Chapter Seventeen
Calypso
The seconds tick by, counting down to Liam’s arrival. Mentally, I mean. I haven’t owned an analog clock in over a decade but my heart is keeping pace just fine. I’m stress cleaning my apartment, which will lead to anxiety cooking.
Why did I agree to this?
I don’t want a “roomie,” or for Liam to get so comfortable here he never leaves. It’ll be worse if he can’t even last the full three weeks and sneaks out in the middle of the night. Well, I think Liam would have more respect for me, even in that situation, but I’d prefer it to a conversation.
So many possibilities of what could happen, and each one makes me more nauseous than the last.
The overfilled grocery bags on the counter taunt me, reminding me I left work early to stop by the market. I’m telling myself now, like I did earlier, that if there’s anything to look forward to, it’s having someone else to cook for.
Doing it for myself feels like a waste—of time and food. Sunday dinners are always hosted by my mom, Selena, and Tim. Overall, I don’t mind. It’s important to them, and since Sunday is my only consistent day off, I try to enjoy it as much as possible.
But having Liam here will give me the chance to sharpen my cooking skills and try a few of those recipes I’ve been saving for years.
The thought puts a small, miniscule hop in my step. Straightening up only takes a few minutes. I’m a clean, but not always tidy, person. I have a tendency to leave my shoes and forgotten cups lying around. Just normal things that happen while going through my day.
It’s the first time Liam will be inside. He met me here when I drove us to Asher’s, and he’s dropped me off a few times. This feels different, though. Important.
By the time he knocks on the door, I’m starting to lay out the ingredients as I sip a glass of wine.
I chug the rest before going to open the door.
With a deep breath, I put on my best uninterested expression—the one I perfected years ago that somehow always fails in Liam’s presence.
“Hey, roomie,” I say with a mocking grin.
He shakes his head like there’s a sour taste on his tongue. “You’re so right about these things. Roomie is not it.”
Stepping forward, he holds a leash in one hand and cradles my neck as he places a kiss on my cheek. “Hi, honey.”
Little tingles shoot down my arms, but I keep from shaking them out. That sounds good—too fucking natural—for it to be the first time Liam’s greeting me as he gets home.
To my home, I mean.
Mentally slapping myself, I cross my arms and look down at the long-haired dachshund. “So, this is your dog.”
She’s cute, I’ll give her that.
Rosie is mostly black with a few brown spots on her paws and ears. Her big onyx eyes are staring up at me like I’ve hung the moon, but I’m sure she acts like this with anyone. She’s not jumping or barking, which I appreciate.
I’m not heartless, I just don’t like the types of messes babies and dogs make. It’s not their fault, but it’s good to know your own boundaries. No pets has always been a strict rule of mine—until today, I suppose.
“This is her. Rosie,” Liam says affectionately.
At her name, she jumps onto her back legs and yips before falling on her back, waiting for belly rubs. Liam, the fucking sucker, kneels and complies.
The image should be hilarious—this big, intimidating man and his teeny, tiny wiener dog.
Unfortunately for me, it’s endearing as fuck.
“Come on,” I say and lightly kick his knee.
He scoops up Rosie and stands. As he unbuckles her leash and harness, I close the door and turn back around. Leaning against it, I watch Liam take in my house for the first time.
The downstairs isn’t big but it’s a spacious open floor plan. It has less of a beachy vibe than Asher’s house, but I live closer to the city than the ocean.
Being so close to the opulent community of Aurora Hills, the laid-back familiarity of the beach town fades into lavish high-rises and boutique shops.
When I first bought the townhouse after my divorce, it felt like the perfect compromise—still within Amada Beach limits but further from the heart of the town.
I just needed space after everything that happened with Stefan.
Ten miles isn’t much but it was enough to avoid random visits or the expectation for me to host anything.
Even now, my mom and siblings rarely come visit because I’m always there; I always go to them. It’s the system I set up, but over the last few months, it’s become increasingly lonely.
Nothing compares to the isolation of living in the house that Stefan and I owned together.
His parents bought, renovated, and gifted us a beautiful Spanish Revival villa.
At least it was before the renovations, when Martha decided to strip the house down to its bones and turn it into a contemporary monstrosity.
