32. Whitney
32
WHITNEY
B y the time Liam and I finish round three, it’s time for me to meet my interior designer, Monique. She meets me at the building, where the construction crew is busy at work. After exploring the space, we spend about an hour on Pinterest, Monique showing me some pieces that she likes. She doesn’t stay for much longer; she has another meeting in Brooklyn, but she agrees to purchase the pieces we discussed. I check in with the foreman that everything is set with the construction calendar, and I’m about to head back home when I hear a knocking on the front window. I glance towards the sound to find Shatar waving wildly at me. I didn’t expect to see her today. She gestures for me to come outside, so I wrap up my conversation and grab my coat.
When I get outside, Shatar throws her arms around me.
“What are you doing here?”
She pulls back and smiles. “Thought I’d come check out the space, and let you know… I’m in.”
My jaw drops. “What? Are you serious?”
She nods, grinning. “I just let my boss know I’d be wrapping up in the next couple of months and moving on. He was kind of pissed because he knows I’ll be taking, like, all of my clients with me, but whatever.”
I let out a squeal of excitement. “Oh my God! What swayed you?”
“Time for a change, you know?”
I know exactly what she means.
On my way home, I swing by AT I was making dinner in the kitchen while Liam sat at the counter doing work on his computer, and I went on and on about how I’ve been dying to go here but I can never get a reservation. I had no idea he was actually listening to me.
Turning to face Liam, my brows furrow in confusion.
“I remembered…” He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, another gesture I’ve come to know. A pink hue grows on his cheeks as he glances away from me.
My stomach flutters. Is Liam… nervous?
“You mentioned that you wanted to try this place, right? I thought you did, so I got us a reservation.”
I nod, my confusion melting away. “I did. I can’t believe…” I’m caught off-guard by an unexpected wave of emotion. “Let’s go in.”
Blinking back tears, I let Liam press his palm to my lower back as he guides me inside. He gives the hostess his name, and she brings us to a table in the corner. I glance around at the decor with a smile. When we settle into our seats, I flash Liam a wide smile.
“This is so thoughtful. Thank you.”
He nods, his gaze unsure. “I just… yeah. I’m glad you like it. It’s not much of a surprise. Probably should’ve just told you what it was.”
I reach across the table, setting my hand over his. “It’s the best surprise. I love it.” I flip the menu open with a smile. “Let’s split a whole bottle of wine and order the escargot.”
Liam crinkles his nose. “Snails? No way.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Clark. After all, I have exquisite taste.”
He locks his eyes on me, his gaze darkening. “Yes, you do, sweetheart.”
I nearly choke on my water, but thankfully we’re interrupted by the waiter. We order some appetizers, a bottle of wine, and decide to split the duck confit.
When the plate of escargots arrives, Liam eyes it like it’s a foreign object, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Come on,” I chuckle, sipping my wine. “Just try it. Don’t be a baby.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. If it will get you to stop bullying me.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. Smiling despite myself, I show him how to spread it onto the bread and watch as he takes a bite.
“So? What’s the verdict?”
He chews, swallows, and glances up at me. “It’s not terrible,” he says, taking another bite.
Laughing, I refill my wine glass. “I knew it. You like it. Admit it. You love it.”
“Wow.” He smirks. “Very mature. Next you’ll be chanting and spelling out the word kissing.”
“K-I-S-S?—”
“Alright, I like it. Thank you for pushing me outside my comfort zone. You are a genius, you’re always right, and you win,” Liam says, his voice dry.
I clap my hands together, cheering in delight. “Cheers to that.” Clinking my glass against his, I take another sip.
My eyes flicker up to see Liam reaching across the table. He swipes his thumb against the corner of my lips, smearing off a droplet of wine, then brings his thumb up to his mouth and sucks. His gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“Don’t drink too much,” he says, his voice deceptively soft. “I want you sober for what I’m going to do to you tonight.”
I don’t respond, because I have no idea what to say. I squeeze my legs together, my whole body reacting to his words. God, how is it possible this man can turn me on so much with just a few syllables?
