Chapter 2
Liam
Better Man – Robbie Williams
Three days.
Three days since I’d started the half-finished text to Charity Dawson that I couldn’t bring myself to send.
Three days of dodging calls from her number and stepping over the growing stack of cooperative dinner planning materials that she had shoved through my door.
It wasn’t a given that she was responsible for the organization, but as a professional event planner, everyone seemed to assume, rightly or wrongly, that she should do it every year.
She never seemed to question it, so she must have been happy to, but I was not, and I just wished she’d get that into her head.
The maples lining Summit, the town’s main street, rustled in the warm breeze, their leaves whispering while spring sunlight bounced across glass storefronts so bright it stabbed my eyes.
People were milling around in the usual Saturday morning hubbub, waving to neighbors, chatting to store owners, or wandering into Daffodil Diner for a late breakfast or early lunch.
All typical small-town behavior where most people knew you by name.
Except, I wasn’t interested in any of it. I kept my head down, walking with purpose to where I needed to be. It wasn’t that people didn’t know me or were afraid to speak to me— they just knew that they wouldn’t get a response if they did.
I kept to myself. No point talking when there was nothing worth saying, besides which, I preferred the solitude that misery brought with it.
Pushing through the door of Petals, the local florist, the heat hit me first, then the roses and lilies. Too sweet, too thick. Like trying to breathe through syrup.
“Fuck,” I muttered, glad I’d forgone a jacket.
“I know, I know.” Brandon, the owner, mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “The heating is on the fritz. It won’t turn off.” He dropped his hand to his side and raised an inquiring eyebrow. “I don’t suppose…”
Fishing my phone from my pocket, I was barely able to stop myself from sighing. “I’ll call James, my crew foreman.” I looked over at Brandon. “Can I get a nice bouquet of mixed flowers, something big enough that says I’m sorry I didn’t make your housewarming party last week.”
“Absolutely.”
It only took two rings. “Boss.”
“James, do me a favor and get one of the guys to come over to Petals would you. Brandon can’t turn the heating off.”
“Sure. I’ll send Mack over. Want me to bill him?”
I looked over to Brandon who was adding a huge amount of flowers to the bouquet.
“Nope, it's fine. How’s it going over there?” My crew was working on a hotel just outside of town.
A development that should have been finished almost six months before, but a shitty winter and discovering an old unused mine shaft had delayed it.
“We’ve made good progress today. We’ve got the roof insulation on, ready to start tiling tomorrow, and the drainage pipe issue is sorted. Otherwise,” he sucked in a breath, “we’re six months behind, so it is what it is.”
Pinching the throb between my eyes, not for the first time during this project, I wondered about my career choice. “Okay, well I’ll be back on site tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
As we ended the call, Brandon looked over.
“Appreciate it, Liam. And of course these are on the house.” He continued to add more flowers, and I nodded.
I just hoped my sister, Tally, accepted them as a huge ass apology for not turning up to the party she’d had to celebrate moving into her new home with her fiancé, Wilder.
They’d had a huge cabin-style property built on Wilder’s family’s ranch, and everyone had been invited, even our folks had come from Florida to attend.
Mom had been the one who told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to apologize to my sister.
Maybe if it had just been a housewarming party, I might have gotten away with it, but as it was also to celebrate her engagement last month, Tally was mad.
I didn’t like parties. Not anyone’s, and she should know that, yet I was still in the doghouse without a bone.
It was funny because I’d spent hours looking in the florist window before Ezra was born, imagining what flowers Mallory would like in the hospital.
Now the act of buying them felt twisted, as if I was always apologizing, always trying to make up for something I couldn’t fix.
“Heard your folks were back for a visit. That right?”
Brandon was tying the flowers together with a yellow ribbon, Tally hated yellow, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him. “Yeah, but they flew back early this morning. Came back for Tally’s party.”
“I heard she has a beautiful new home.” He fashioned some curls from the ribbon with a pair of scissors. “Delia Goodrow said it has eight bedrooms.”
“Delia Goodrow needs to get her facts straight. It has four. And yeah, it’s beautiful.
Wilder, her fiancé, designed her dream home.
” Not wanting to discuss it any further, I looked out of the store window into Summit.
Then I saw her. Blonde hair spilled like sunlight down her back, silk blouse catching the light, tight black skirt looking like it had melted to every curve, heels high enough to snap an ankle—Charity Dawson.
Of course she’d show up now, looking like she owns the damn sidewalk.
Ducking behind a rack of greeting cards, I hoped she hadn't seen me.
The last thing I wanted to do was discuss the annual business cooperative dinner.
I didn't want to even attend, never mind host it, but I had no choice, those were the rules.
I'd considered leaving the cooperative, of course I had, but then there were things like free flowers for my sister if I fixed someone's heating.
My eyes tracked Charity across the street as she stopped to talk to Roger the owner of the hardware store.
He was putting yard brushes into a huge tub, and she was laughing with him.
She ran a hand through her bangs as she shook her head, looking like a damn hair commercial as it blew in the breeze.
There was no doubt she was beautiful and as she leaned closer to Roger, putting a hand on his shoulder, I hated myself for noticing.
Then Roger pointed directly at Petals. Directly at me.
My stomach dropped as Charity followed his gesture, her gaze finding the flower shop window. Even from across the street, I could see the moment she spotted me. Her shoulders straightened, and she said something to Roger before stepping off the curb with purpose.
Shit. She was heading this way, and I just knew she was going to try to talk to me again about the dinner. Of all days, today wasn’t the day to discuss it with me.
“Here you go, Liam.” Brandon's voice seemed to come from underwater as blood rushed in my ears.
“Thanks,” I muttered, but my attention was locked on the approaching figure outside. Charity was crossing the street with the determination of a woman who'd been bombarding me with phone calls for three days.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked quickly, already pulling out my wallet.
Brandon shook his head. “No, it's fine. You're getting my heating fixed.”
“This is a lot of flowers, Brandon. Let me pay—”
“Least I can do.” He flashed me a smile just as the bell above the door chimed.
And there she was. Charity Dawson in all her determined, beautiful, pain-in-my-ass glory.
“Liam.” Her voice was honey over steel. “Fancy running into you here.”
Nothing about this was fancy, and we both knew it.