19. Liam
19
LIAM
I wake up slowly, the morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room.
The bed beside me is warm, and I stretch lazily, feeling the lingering traces of last night’s passion. My mind flickers back to last night. Emma and I had fled the club together, leaving Damon and June with hurried texts, and then, somehow, we ended up here with the thrill of the chase, the urgency of escaping, and the rush of adrenaline.
It led to a long night of passion between us and here we are, with her nestled against me, our night of whirlwind touches and orgasm transforming into a bright morning.
I prop myself up on my elbows, resting my head on my crossed arms, looking at her. Emma’s hair spills over the pillow, a wild tangle of dark waves that frame her peaceful face. Her features are soft, unguarded, and as she sleeps, she looks impossibly beautiful, serene in a way that makes my chest ache with something I can’t quite name.
It’s strange, because I’ve never been one to relish waking up with a woman beside me. This isn't a scene I was accustomed to. Waking up with a woman after a night of passion usually left me feeling a hollowness in my chest, a sense of trouble brewing. I’ve always associated the morning after with a sense of dread, awkward silence, and the unspoken questions.
But with Emma, it’s different. Everything feels different.
She stirs, her eyelashes fluttering open. She stretches languidly, the sheet slipping down a fraction, revealing a glimpse of creamy skin and a hint of the delicious breasts I explored last night. Then our eyes meet. She laughs, a shy, sweet sound, and covers her face with her hands, the blush creeping up her cheeks. I can’t help but smile, the sight of her so vulnerable and real, making my heart swell.
“Morning,” I mumble softly, my voice rough with sleep.
She peeks at me through her fingers, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Were you really staring at me?”
“For the past few minutes.”
“Oh, God no! I don’t look my best in the morning.”
“Lies.” I chuckle, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “You’re beautiful, Emma. In fact, I enjoyed watching you sleep.”
She blushes deeper, pushing herself up on one elbow. “Stop, you’re making me blush.”
I chuckle, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I like seeing you like this, all relaxed and happy. It’s nice.”
She smiles, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’m glad we ended up here last night. It was…perfect.”
We lie there for a moment, the silence comfortable, until I remember the awkwardness that awaits us outside this room. “I should probably apologize,” I start breaking the silence. “For ghosting you. I was being an idiot. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Emma turns to face me, her expression softening. “I accept your apology, Liam. I thought that much was clear from last night.”
I cock my head to the side, letting my lips split in a grin. “Thinking about all that went down last night, I think you’re right.”
She giggles. “Now I don’t know how to face Damon and June this morning.”
“Me either,” I chuckle. “I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”
We share a laugh, the tension easing between us. She traces a finger along my chest, her touch sending shivers down my spine. “What’s this?” she asks, her eyes curious as they settle on the tattoo over my heart. “I noticed it even in the dim light our first night together.”
I smile, a bit wistful. “It’s a symbol. A combination of a heart and a compass.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Strange choice for a tattoo.”
“Really?” I chuckle, “I got it when I was seventeen. It represents hope and direction.”
“That even makes it stranger, because it’s so well-thought for a seventeen-year-old.”
I nod. “You’re right.” I look into her eyes, there’s a look in there that makes me want to trust her, to spill all my secrets without fear. “It’s actually a reminder. When I was a kid, I used to wish that my mom and dad would somehow find their way back to each other. I got this tattoo for that.”
She listens, her eyes wide with interest, not probing but simply there, absorbing my story. “It’s beautiful,” she says softly, then a smile crosses her lips. “And romantic. I’d bet it had all those women you’ve had in your bed swooning even more for you.”
“Well, none of them know what I’ve just told you.”
“You’ve never talked about it before?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t talk much and this one of those things you keep buried, you know?” I feel a mix of relief and vulnerability in sharing it with her. “I guess I wanted to believe that love could find its way back, no matter how lost it seemed.”
Emma’s fingers gently trace the outline of the tattoo, her touch so light, so intimate. “I really think it’s beautiful,” she repeats, looking up at me with a tenderness that makes my heart skip a beat. “And I’m glad you told me about it.’
We fall silent, the air between us charged with unspoken feelings. Her stomach suddenly growls, loud and unmistakable, breaking the moment. We both burst out laughing, the sound filling the room with warmth.
“I guess someone’s hungry.” I wink at her.
“Yeah, I guess so,” she replies, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
I get up, stretching, and pull on a pair of shorts. “Let me check if my dad’s left for the hospital. I’ll see if we can sneak down for breakfast.”
I make my way downstairs, the house quiet, almost too quiet. The kitchen is empty, the smell of fresh coffee lingering in the air. I check the living room, but it’s also deserted. When I peek into my dad’s room, I see his bed made, everything in its place, but he’s not there. Relief washes over me. At least we have some time to ourselves.
I head back upstairs, pushing open the door to find Emma sitting up, her legs crossed, the sheet pooling around her waist, and my shirt from last night on her. It looks so incredibly sexy that if I hadn’t heard her stomach growl moments ago, I’d find a way to get her out of it right now.
“Good news,” I try to keep my voice steady. “Seems Dad’s already gone. We’re in the clear.”