Our food arrives, and we both dig in, an involuntary moan leaving my mouth as soon as it hits my tongue. We’re both stuffing our faces like animals when a young woman around my age approaches our table with a smile on her face.
“How is everything?” she asks.
“So good,” I reply.
“I’m thrilled to hear it. I’m Quinn, the owner. If you need anything at all, let me know.”
My mouth drops. This is Quinn Marks? One of the youngest restaurant owners in the city, according to the article I read. She’s already opening a companion restaurant to Mel’s , even though the place has only been open for a year and a half. Liam must be able to tell that I’m slightly awestruck by the culinary genius in front of me, because he reaches his hand out to shake Quinn’s and gestures towards me.
“I’m Liam, and this is my wife, Whitney.”
Again, his casual use of the word wife sends a jolt of awareness through my spine, warmth trickling through me.
“Lovely to meet you both. Bon appetit!”
Quinn walks away, heading to a nearby table, and I throw Liam a megawatt smile. “Best night ever,” I whisper, and he chuckles, the rough sound scraping against his throat.
By the time we get back to the apartment, I’m sufficiently tipsy and totally full. I tried to split the bill with Liam, but he insisted that he was paying, which made the night seem even more date-y. Yet, I didn’t seem to mind. I go straight to my room to put on sweatpants. As cute as I look, I cannot spend another minute in this tight dress. When I pad back into the living room, Liam is settled on the couch.
“Want to watch Love Island?” he asks.
I smirk. “I thought you hated it.”
He shrugs. “You like it.”
I open the fridge to get a La Croix, but Liam’s voice interrupts me. “I already have one for you over here,” he says.
Perking up, I close the fridge and walk over to him. Sure enough, he’s sitting on the couch, an unopened La Croix sitting in front of him. He reaches for my legs and lifts them to rest on his lap. He looks at me, his gaze softening. “Your mom left?”
I swallow, emotion welling in my throat. “Yeah,” I manage. “She’s gone.”
He squeezes my calf. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug, a pathetic lift of my shoulders that does nothing to hide my disappointment. Part of me is glad she’s gone. Part of me misses her. It’s a confusing mess of conflicting emotions, and most of all, I’m upset with myself over how we left things. I worry about her, despite everything.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Liam asks, his voice as soft as velvet, his thumb lightly stroking my ankle.
“It’s a long story,” I reply.
“Come here,” he says, patting his lap. He turns me around so that my head is resting across his thighs. “Tell me about it.”
So I do.
I tell him about my days on the road with my mom: the good, the bad, and the ugly. I tell him that tulips are my favorite flowers and I’ve never been to the top of the Empire State. We argue about which ice cream flavor is the best and agree on which cartoon character is objectively the hottest (Jessica Rabbit, of course). He talks to me about his childhood in England, how he was so angry after his parents’ divorce that he got into fights all the time and ended up in jail once or twice.
Liam Clark peels back layers of himself with my head in his lap and his fingers splayed across my hair.
By the time we finish talking, my voice is hoarse and it’s almost three in the morning. Eventually, my eyes flutter closed and I let myself drift. I’m floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness when I feel myself being lifted off the couch. Dimly, I register that I am being carried. That I am in my room. In my bed. Liam releases me onto my bed as I squint into the room. I feel his breath against my neck, his voice a soft, soothing murmur. Stirring, I try to blink, my mouth dry.
“Good night.”
He goes to release me, his arms unraveling from around me, but I tighten my grip on him.
“Stay,” I whisper.
His whole body stiffens, and he pulls back, his eyes searching mine.
“Stay,” I repeat, blinking up at him, waiting.
I don’t know why this moment feels so important. I feel that invisible string between us tighten and pulse with energy. Heat coils low in my stomach, my heart thumping with nerves. His deep green eyes sear me with an intensity as he brings his hand up to the side of my neck, his thumb brushing against the curve of my neck and down to my collarbone.
Finally, he speaks, his voice soft and low, a shade deeper than usual.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll stay.”