Chapter 34
There’s something in the water here in Singing River.
That’s the only explanation for what’s happening. Love is in the air. A couple weeks back, Austin and Penny eloped in a Vegas chapel hours before his awards show, then took off for Scotland, sending pictures of old castles and beautiful highlands.
But the plot twist no one—and I mean no one—saw coming?
The entire female population of Singing River is in full planning mode for Tyler and Josie’s wedding.
It took an intervention and lots of patience, but Josie finally got out of her own way.
Abby knows the truth about Tyler, Jay is his son in all but DNA, and I’ve never seen two people more in love, or Tyler so head over heels. He’s become a big ol’ sap.
It’s been the perfect distraction from thoughts of Liam.
We haven’t seen each other much these last six weeks.
My workload has increased with my practice, and he’s been deep in his own therapy.
He’s quiet about the sessions, but it feels different than his old silences.
Like he’s processing rather than shutting down.
This is Liam focusing on himself and his own healing.
Which is exactly what he should be doing.
After his first session, I got a text. First session done. Ben’s a cool dude. I see why Austin likes him. Later that same night he sent a photo of himself, cross-legged on his living room floor followed by the text: Guess I’m about to meditate.
He’s sent regular updates like that. A photo of a book his therapist recommended, the very one I recommend to my own clients. A selfie, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, Mutt’s face in the frame. “Rough session. Ben wants me to feel my grief. He told me I need to sit with it.”
Putting in this kind of work isn’t easy, but I’m so proud of him for doing it.
We’ve hung out with the group, dinner with everyone at Josie and Tyler’s house, and I’ve met him for lunch at the diner a handful of times. He’s been a perfect gentleman, walking me to my door with a kiss.
But I haven’t been to his house since that night.
Right now, Liam and I exist in this weird in-between state, more than friends with no label attached.
Something shifted after his lips touched mine.
Something fundamental and irreversible. And oh, what a kiss it was.
I’ve played it on a loop for six weeks straight.
The desperate press of his mouth, the way his hand slid into my hair, gripping to position me exactly how he wanted me.
And that groan he let out when I bit his lip?
I swear I felt the brand of that kiss for a solid week after.
Absentmindedly, my fingers go to my lips and I’m right back in the memory.
Buzz, buzz.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table, pulling me to the present.
I reach for it, expecting Josie or Penny, but my heart leaps in my chest when I see a text from Liam.
An image populates on my screen, a flier taped to the window of Old Town Tavern. Written in bright red font it advertises a Valentine’s Day pet adoption event at the Singing River animal shelter.
Cupid’s Companions: Find your Perfect Match.
The event runs from noon to four today.
His text comes through a second later.
My Favorite Person
How’s that list coming along?
My Favorite Person
They need volunteers.
I feel properly chastised. It’s been so long since either of us mentioned the list, I almost forgot we wrote it.
The night I suggested we do something low-key illegal seems like ages ago.
Life has been busy with wedding planning, finalizing the transfer of my therapy license to Alabama, and worrying about both my mom and Liam.
Needless to say, our list has been buried under other notes in my app.
So far down, I’d have to scroll a minute to get to it.
But he remembered. Item number five on my list reads Volunteer in the community. The fact that he thought of me when he saw that flier causes a weightless sensation in my chest.
I stare at the screen, a popcorn sensation going off in my belly, a smile splitting across my lips.
Is this you asking me to be your Valentine?
A trio of dots appear, disappear, appear again, then disappear. In my mind, I can see him clear as day on the other side, hand raking through his hair, typing and deleting, trying to figure out how to respond.
Instead of a text, a second photo comes through. It’s the back of a receipt, his handwriting scrawled across it in black ink:
Cassandra James,
Will you be my Valentine?
? Yes ? No
I press a hand to my mouth, laughing. God, this man. Grabbing a notebook, I scribble out a response.
Yes
I snap a photo and send it, still wearing the biggest smile. His response is immediate.
My Favorite Person
Meet me at my house around 10:45?
An hour later, I’m in the passenger seat of Liam’s truck, classic rock playing low on the radio while Liam hums along.
The cabin of the truck smells like him, clean and woodsy with traces of tobacco, and I soak it in.
I’m hit by how much I’ve missed this. How easy it is being with him. How comfortable I am to just be me.
