ME: Oh yeah. Totally fine. Talk to you then!
LIAM: Looking forward to it.
I wince, shoving my phone back in my apron. I’m still very anti-surprise, especially with a big gesture that is so involved. But I also don’t want to kill Mr. Kelly’s joy. So I’m trusting the man and taking the biggest damn risk of my life.
“How much longer do you think until he gets here?” I ask, peeking fruitlessly through the tiny circle window in the kitchen door, but brown construction paper covers the shop windows, obscuring any view of the outside.
Anxiously, I grab a towel and dip it in a sudsy bucket, wiping down the almond flour-covered counter in front of me.
“Evie, it’s going to be fine.” Mr. Kelly reaches up and gently places a hand on my shoulder. “I know my son. I know how he feels about you. I know this setup will better suit him occupationally, too, and the wall of his photos will only enhance that. Relax, kid. It’s all going to work out.”
The front door opens and shuts, and my heart skips.
“Hello, ma’am? Sir?” the deep baritone voice I’ve desperately missed calls from the other room.
My arms flail; apparently my immunity to him has already waned significantly, and I knock the bowl of water over on the floor. It lands on my foot, suds spilling everywhere, and I peek bashfully at Mr. Kelly. “I swear I won’t be this accident-prone every day.” I smile tight.
“I don’t buy that for a second,” Mr. Kelly whispers, eyes shining bright at my bumbling demeanor.
“Are you okay?” Liam asks in the other room.
“I’ll clean it up. Go.” Mr. Kelly motions to the swinging door leading out to the front portion of the café.
I nod, take a collecting breath, and push the door open. My shoes squeak against the hardwood floor.
Liam’s striding at a hurried pace toward the back. Toward. Me. His eyes catch mine as his feet continue propelling him forward.
“Evie?” he rasps.
At the same time, I say, “Hey,Liam. Liam! Pole.”
But it’s too late, his head collides with one of the metal support beams in the middle of the café and it takes him the fuck out.
“Oh shit.” I rush over, leaving a dust cloud of flour in my wake, and kneel down next to him.
His eyes slowly flutter open. “Evie?” he manages again.
“Are you okay?” My hands tremble, and I reach out to his temple, feeling for any bumps or bruises.
He props himself up on his elbows and slowly brings himself to a sitting position. “I’m fine.” He blinks. “My body took most of the hit—but—”
“Oh, what am I supposed to do? Follow my finger, right?” I raise a shaky finger in front of his face.
He gently grabs it, bringing it down and threading his fingers through mine. “Peaches, I’m fine, seriously. But what the hell is going on?”
“I would like to preface this entire story by saying I was very anti-surprise.” I glance down at our hands. Liam’s thumb rubs soft circles into my palm like it’s second nature to him. The gesture calms me, and I stand, offering my hand and pulling him up into a standing position. Sparks and jolts shoot up my arm right on schedule, and it takes everything in me not to pull him closer and press a kiss on his lips right now. “So this”—I gesture around us—“someday soon, is actually going to be a cheese and pastry café with a dessert wine bar. Obviously, there’s still a lot of work to do, but I was thinking, okay, so we keep the counter here, right? And then we’ll have some cute café stools—”
“Evie—”
“Or maybe fancy stools, I don’t know. I haven’t decided if I want to go with a more rustic café look or just go all in on the Marie Antoinette’s bedroom vibes. Oh. Maybe you have an opinion on that.” I pause, raising on my toes, and Liam blinks back at me.
“Marie?”
“Honestly, kind of felt like the only option, but I’m glad you agree.” I nod. “So if I did that, I thought that here, we could plaster roses and macarons and donuts, etc., and then spray-paint them gold to make it look like that ornate trim that’s all over her room. Oh, and here. I thought on this wall we could fill it with a bunch of photos you’ve taken, maybe comb through the Paris ones, and then mix in some of Portsmouth, too, whatever you want. But we can hang them to look like one of those gallery walls in Versailles.”
“Evie,” Liam says a bit more sternly, rubbing his temple. “What’s going on here, and why do you keep saying ‘we’?”
“Because half of this is yours,” Mr. Kelly proclaims, swinging the kitchen door wide open in a grand entrance of his own.
