Mrs. Kelly nods, her hair piled high on her head dotted with specks of gray. “We still have the pictures from Liam’s camera that day.”
“Oh! Speaking of Liam’s camera.” I jolt up straight in my chair, enthusiastically taking the opening to change the direction of this conversation. My knees hit the top of the table, and water splashes beyond our well-filled glasses.
“Evelina—settle,” my mom scolds under her breath.
“Sorry! I got a little excited. Okay, so earlier today...”
Liam shifts in his seat, a hint of tension raising his shoulders, and I pause my story, sliding my gaze to him. His mouth relaxes, curling into a devilish smirk.
Suddenly, Liam’s hand glides up my thigh under the table, pricking the skin on the back of my neck.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying, Evie?” Mrs. Kelly asks.
My pulse quickens. His hand slowly climbs under the edge of my skirt.
“Oh. Uhm,” I fumble.
A gleam of mischief hangs in his eyes, proud when he sees how tongue-tied the sensation is making me. His hand creeps further up.
“Yes, what were you going to say, Peaches?” the bastard asks, damn near smug.
A low unsatiated fire burns in the pit of my stomach as a nervous energy courses through my veins, and my cheeks heat.
WhatwasI saying?
Oh. His pictures, right. No, he’s not going to win this. I will not be distracted!
“Liam has a bunch of photographs hanging in a café in Portsmouth, and they’re phenomenal, and that’s the gist of my story, okay?”
Mr. Kelly pauses buttering his bread and glances at Liam. “You still like doing that artsy crap, huh?”
“Harry,” Mrs. Kelly scolds in a whisper, “be nice.”
“I’m just giving him a hard time, Nat. He knows that means I love him.”
“It’s just a hobby anyway.” Liam clears his throat, retracting his hand. His knee bounces, and I gently caress the top of his thigh to help it settle.
“I’d love to see some of them,” Holly interjects.
“Me too, love.” Mrs. Kelly pats his hand. “You were always so talented. I’m happy to hear you’ve kept with it.”
A spring peeper sings his agreement in the growing dusk around us.
“You think you’d be able to do that in Paris, though? The city looks pretty ugly.” Harry glances at him. The hint of a smile curls his lips, brightening his otherwise ruddy exterior.
Liam’s nervous energy shifts as he straightens in his chair. “You serious?” His dimples deepen as a wild, dangerous uncontained grin erupts across his face.
Harry nods, shoving another roll into his mouth. “If Evie doesn’t think she’ll get sick of you quickly, I worked the position out.”
A record scratches on the turntable in my mind. It’s been playing “Moses” on a loop since we sat down and I desperately needed the serotonin, but now, I fear I missed something. Paris? Liam? What?
“Liam, what is he talking about?” I whisper.
“It’s just something I’ve been working on. I didn’t want to say anything until it was official.” His eyes flicker around the table. “I, uhm, kind of wanted to do this privately, no offense to anyone, but if you’ll have me, I can stay in Paris and head the European office.”
Liam in Paris. That’s the ultimate dream, isn’t it?
For me. But what about him? I can tell in how his shoulders hang or his voice dips when he’s talking about his masters and working for his dad that it’s not his passion. And I get it, I do. We all can’t have our passion projects be our jobs, but there’s a difference in how he’s carried himself in Portsmouth versus how he navigated Paris. He stands a bit taller on this side of the Atlantic, even on a day when he’s grumpy and exhausted.