It’s warm for February, but the shade still belongs to winter. Liam’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt with a faded band logo I don’t recognize showing off the ink on his arm.
Over the last month and a half, I’ve watched the slow transformation.
Where purple smudges were once under Liam’s eyes, they’ve mostly faded, leaving only the faintest trace of a sleepless night.
He’s put on some weight, filled out through his shoulders and chest in a way that makes it impossible not to stare.
Added muscle that I definitely don’t mind. Not one bit.
His fingers drum against the steering wheel in time with the beat, and I catch myself watching the movement, those calloused hands that gripped my hair that night in his kitchen. I swear my lips even part.
When I tear my eyes away, he’s watching me with that lopsided grin like he knows exactly what I was thinking. The popcorn sensation kicks up in my belly again. Before I can look away, Liam reaches over and hooks his pinky with mine where my hand rests on the console.
We ride like this for a couple minutes until Liam breaks the silence.
“I bet Mutt is so pissed I left him behind.” Green eyes glance my way and back to the road. “But I figured taking him to a pet adoption event might complicate things. Don’t need him starting shit with a dog that’s already had a rough day.”
I laugh at the mental image. “Probably a good call.”
The Singing River Animal Shelter sits at the edge of town, a small brick building with an enclosed yard where volunteers can be seen setting up folding tables and stringing heart shaped banners along the chain link fence.
The parking lot is already half full, and Liam parks in the first available spot.
At the entrance, we’re intercepted by a whirlwind of a woman. She can’t be more than five feet tall with frizzy silver hair.
“Liam! Thanks for coming!” Turning to me, she thrusts a hand out. “I see you’ve brought reinforcements. I’m Diana, shelter director.”
“Cassie,” I offer, shaking her hand, surprised by the strength of her grip.
“Great. Love it.” She shoves clipboards and pens at us and spins on her heel.
I give Liam a sidelong glance and mouth, What do we do?
Diana glances back when she realizes we aren’t with her. “Well, come on, you two. The animals await.”
She leads us through row upon row of cages, each one containing a sad-faced dog of varying breeds. Puppies tumble over one another in a playpen contraption and I stop to love on each one.
“As you can see, each cage has a name on it. What I need you two to do is attach these cards.” She hands me a stack of cards, each with a photo of an animal, and details about that animal.
Personality traits, temperament, medical and housing needs.
“The key is to pay attention to what each card says so when you chat with someone looking to adopt, you’ll be better at pairing them up. Think of yourself as matchmakers.”
Before either of us can respond, she’s gone, barking orders at one of the dog walkers.
The last row is where the cats are. Orange tabbies, fluffy black cats, a litter of kittens so small they could fit in my palm.
And then I see her.
Third cage from the end. A massive tortoiseshell cat, easily twice the size of a normal house cat, sprawled across a fleece blanket.
I quickly sift through the remaining cards until I come to hers.
Name: Duchess
Age: 12
Notes: previous owner died. Strong-willed personality. Needs a quiet home with no other cats.
Date of intake: 1/28/2025
Poor thing’s been here over a year.
As if on cue, Duchess lifts her head and lets out a hiss, swatting at the air.
I love her.
“Liam, c’mere! You need this baby! Look at her!” I’m practically bouncing on the balls of my feet, rubbing my hands together. His eyes widen when he sees the cage I’m pointing at.
“Hell no. She’d take one look and Mutt and gobble him up.” He makes a chomping motion with his hands. “She’s at least twice his size.”
I attach her card to the cage under heavy scrutiny from the cat. She doesn’t hiss again, though. A point in her favor.
Liam and I finish attaching the profiles and take seats behind a nearby folding table to wait. A line has already formed at the gate so I’m sure we’ll be busy once this thing gets going.
“Did you have many pets growing up?” Liam asks, drumming his pen in a rhythm against the edge of the table.
I pause to mentally tally the dogs and cats we had. Living in the country, strays were always popping up.
“I think four or five dogs, and I don’t remember how many cats. They were always coming and going. And you? Before Mutt did you have pets?”
Liam’s drumming pauses. “Oh yeah. Mom and Dad didn’t care what my siblings and I brought home. At one time, Ryan had turtles and I had a pet snake.” He pulls a dog biscuit from a box and gives it to a beagle passing by with a dog walker. “His name was Kevin.”