Chapter 14 #2
"She helped me pull the bike out of the azaleas," Liam grinned. "But she dated the guy with the car."
"Her loss," Emi said, and she meant it.
She told him about the bakery in Pietermaritzburg, about the smell of rising dough at 4:00 AM, and how she used to hide romance novels inside her textbooks so her sisters wouldn't tease her.
"What was the best one?" Liam asked, leaning his chin on his hand, completely focused on her.
"A Kingdom of Dreams," Emi said without hesitation. "Judith McNaught. It was ridiculous and dramatic and I loved every page."
"I'll add it to my reading list," Liam promised. "Right after The A.B.C. Murders."
"You'd hate it. Not enough logic. Too much pining."
"I don't mind pining," Liam said, his voice dropping, his eyes locking onto hers. "Pining shows dedication."
The air between them thickened, charged with a sudden intensity. Emi felt the blush rise to her cheeks. He wasn't talking about books anymore.
By the time they finished dessert—a shared dark chocolate tart—the bistro was emptying out. Emi felt a familiar itch, the need to step away from the perfection for a moment of grounding.
"I need some air," she whispered. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all," Liam stood up immediately, grabbing his coat. "I'll join you."
They walked outside into the cool night air. The street was quiet now, the red brick facade of the building illuminated by the warm glow of the sconces. Emi opened her purse and pulled out her tin of Peter Stuyvesants. The click of her lighter was sharp in the silence.
She took a drag, exhaling a long plume of smoke that swirled into the darkness. She leaned back against the rough red brick, crossing one ankle over the other, looking like a noir film star in her black dress.
Liam watched her. He didn't smoke—he was a runner, a machine—but tonight, he wanted to bridge every gap.
"Can I try one?" he asked.
Emi looked at him, surprised. "You? The Temple Body? You want a cigarette?"
"I want to know what it tastes like," Liam said, stepping into her space. "To you."
Emi hesitated, then pulled a fresh cigarette from the tin. She handed it to him. He put it between his lips, leaning down. Emi flicked the lighter again, cupping her hand around the flame to shield it from the wind.
Their faces were inches apart. The flame illuminated his sharp cheekbones, the dark lashes of his closed eyes. Emi smelled the cedarwood and the faint scent of the chocolate they had eaten.
Liam took a shallow drag, coughing slightly as he exhaled.
Emi laughed softly. "You're terrible at that."
"I'll stick to ginger ale," Liam admitted, holding the cigarette awkwardly. He leaned back against the wall next to her, their shoulders touching.
They stood there in the quiet intimacy of the shared vice. It wasn't about the nicotine; it was about the proximity. It was about standing side by side against the world.
"This was a good night," Liam said, looking up at the slice of sky visible between the buildings.
"It was," Emi agreed. "The best night I've had in... a very long time."
"Five years?" Liam asked gently, referencing the timeline she had vaguely alluded to.
"Maybe longer," Emi whispered. "Thank you, Liam. For not giving up after the stairwell."
Liam turned his head to look at her. "I couldn't give up. I saw the fireworks."
He reached out, his hand brushing hers where it rested against the brick. He didn't grab it; he just let his pinky finger hook around hers. A small, tentative anchor.
Emi didn't pull away. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder for just a second, inhaling the scent of his suit and his skin. He felt solid. He felt real. He felt nothing like a ghost.
The drive to Brooklyn was quiet, a comfortable silence filled with the hum of the engine and the radio playing low jazz. Liam pulled up in front of her brownstone, double-parking the massive SUV.
He turned off the engine and got out, walking around to open her door. Emi stepped out, the cool Brooklyn breeze tugging at her dress.
They walked up the steps to her front door. The street was asleep, the stoops empty.
Emi turned to face him, her back against the dark wood of her door. Liam stood one step below her, which put his eyes level with hers.
"So," Liam said, his hands in his pockets. "Monday passed. Did I pass the exam?"
Emi looked at him. She looked at the way the streetlight caught the silver in his tie, the kindness in his eyes, the patience in his posture. He was a gentleman. He hadn't pushed. He hadn't bragged. He had just been there, steady and bright as the North Star.
She compared him, involuntarily, to the chaos of her past. To the exhilarating, terrifying highs of Ran. This was different. This wasn't a rollercoaster. This was a foundation.
"You passed with distinction," Emi whispered.
Her heart was hammering. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to grab the lapels of his Vanguard suit and pull him against her. She wanted to taste the coffee and the chocolate and the faint hint of smoke on his lips. She wanted to erase the memory of every other kiss she had ever had.
She leaned forward, just an inch.
Liam saw the movement. His eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her lips. He took a hand out of his pocket, reaching up to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her jawline, his thumb brushing her cheekbone.
"Emi," he breathed.
But he didn't close the gap. He saw the hesitation in her eyes—the lingering shadow of the "trust issues" she had mentioned. He was the Architect; he knew you couldn't rush the foundation.
He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. It was warm and firm and infinitely tender.
"Goodnight, Emi," he murmured against her skin. "I'll see you in the stairwell."
He pulled back, giving her one last, devastating smile, and turned to walk down the steps.
Emi stood there, frozen, her hand touching the spot on her forehead where his lips had been. Her heart was racing, her cheeks flushing hot in the cool night air. It wasn't the kiss she thought she wanted, but it was the kiss she needed. It was a promise of patience.
"Goodnight, Liam," she whispered to his retreating back.
As she watched the Ford Expedition pull away, its taillights disappearing down the street, Emi let out a breath she felt like she had been holding for five years. She unlocked her door and stepped inside, leaning back against it, a goofy, schoolgirl smile spreading across her face.
She was safe. She was seen. And for the first time, the "Cape Town Surprise" jar didn't matter at all. She had found something far better right here in New York.