Chapter 20
Liam
The mattress was lumpy beneath my back, and the blankets were too thick and hot, causing me to toss and turn for hours. It was pitch black in the house and silent save for the faint hum of Emma’s white noise machine upstairs.
I smiled to myself. Ever since we were little, I’d never seen her sleep without that thing. Emma would turn down camping simply because she wouldn’t be able to use the noise machine. There was even one time we had a camp-out in the backyard and she lasted all of an hour before she crawled out of her sleeping bag and stalked inside. She always claimed she couldn’t sleep without the calming noise drowning out all the other sounds.
Some things never changed.
I ran a hand over my face, rolling onto my back again, and kicked one foot out from beneath the blanket. But just one. Everyone knew that putting out two meant the monsters under the bed would grab them. I snorted at the childish belief that I, and every adult I knew, still held to. The air conditioning kicked on, and a quiet whooshing filled the room as the air blew through the vents. A car drove down the street, the faint revving of the engine suddenly deafening.
Maybe Emma had the right idea with the noise machine.
And just like that, my thoughts were back on her.
Emma is right upstairs.
Why couldn’t I stop thinking about it? It wasn’t like this was the first time we had slept under the same roof. We’d had plenty of sleepovers as kids.
Maybe it’s because you two got married today, and this isn’t what you had in mind for your wedding night.
Or maybe it’s because you were rendered speechless when Emma came down the aisle, and you suddenly had thoughts about her that you’ve never had.
I bolted up in bed at the thought, quickly scrubbing the image from my mind.
I didn’t like Emma like that. I repeated it to myself over and over, trying to drill it into my brain. Yes, she was stunning today. Any guy would’ve been an idiot not to think she was beautiful. But that’s all it was. I didn’t suddenly think she was pretty because I had feelings or anything. That was nonsense.
The faint ticking of my watch on the coffee table was like a pounding drum, and I almost kicked the covers off and smashed the thing with the tissue box next to it.
Calm down, Liam.
I forced myself to take a deep breath in for four counts, then out for four counts.
This was fine. We were friends—best friends. We could live in the same house like adults and not make it weird or awkward. I just needed to adjust to having her here, that was all. I was used to living alone. It had nothing to do with the fact that it was Emma or these infuriating thoughts I kept having. I just needed time to get used to it. That was all.
“Liam?” a voice suddenly said and, instead of screaming—because I was trying to be manly—I bit down on my tongue and leaped off the couch bed, spinning with my arms up in defense.
When my senses stopped being stupid and I realized it was just Emma, I put my arms down and took a step toward the stairs where she stood at the top. I was thankful it was dark because my face was on fire.
“Y-yeah—” I started to squeak and cleared my throat, deepening it as I said, “Yeah? You okay?”
“Can’t sleep,” she said softly before padding down the stairs in a pair of slippers. Even though it was too dark to see them, I knew they said “twisters are cool.” She had been wearing them when she came downstairs for a glass of water before we each went to our separate beds.
I had bought them for her the Christmas before I moved to California. I hadn’t realized she’d kept them, especially after being so angry when I left. A strange, warm feeling filled my insides, and I tried my best to push it away.
I flicked on a dim lamp in the corner so she wouldn’t trip on her way down.
Aww, look at you being thoughtful, my inner cynic sarcastically said, and I mentally told him to shove it.
Her hair was up in a cute little bun, and she was wrapped in the comforter from the bed. I had the sudden urge to go hug her, to squeeze my way into the blanket with her, but I forced that little intrusive thought away.
“Me neither,” I finally said when she stopped in front of me, looking up with tired eyes. “Want something to drink?” I headed for the kitchen. I thought I had a box of Sleepybye Tea somewhere in the pantry.
“Hot chocolate?” Emma asked, throwing the blanket onto the couch and taking a seat at the island.
I couldn’t help but smile. She never passed up a chance for chocolate. That and caffeine were the quickest ways to win her heart.
Not that I was, or had ever been, trying to win her heart.
That was just nonsense.
“Coming right up,” I said, grabbing the milk from the fridge, then the cocoa powder from the pantry.
