Chapter 8
Liam
Stand by You – Rachel Platten
Irarely drank bourbon—it made things too dark, too oppressive. Today, however, was a bourbon day. The tension from the construction site disaster, plus some of Charity’s questionable decisions about the dinner, had me rattled more than I wanted to admit.
“Rough day?” Cole appeared in the doorway, tie loose and sleeves rolled up. Everything about him screamed relaxed while I felt wound tight as a spring.
“Can’t continue the dig and just had a meeting with Charity about the dinner.” I knocked back another finger of bourbon.
“And how is the beautiful Miss. Dawson?” Cole’s grin was knowing. “Still sexily businesslike?”
“She’s got everything planned wrong. Outside caterers, expensive entertainment, colors that’ll piss off our main sponsor,” I huffed, setting my glass down with a firm clink. “Asked me for my input and then pouted like a teenager with every change I suggested.”
“Maybe if you’d been available earlier, she wouldn’t have had to make those choices alone.”
I shot him a look. “That’s what she said.”
“That’s not how the joke works, bro.” He chuckled and reached up to hold onto the door frame. “All I’m saying is maybe cut her some slack. You might have opinions, but planning events isn’t exactly your wheelhouse.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. Planning the dinner should be simple.” Taking another swig of bourbon, the smooth, smoky caramel burned the back of my throat for a split second before the warmth seeped in. My muscles started to relax, and the tense pulse in my temples began to subside.
“You always know what needs deciding and then decide it. Done,” Cole stated. “And Charity is a strong businesswoman who will debate every choice she’s made like she’s planning a presidential wedding.” He raised an eyebrow and headed for the kitchen. “Tell me I’m wrong, bro.”
I couldn’t, and the cocky fucker knew it.
An hour later, I’d settled into my chair with music playing low, letting the weight of the day sink into me, when the doorbell rang. I groaned, the sound dragging out of me. Cole was out, my sister had a key, and I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Charity stood on my porch, hands buried deep in her jean pockets, the dying sun casting a golden halo behind her silhouette.
For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
She was stunning—absolutely devastating, in the simplest way possible.
White sneakers, jeans, thick red coat and a red-and-white striped sweater that should have looked ordinary but somehow didn't. Not on her.
Then there was a red ribbon tied in her big, loose, bouncy curls, fashioned into a perfect bow that sat atop her head like a crown.
The sight of it transported me back fifteen years, to memories of her as a teenager, all sunshine and boundless energy.
Impossibly sweet in a way that had made every guy in town stumble over himself just to make her smile.
But now... Christ, now she was beautiful, devastatingly so.
I hated myself for thinking it. Hated how my pulse quickened, and my chest tightened at the mere sight of her.
How I wanted to kiss that red lipstick she always wore right off her mouth.
The distant sound of children's laughter drifted from the fields across the way, their carefree voices creating the perfect soundtrack to this moment that felt suspended in amber. I swallowed hard, blinking slowly, as if she might vanish like some fever dream if I wasn't careful.
She unnerved me completely.
“Hey,” she said. “Sorry to bother you in the evening.”
I didn’t invite her in. “Something wrong with the catering? Could you not reach Sophia?”
“No, Sophia was great. She’s excited about the opportunity.” Charity shifted her weight. “I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d update you in person.”
“You could have called, because I’ve got to be honest, planning parties ranks somewhere below root canals on my list of fun evening activities.”
“Maybe.” She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. “We need to discuss the color scheme situation—”
“I run a construction company, not an event planning service, Charity. I was pretty clear about that.” I stepped back, reluctantly gesturing her inside. No point having the conversation on my front porch for the neighbors to hear. “You’d better come in. You can put your coat on the rack.”
She did and then followed me to the living room but remained standing. “The thing is, I’ve already ordered everything. Napkins, decorations, signage. Changing now would cost more than the original budget.”
“So, you’re ignoring my advice because it’s inconvenient?”
“Could we use the word practical instead of inconvenient?”
I indicated for her to take a seat. She lowered herself onto my leather sectional, feet together, toes tapping. “You have it nice in here.”
“What were you expecting? A frat house?” I shook my head.
“I’m sorry, Charity, but you can’t distract me with talk of my interior décor.
” Perching myself on the edge of the armchair, I felt heat creeping up my neck, as my teeth ground together.
Why would she ignore my advice? “Seriously, Charity? You really want to upset Benny?”
“No, no I don’t.” She smoothed her hands down her denim-clad thighs. “But it’s too late now to change it. Like I said, I have everything ordered, not to mention the balloon arch and the banner.”
“Yes, but I thought I explained why it’s not a good choice. It might be practical, but potentially it could offend our biggest sponsor.” I threw my hands in the air. “Why would you risk that?”
“I heard your concerns, but I have at least four other crises to deal with, and napkin colors is not one of them.”
Her phone rang, cutting through the tension. She glanced at the screen and her face immediately changed. “Sorry, it’s my dad, I need to take this.” I watched her expression shift from annoyed, to worried, to panicked as she listened.
“Okay, Dad. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.” She hung up and rubbed her forehead.
Her hand gripped her sweater over her heart.
I held my breath not wanting to interrupt what was clearly a private moment.
When she closed her eyes and dropped her head back, something told me that she needed my support.
Pushing off my chair, I moved in front of her.
I reached for her shoulder but hesitated.
Sensing I was there, she jolted and then looked up at me, worry in the furrow of her brow, and the cornflower blue of her eyes.
“Okay,” she said, her gaze still on me. “Yes, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll go now.” She ended the call and stood up. “I’m sorry, Liam, I need to go. My…” She closed her eyes momentarily. “Family emergency.”
She was already moving toward the door, and despite myself, I followed.
“What’s going on, Charity?”
“My sister got arrested. I need to go and deal with it.” She paused at the door, looking back. “Sorry. I have to go.”
“Okay.” I followed her out of the room to the front door as she yanked it open with one hand while grabbing her coat with the other. “Charity text me when you’re done, just so I know you’re okay.”
Without a response, she was gone, leaving me standing in the doorway wondering why I felt like I should have offered to help.
But I didn’t. Because that wasn’t my job. She’d made her choices about the dinner, anything else wasn’t my problem.