch as his eyes scan the opening lines of the poem. A few seconds later, his brow hits his hairline. I bite back a smile.
I’ve read this poem a million times. It’s one of my favorite poems ever. I could recite in my sleep. So to see Liam read this poem for the first time is kind of thrilling. It’s like I get to experience it for first time in a new way.
“Whoa…” he murmurs after another few seconds.
I watch his eyes dilate as he reads the lines describing how much the poet desires her lover’s lips, and eyes and hair, how she loves seeing the passion burning bright in his stare, how she loves the feel of his body.
How she craves his kiss and his embrace.
How she feels a soul-shattering connection with him that transcends time.
How she aches to spend her life with him.
After a minute, Liam blinks. He straightens up, his expression dazed. His neck is flushed. So are his stubbled cheeks.
He runs a hand through his messy, wavy hair and looks at me. The corner of his mouth quirks up.
“Well, fuck. That’s hot.”
I can’t help the giddy smile that pulls at my lips. “Isn’t it?”
He leans down again and squints at the laptop screen. “When did she write this?”
“The late-eighteen hundreds.”
He blinks at the screen. “Damn, Ella. You were a freak.”
I burst out laughing. I have to hold onto the edge of the kitchen island so I don’t fall down. Above me, I hear the low rumble of Liam’s chuckle.
I stand up and wipe my eyes. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard anyone call Ella Wheeler Wilcox a freak before.”
“That was honestly so good though. Like, passionate and sexy. But also really romantic too,” he says. “It’s weird. I never really thought people back then wrote such sexy stuff.”
“You think sexy stuff only exists in modern times?”
He flashes that charming grin. “I just never really thought about it. Honestly, part of me thinks it’s weird. All these people in top hats and hoop skirts and whatever else they wore back then writing these freaky sexy poems. Just think of what they got up to in the bedroom.”
I burst out laughing again. “You think about the most random stuff.”
He shrugs, that handsome smile in place. “I’m a pretty random guy sometimes. It’s part of my charm.”
“Your brother is gonna be impressed when he finds out that you’ve been researching poetry to write your best man speech.”
Liam glances at the ground as he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know about that.” That gleam in his eye fades as he takes a sip of his drink. “This kind of stuff is easy for him. He probably wouldn’t be that impressed that I read a few poems.”
I notice how Liam’s shoulders hunch slightly as he talks himself down.
His eyes are shy as he looks at me. “Anyway, thanks for sending me all this stuff. And being patient enough to talk to me about it. I know it must be kind of a drag.”
I frown at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
He doesn’t say anything. He just looks off to the side and shakes his head.
“Liam, talking to you about poetry isn’t a drag. At all. It’s really fun.”
He turns to me. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Why would you think I didn’t enjoy it?”
He leans his hip against the island counter. “Because you’re really smart. You teach this stuff for a living. You’ve read more books in a year than I’ve read in my entire life. I’m kind of a dumbass. I didn’t think you’d actually enjoy talking about this with me.”
I still at the rawness in his words, at how insecure he sounds. I’ve never seen Liam vulnerable like this. He’s always his joking, cocky self.
My chest aches. Has he always thought this about himself?
“You’re not a dumbass, Liam. You’re smart.”
He lets out a weak chuckle. “I’m really not.”
I step closer to him. “You are. Everything you said about those poems was so insightful.”
He flashes a sad smile. “Thanks. Probably because you’re a really good teacher and picked out stuff for me to read that you knew I’d like.”
“Sure, but we’re all like that. We all perform better when we’re studying things we actually like.”
He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me.
The need to comfort him washes over me. I hate seeing him beat himself up like this.
“I’m terrible at math. I’ve always hated it,” I say. “I took one math class my entire time in college. It wasn’t even that hard. It was the intro class that all students had to take. I got a C+.”
Liam blinks at me, completely unfazed. “I failed almost every single class I took in college, Kendall.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“I should have failed out of college. I didn’t pass any of the classes I took.”
“Liam, what are you talking about? You graduated, just like I did.”
“Not like you did. Not even close.”