I’m not even a huge fan of Spanish Revival homes, at least not for myself. However, it stuck out like a sore thumb in the small, gated neighborhood. Not to mention, there are hundreds of contemporary style homes in San Diego to choose from.
I love my little house.
It’s a craftsman-style house with a slight industrial modern touch.
The interior is dark and moody, with American Walnut wood and iron accents.
There is plenty of natural light, including a modern window combination along the stairs.
It’s too dark to get a good look at the back porch, but the sliding door leads to a wooden deck with a small seating area.
The small fenced-in grass area will be perfect for Rosie. It’s only now occurring to me how much time she probably had to spend in the apartment. Not that I care—I don’t—but it will be a big upgrade for her.
Liam’s quiet as he puts Rosie down and stands, observing the space with more intrigue than I expected.
My décor sways toward neutrals with a few pops of red and other jewel tones mixed in. A built-in bookcase under the stairs is full of CDs and knick-knacks, not a single book in sight. The natural wood accents and variety of houseplants brings balance and life into the space.
I can thank Vivi for those. She chose some of the easiest plants to take care of, and always comes over to help me repot them in early spring.
When he turns back to me with a small smile, I ask, “Are you judging my house?”
He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Just admiring it, actually.”
I shrug. “I like it.”
A soft thud pulls our attention to the couch where Rosie just jumped up and now walks in circles before plopping down.
With a long, dramatic sigh, my head tips back toward Liam.
It doesn’t surprise me that his dog gets up on furniture; I can only begin to imagine how spoiled she is.
There are probably sweaters and specialized dog food in his bags somewhere.
Plus, I know how to pick my battles, and fighting with a mutt the size of an overgrown rat is not on my list of favorable activities.
I’m really not excited to have a dog here though, and I won’t let Liam forget.
“It’ll do,” he says with a boyish grin.
Rolling my eyes, I look at the single bag he brought with him. “Is that all you have? It’s a small townhouse, but I can make room for you in the closet and dresser.”
He steps forward again, wrapping a hand around my waist. “Sounds like I’m moving in.”
Before I notice what I’m doing, my arms snake around him, holding him closer. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Three weeks.”
Liam teases, “Squatter’s rights.”
Scoffing, I pinch his back lightly. He flinches, not from pain but from being ticklish. “That requires living somewhere for at least five years in the state of California.”
His other arm wraps around me, his hand sliding precariously close to the waistband of my leggings. His pinky never dips below the fabric but he toys with the idea. “Three weeks, five years. What’s the difference, really?”
Snickering, I give him an exasperated look that he sees through immediately.
“This is what I had time to take to the dry cleaner’s this morning,” he says. “I’m going to box up the rest and take it tomorrow.”
“Very smart and much appreciated,” I say, sincerely glad he thought about that.
He chuckles but his eyes are glued to my lips. After a few, silent seconds, I expect him to pull away but he never does. His fingers tease the waistband of my leggings again and his features soften the longer he looks down at me.
“Can I kiss you again?”
Suddenly, I’m nervous—today has been a lot.
I started the day pissed off at him for presumably not stopping by Brighter Daze or texting me. The next thing I knew, I was agreeing to him temporarily moving in with me.
It’s been less than a week since we kissed, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it. At first, I was frustrated with the town talking about what happened at the beach. What was such a special moment between us became town gossip, just like this whole “relationship.”
When it was just the two of us, I didn’t want to ignore it anymore.
I wanted to feel the fire course through my veins when Liam’s large, calloused hands grabbed my waist and held me firmly against him.
I wanted to lose all sanity in favor of getting one single whiff of his oak and vanilla scent that clung to my shirt like I’ve done with the memory.
The masculine scent is fading but the black tank top is still hanging over my bedroom chair, unwashed.
I’m nervous to let my walls down with Liam any more than I have, because it feels so damn enticing just looking at him; but my willpower is only so strong.
“Yes, but I need to cook,” I say, not nearly as stern as I had imagined.
He nods and leans closer. His breath fans across my lips when he says, “Just a quick taste, honey.”
I inhale sharply as his lips press against mine. It’s a tender greeting—one I’ll need to be careful not to get attached to.
Liam’s arms tighten around me when one of my hands runs up his chest and grabs onto the back of his neck. I open a little for him and he doesn’t waste a second before his tongue slides against mine, deepening the kiss.