Emma’s eyes light up, a smile breaking across her face. “Perfect. Let’s go get some breakfast then.”
I nod, feeling the weight of the night lifting off my shoulders. “Let’s do it.”
We head downstairs together, the morning light streaming through the windows, casting a golden glow over everything. The kitchen is warm and inviting, and I pour us both a cup of coffee, the steam rising in delicate tendrils. Emma joins me at the table, her hair still tousled from sleep, and I can’t help but stare at her, the reality of last night still sinking in.
I stand at the stove, cracking eggs into a bowl, my mind replaying the events of last night. The sound of the whisk blending the eggs is oddly soothing. I glance over at Emma, who is sitting at the kitchen table, her hair a tousled mess and wearing nothing but my shirt. She looks stunning in the morning light, the sun highlighting the softness of her skin and the natural beauty of her face. It feels surreal to have her here, in my space, and I can't help but smile.
“How do you like your omelets?” I ask, turning back to the stove.
“Surprise me,” she replies, her voice light and teasing. “But please, no burnt offerings. That’s what I got the last time your friend tried to make me and June breakfast.”
I laugh, flipping the omelet in the pan with a flourish. “Hey, I happen to be a master chef, you know.”
“Oh really?” Emma raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smirk. “Last night you told me your dad does most of the cooking.”
“Details, details,” I wave a hand dismissively, though I can't help but chuckle. “I learned from the best, so you're in for a treat.”
As the omelet sizzles, I steal another glance at her. There's something incredibly intimate about this moment, and it makes my heart race. Seeing her here, relaxed and happy, fills me with a warmth I can't quite describe.
The back door creaks open, and I nearly drop the pan. My dad steps into the kitchen, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Emma's face flushes, and I feel my own cheeks burning.
“Dad! I thought you left for the hospital,” I stammer, trying to find my footing.
He grins, clearly enjoying our discomfort. “I only stepped out momentarily. Didn't expect to walk into this, though.”
I scramble to explain. “Uh, she came in this morning…”
“Really?” My dad's smile widens as he looks at Emma. “Dressed in your shirt?”
Emma looks mortified, and I want to sink to the floor. Before I can say anything else, my dad waves a hand. “Relax, son. I heard you two come in last night.”
He turns to Emma, his expression softening. “Emma, it's nice to finally have you in my house. I won’t bother lying and say I’ve heard a lot about you. Liam’s pretty tight-lipped.”
Emma manages a small smile, still clearly flustered. “I can relate to that, Dr. Miller.”
“Call me Joe,” he says, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from her. “And thank you for putting up with my son. He can be a handful.”
Emma laughs, the tension easing slightly. “He's not so bad. Once you get past the tough exterior.”
“Hey!” I protest, “I’m here, you know?”
They both ignore me. My dad takes the plate of omelet away from Emma, looking at me and shaking his head. “Is this how I taught you to take care of a lady?”
“She was hungry, and I had to make something fast. Tell him, Emma?” I turn toward her, but she just blinks at me with her big doe-like eyes. “You’re going to betray me?”
She bats her eyelashes slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I grit my teeth as my father turns toward the stove, mumbling, “Let me make you something worthwhile.”
As soon as he turns his back, Emma covers her mouth and winks at me.
“So, Emma,” my dad calls out, chopping vegetables with practiced ease, “tell me about this wedding you're planning. I’m hearing in town it's going to be quite the event.”
Emma's eyes light up as she hurries up to support him. “It's been a whirlwind, but I'm excited. June and Damon have been wonderful to work with.”
“And Liam's been helping out?” Dad's tone is teasing as he spares me a quick glance.
Emma glances at me too, a twinkle in her eye. “He's been…supportive. In his own way.”
I roll my eyes, but there's a smile tugging at my lips. “I'm not that bad, am I?”
They both laugh, and I join in, feeling the last of my embarrassment fade. It's nice, this easy camaraderie, but seeing Dad engage Emma in conversation also fills me with strange mix of emotions.
I join them at the counter, and the three of us finish cooking and set the plates on the table.
“There we go, a proper breakfast.” My dad can’t avoid the dig at me as we settle down.
As we eat, the conversation flows effortlessly. My dad regales us with stories from his days as a young doctor in town, and Emma matches it with anecdotes from her childhood. They laugh together, and I pitch in with a few comments here and there, but mostly, I watch, a warm feeling growing in my chest.
Dad clears his throat, breaking the moment. “So, any plans for today?” I open my mouth to say I need to get back to the hospital, but Dad cuts me off. “Remember, you have forty-eight hours free. The time's not up yet.”
Emma looks at me, a hopeful expression on her face. “There's a cake-tasting event today. Would you like to come with me?”
I hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Yeah, I'd like that.”
“Good.” Dad nods. “You guys go have fun.”
As we finish breakfast, I watch Emma and my dad interact, laughing and chatting like old friends. It stirs something inside me, a longing for more moments like this, more mornings spent together, more laughter and connection. But I quickly push the thought away. Good times like these don't last. Sooner or later, something will happen, and we'll end up hating each other.
I know better than to get my hopes up.