Chapter 1
Present . . .
November third.
How is it already November third?
At first I thought Ronan was joking when he told me—yes, told, not asked—that Liam Jones was moving in with me.
I know he was hit by a car, but why does he have to move with me?
I thought it was a stupid prank because I was madly in love with him when I was teenager.
And even though my little infatuation has been buried deep, deep inside me, never to be spoken of again, it doesn’t mean I’m my normal self with him.
If anything, I’m a clumsy, babbling fool of a girl whenever he’s around . . . or was around.
It’s for that reason, and that reason alone—not because he was always rocking a backwards hat—that I’ve avoided him for years.
After what shall be known as The Incident, I made sure to disappear and never cross paths with him again.
Which is hard, with him being Ronan’s brother-from-another-mother and all that.
It’s even the reason I did my undergrad and masters at UMC—University of Montreal City.
I thought I was still far enough away, here in Victoria, considering he still lives in our home city of Vancouver, but apparently I can’t escape him any longer.
According to his sister Summer and my brother, I’m the only one who has a house without any stairs.
Which I know is a lie; I’ve visited and kept in touch with the other Jones siblings over the years so I know Lawson has an apartment with elevator access, and Levi has a guest room on his main floor.
I bought this house a few months ago, after deciding that this is where I want to settle down with the life insurance money I finally got access to, from Mom’s death.
I thought moving to the city where she grew up, where she met and fell in love with my dad, would bring me closer to her.
And while I never had the chance to meet her, I hope she likes my home.
I chose this one because of all the windows.
All the sunlight let me start my own jungle in the house, to the point that I’ve lost count of how many plants I have everywhere.
They make me happy, what can I say? That and the big fenced-in backyard—I needed something to contain Gigi.
She might be a miniature dachshund, but she gets into anything and everything.
Liam better not complain about Gigi or the plants. From what I remember, he isn’t a big fan of anything with fur. Not because he’s allergic, the guy just loves being a grump. I swear he hates anything on four legs just because he can.
As for the plants, I am not taking them out of the guest room he’ll be sleeping in. He can deal, like a big boy. I say that now, but watch me take them out of the guest room the second he asks . . .
No, I tell myself, straightening my shoulders.
I will not bend to his demands. I’m really working on the people-pleasing thing .
. . so far, though, it’s been tough. Tougher than I want to admit.
I mean, just the other day, I gave a student a twenty-four-hour extension on a paper because she had “forgotten” it had been due that exact date . . .
And on that note, I need to clean up around here, especially since Ronan texted me a couple of hours ago telling me they would be here around two o’clock.
Not that the house is dirty, but I do have a lot of stuff to do.
Despite only being twelve pounds, Gigi creates mess and destruction like a seventy-five-pound dog.
I should probably dust my plant before he gets here too—I haven’t done it this week.
No.
I can’t be doing that when he walks in; I don’t want him to think I’m still too much.
Again, with the people pleasing.
No. You’re doing him a favor, I chastise myself.
Your house, your rules. Your house, your vibes, I chant to myself as I go about watering and dusting all my plants in the guest room, making sure to put their favorite Vitamin String Quartet playlist on.
He’s moving into my space, who cares if he thinks it’s a mess.
Making my way to the plants in my living room, I’m interrupted by the doorbell ringing.
The moment of truth.
Not only will I be seeing Liam after years of avoiding him, but I’ll be living with him for an indeterminate period of time.
Ronan told me that the doctors are expecting him to be good to go home around February or March, but who knows how long his leg could take to heal.
If he’s still a grumpy know-it-all like he was when I knew him, his healing isn’t going to be the easiest process.
When he was seventeen, he dislocated his shoulder—tearing and damaging some muscle—but he refused to listen to his physiotherapist and doctors and had to stay in physiotherapy for an extra three months due to having reinjured himself.
He better not do that this time.
There’s another knock against my front door, followed by some loud voices. One I recognize as Ronan, the other, deeper one, I can only assume belongs to Liam.
I don’t remember his voice being so gruff.
With a deep breath, I drop my watering can on the light brown Ikea coffee table I have sitting in the middle of my living room, and slowly make my way to open the front door, proud that Gigi hasn’t said a word yet.
“Squirt! About time you open your damn door!” I hear, right before I’m pulled into a big bear hug, courtesy of my big brother.
“What were you doing?” he asks, pushing his way around me, carrying a duffle bag, to my small entryway leading into my living room, where he spots my watering can.
“Ah! Taking care of your babies I see.” For all his faults and annoying habits, he’s never questioned my obsession with plants.
Cassie, my sister-in-law, walks in behind him with an eye roll, dropping a kiss on my cheek, before she carries the grocery bags she has in her hands to my kitchen.
Caught up in the tornado that is Ronan, I don’t realize that I’m left standing here with Liam.
A Liam that is clearly unhappy and uncomfortable standing on my front porch in crutches after a long ride.
“Are you going to let me in . . . Squirt?” he asks sarcastically.
“Or just watch me stand here?” he continues, in a curt tone accompanied by a look that’s just asking me to shut the door in his face.
Good to know he hasn’t changed since I last saw him.
Rolling my eyes, I turn around and wave him in. He wants to be an ass when I’m doing him a favor? He can figure out how to close the door himself.
“Sure, come in. Make yourself at home. Your bedroom is the first door on the right, past the kitchen. I’m sure my brother will show you around,” I tell him dismissively, and go back to caring for my plants, mumbling about what a dick he is.
But I keep looking at him out of the corner of my eye—I can’t help it; I haven’t seen him in years.
For a moment, my heart hurts for him as I watch him struggle to make the few steps past me.
He’s no longer the sure-footed guy I used to know.
However, he’ll be quick to learn that even though I might still be as quiet as I used to be, that I’d still rather be in the background, I’m not as shy anymore.
Over the years, especially after spending more and more time with Cassie, Ronan’s wife, I’ve learned to not let people walk all over me.
Or, I’ve tried to—old habits die hard, though.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve respect. Especially in my own home.
My house is like my little sanctuary where I get to be unapologetically me, and he’d better respect that.
Thankfully this arrangement is only for a few months, then he’s back home, far away from me. Back to his life, and leaving me to live on my own.