I got to work mixing the milk, sugar, and cocoa in a saucepan on the stove while trying to ignore Emma’s eyes blazing a hole in my back. What was she thinking about?
Why do you care, Liam?
“That couch doesn’t look very comfortable,” Emma commented, pulling me from my thoughts. I glanced over my shoulder to see her staring at the mess of blankets.
“It’s fine.”
My tone must’ve shut her up because she didn’t say anything else. I didn’t want to talk about the sleeping arrangements. I didn’t want to make her feel bad that my neck was already killing me from the lumpy sofa bed, and I hadn’t even fallen asleep for the night yet.
A minute later and the hot chocolate was warm. I added a dash of vanilla extract before carefully pouring it into two mugs—one that said “Mr.” and the other “Mrs.”—before sliding hers across the island. Another touch from Bridget, I assumed.
“Thanks,” she said with a small smile as she wrapped her hands around the mug.
Unsure what to do, or whether she wanted company after the chaos of the day, I sat two barstools away from her, taking a sip of my drink. It really was unreasonably sweet—I preferred black coffee after all—but Emma liked it that way.
“Why are you sitting down there?” she asked, eyeing the large gap between us.
My tongue stalled in my mouth, and I was unable to speak for the thousandth time. Good grief, I needed to get a grip. This was Emma, not some stranger off the street.
I shrugged and she frowned. “It’s just us, Liam. We can live together and be civil without making it awkward.” The slight tremble in her voice made it sound like she was desperately trying to convince herself of that.
“Come on, let’s watch something,” she offered, getting up and taking her drink over to the couch.
The sheets were rumpled from all my tossing and turning, and she took a second to straighten everything before crawling on top and leaning against the back cushions. I smiled in spite of myself. She patted the spot next to her.
Reluctantly, I sat on the sofa bed and scooted back, leaving a good foot between us.
Though we were used to being affectionate in our friendship, we were married now, and I didn’t want her to think I was taking advantage of the situation. Better to keep things clear and not cross any lines.
I saw her studying me out of the corner of my eye as I grabbed the remote and flipped through channels.
“White Collar?” I asked, and I sensed more than saw her smile. It was her favorite TV show. I didn’t even wait for her response before clicking play on episode one.
“You remembered,” she commented quietly.
“Of course, I did. I know you, Em.”
The space was melting between us as I met her gaze, those hazel eyes doing unfamiliar things to my insides. Why was she questioning whether I remembered? I’d been gone for a while, but we spent nearly every day with each other for years—decades. Emma was not easily forgotten, even if I made her believe the contrary with my silence and distance.
Matt Bomer walked across the screen, stealing her attention away. Time passed as episode after episode played on the TV. At one point during the show, she leaned over to rest her head on my shoulder, which in and of itself wasn’t unusual, but right now, after everything that had happened today, it felt like it meant more.
But that was crazy. I was crazy. Right?
It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, and I took a moment to look at her in the glow from the TV. She really was beautiful. How had I never thought so before? Her hand rested between us, mere centimeters from mine, and for a moment, I bravely touched my pinky to hers, fervently trying to ignore the zap that zinged up my arm. She shifted slightly as though the feeling had woken her up, then she sniffled and scooted even closer. Her head landed on my chest, hand resting on my stomach.
I didn’t know what to do with my arms. Did I wrap them around her? Did I keep them up on the back of the couch?
Why was I overthinking this so much? It wasn’t like I was a stranger to cuddling with women. As much as I hated to think about it, I’d had plenty of practice in California.
But Emma and I had never been close like this. This felt like…something else.
Impossibly, she squirmed even closer, and my arms naturally fell around her. She murmured something against my shirt, but I couldn’t make out what it was.
What did I do? Did I try to escape and let her have the uncomfortable sofa bed? Did I carry her upstairs and put her in her own bed?
I ran a hand through my hair, looking down at her. She looked so peaceful. Part of me didn’t want to move her. Part of me…liked this.
In the end, I decided not to do anything and distracted myself with White Collar. Maybe after another episode, I’d have a solution, but for now I was just going to stay here and enjoy having Emma in my arms—even though that was a dangerous thing to do.