Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
A shley
I twist a manual can opener along a jumbo can of beans and franks as Liam slaps raw hamburger patties onto the grill beside me.
When signing up for the campout, I was given the option to help with one of the meals. Through the online form, I was also asked if I had any special skills that might come in handy on a camping trip. Say, if you were good with food or organizing games, dances, that type of thing.
I wonder if Liam specifically volunteered to chop wood. Or maybe he just said he was good with his hands. No, that leaves too much room for interpretation. He probably stated that he was handy and strong and willing to help wherever they needed him. That sounds like Liam. Easygoing and agreeable.
When we first pulled into the campsite, Lucy manning the music up front while Martin got in his last bit of gaming, a group of teenage boys approached the Camry, asking if they could help carry our items and find us an empty campsite. They were close to Lucy’s age by the look of it, and if I wasn’t mistaken, they seemed very glad to see a new pretty girl show up at the event. They were cool with Martin, too, talking with him about gaming while they unloaded sleeping bags and totes.
After they headed down the path with our bags, the kids and I got the tent off the luggage rack. Lucy and Martin headed toward the designated site while I wandered to the restrooms. I had a grip on the door handle when something caught my attention. Not visually or even audibly, I don’t think. It was more instinctual, like a sixth sense, prompting me to take a few more steps, look beyond the cinderblock building, and onto the campsite below.
I didn’t know why, but my heart was pounding, my palms were sweating, and my breath was hitched in anticipation of what I might see.
And there he was, none other than Liam Wheaton, his very presence summoning me like a song.
He looked like a skilled lumberjack, legs spread in a wide stance as he hiked the ax up and over his broad, muscled frame. The denim jeans and plaid shirt completed the picture, and the generously rolled sleeves exposing his forearms were the cherry on top.
“Holy…" It was the only word I could muster as I stared at him, all masculinity and lawless good looks. He was even more beautiful than I imagined he’d be as a man in his forties. There were probably crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes when he laughed now, and I could only hope I’d get to find out during the days ahead.
I’d asked Annica, of course, if Liam had signed up for the campout, and by that point, she said he hadn’t. I’d resisted the urge to ask again because I didn’t want her response to sway me one way or the other. I wanted to feel excited about the possibilities, not preemptively disappointed that he wouldn’t be there. Or overly anxious if I found out he would be.
But knowing he was there gave me a thrilling and instant high.
In the ladies’ room, I primped before the foggy mirror, grateful that there was a mirror. I pinched my cheeks, adjusted my hair, and took care of the boob-sweat before it could seep through my T-shirt.
I stepped back outside without even going to the bathroom, distracted as I was. Which is why I nearly peed my pants when Liam spun around to face me, unleashing the devastating degree of his glory.
After discovering that our tent would be right next to Liam's, I was sent to dinner duty to heat up tonight’s beans and franks while another guest— who turned out to be Liam—manned the grill.
"So,” I say, realizing how quiet I’ve been as I move to the second of three cans. “Do you think it's a coincidence that you and I ended up at the same food station tonight?"
Liam clears his throat and shakes an industrial-sized garlic salt container over the burgers, still raw on one side, while flames lick the other.
"We both know a few of the people in charge,” he says. “It was probably intentional.” He sets down the garlic salt and grabs an equally large container of ground pepper.
We haven’t exactly exchanged a lot of words since running into each other. At the campsite, as Liam busied himself with the duct-tape repair job of Wayne’s tent—a job the kids helped out with, too—I busied myself with trying to find Annica, who had, come to find out, headed upstream with a group to check the river conditions for tubing tomorrow.
There’s an unspoken energy between us that rivals any metaphorical elephant in the room. We’re both being incredibly awkward and neither of us wants to admit or address it.
I dump the second can of beans into the massive pot before moving to open the third and final can. As I twist the lever, I pretend I don't see Liam struggling with the pepper container. After using his teeth to break the cellophane seal, he's working to pry open the stubborn, flip-top lid.
He grunts, pulls it back to glare at it, and then studies his short and rather filthy-from-all-the-camp-chores nails. "Ow," he breathes with a grimace. “Freaking hurts.”
I smile at him and break away from my task. "You want help?"
He looks at my nails, which are trimmed short as usual but painted with pearl-colored nail polish. "Maybe,” he says. “If you’re not going to break a nail."
I stash the tidbit in a file called Liam's Ex . Did she have long salon-style nails? Was she the type that kept regular appointments, with the pedicures to go along with them?
"I'm not going to chip a nail," I assure him.
He hands over the quart-size container of pepper, and I give it a whirl, tucking my nails into the flip-top crease of the red plastic. It doesn't budge. In fact, the harder I pull—exactly where I'm supposed to pull, by the way, the more I think my nails will break after all—right out of their nail beds.
"Geez," I say. "Did they seal this up for a bomb shelter?"
The two of us laugh, and a bit of the awkward tension dissipates.
"Seriously.” He cups a hand along the side of his mouth. “Watch out, folks, if we don’t secure those lids well enough, all heck will break loose.”
We chuckle again, and it feels good. Good enough that I’m starting to relax. I can tell he is, too. Laughter, as they say, is social lubricant.
I wonder how Liam is with the other ladies at these events. Are there certain women he flirts with each time? I picture one woman in particular—Nellie, I think. As I filled up my water bottle at the pump, making light conversation about the obsession over Stanley mugs and how every kid has to have one, she nodded toward Liam’s tent.
“Is that your tent next to Liam Wheaton’s?” she asked.
A dose of discomfort slithered through me. “Yeah, that’s us.”
The pretty blonde leaned in and lifted a brow. “Lucky girl.”
I’m jealous even in the recollection. Lucky why? Had she experienced Liam’s incredible kiss one night? Was she hoping for more of the same? Did she think I’d be the recipient of those kisses merely because I was next to him?
Liam never was the playboy his brother Luke was, but that definitely could have changed.
After a few more failed attempts to flip open the cap with my nails, I readjust my grip. "All right,” I say in a warning tone, "it's time to get serious." I lift the container to my mouth and do something Ross tells every patient to never, ever do. But screw Ross and all of his stupid warnings, rules, and dictates. Newsflash, buddy, I work with teeth, too.
"Uh oh,” I hear Liam say as I wedge my lower front teeth into the crease of the stubborn cap. “She’s not messing around, folks.”
I lower my chin, firm my jaw, and lift up with a quick jerk. A satisfying snap sounds, letting me know I’ve done the job.
I look down, triumph swelling in my chest, half expecting to see the black and white spice peppered (no pun intended) all over my clothes.
But it isn’t. In fact, I realize, with confounded astonishment, that the lid is still closed.
So what was that sound?
Liam gasps. "Oh my gosh, Ashley, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? What do you want me to do?”
His voice is so panicked that I start to panic, though I don't even know what's wrong yet. But then the tip of my tongue gets caught on something jagged. A very rough spot that wasn’t there before. I inspect it further with my tongue and realize with great horror what I’ve done—I did just what Dr Brynn for the Grin said I’d do—I chipped my tooth!
I reach up to feel it with a frantic hand and gasp louder than Liam at my discovery. Both of my bottom front teeth are chipped. Worse yet, I realize as I further inspect the area with my tongue it seems that each tooth has broken diagonally from the outer edge toward the center. Two small triangles of teeth—gone, leaving an even larger triangular-shaped gap.
Oh, no…I’ll look like a jack-o-lantern!
Frantically, I begin searching for the tooth nubs. "Quick, do you see the chipped parts of my teeth anywhere?”
“Let’s see,” Liam says, joining me in the hunt. “They’ve got to be here somewhere.”
I have a vision of someone’s kid pulling the sharp bit from their mouth around the campfire, announcing that they’ve found a shark’s tooth in their beans. Please don’t be in the beans.
"If we can find them,” I say, “and put them in milk, Ross can adhere them to my teeth again."
“Really? I thought that only worked with fingers or toes.”
“It works with teeth, too,” I assure him. That is if I ever dare tell him I chipped them. I’d almost rather die. Or start going to a new dentist just to avoid it. My face gets impossibly hotter. My hands get sweatier.
“Regardless, we have to make sure they’re not in the food."
Liam covers a chuckle as he answers. "No doubt."
My whole head is a bonfire right now. No, a dumpster fire like Lucy and Martin would say. It’s a raging dumpster fire of shame. I want to stop looking, rush to my car, and get my phone from the glovebox so I can look at my teeth with the camera app.
I turn to Liam. "How bad is it? Tell me."
Liam tips his head to one side and then the next. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers gently around my wrist, and lowers my arm because I haven’t pulled my fingertips off the offending gap.
The gentle touch of those manly hands threatens to unravel me. People think the whole electric touch thing exists only in storybooks. I would've thought so, too, had I not experienced it myself with Liam. I almost forgot how magnetic his touch was until this moment.
I stare into his hypnotizing hazel eyes as he inspects my lower teeth with a furrowed brow. Dang, he's handsome. It's a surreal moment, having Liam Wheaton actually standing before me. He's here, and he's single, just like me.
"It's not that bad. Smile," he suggests.
I do, and he smiles back with a grin so gleaming and glorious that my knees knock into the cooking stand with a clatter.
"Your bottom teeth don't show a whole lot when you smile, so that's good. Try saying, Suzy sells seashells by the seashore."
I giggle and shake my head “No.”
We both laugh.
"Don't you want to know if it shows while you talk?"
I shake my head.
"Okay, I won't tell you.” He seems to remember something then. “Crap,” he blurts, hurrying back to the grill. He reaches for the spatula and jams it under one of the burgers. “Better get these things turned over. How about we have the kids come to look for your teeth bits?”
“Teeth bits?” I repeat with a cringe face. I scan the large group of teens seated around a firepit and spot Lucy and Martin there. “That’s probably a good idea. I’ll be right back.”
“Hey, if you see any of my guys over there, tell them to bring me the ax, will you? I’ll get this flip-cap open yet.”