“If your only hesitation is me actually pulling this off, I swear I can do it.”
A fingertip gently brushes my chin, tilting it upward. Liam unleashes a full-bodied stare, flecks and all. The intensity of his narrowed eyes hurries my breaths, and I last maybe two point five seconds before I pull my attention back down to my pastries.
“Did you see the lamination on this pastry? It’s super well done, definitely someone who makes pain au chocolats on the regular.” I pick at the pastry, running a finger through the inner layers. “You know rumor has it Marie Antoinette introduced the croissant—what this evolves from—to France. When you think about it, her demise was a rather miserable thank you considering it’s such an important part of French culture now.”
“Is that so?” Liam leans back, grabbing his chest and chuckling. It’s this annoying thing he does when he thinks something is particularly funny—and it’s usually me. The gold flecks dance with amusement as he shakes his head. “I knew you weren’t thinking this through.”
“Fine,” I grunt. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
“You need to go through a deprogramming or something.”
“For what?” I flail my hands, and precious flakes from the viennoiserie fly everywhere.
“That.” He snorts. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you I’m not the enemy before you believe it, but if we’re going to do this, you need to practice pretending you can tolerate my presence, because a lot of people who aren’t your mom will be watching us.”
I gulp down a portion of my breakfast. Iwasn’tthinking this through. Because pretending I actually like Liam is a complete violation of all my safety guidelines wrapped in a tiny package of doom, covered in a veiled layer of how-to-get-Caroline-off-your-back-and-cause-five-hundred-other-problems-for-yourself paper. At least it’s gilded paper, and I imagine the box is gorgeous. It’s the kind of wrapping where the person is anxious to open it because it looks so stunning, maybe even carefully removes the bow and goes, “I don’t want to ruin the paper, it’s so pretty,” and pretends they want to save it for later, and then they open it up and inside there’s a can of tuna or something. I don’t know.
“How would—what’s your idea?” I finally ask.
“I thought maybe we could set aside a few days to practice, feel each other out before we return for the wedding. Take some of the pressure off.”
A weird nervous energy hums through me, and I tuck my lip under my teeth, almost baring down hard enough to draw blood. Pressure needs to be relieved, but I don’t think spending more time with Liam will help.
“That sounds fair.” I nod. “But you said conditions, as in plural, so what else were you thinking?”
Liam slides a card over to me as a sardonic smile curls up on his lips. “Our dating backstory. Nonnegotiable.”
“Yeah, you didn’t overthink this last night or anything,” I say, eyeing the index card suspiciously.
“Couch wasn’t super comfy.”
I scan the words scrawled across the index card, narrowing in on the one that threatens to speed up my heart rate to catastrophic proportions.Love.“Are you freakin’ kidding me! No. No way.”
He tsks, and his mouth wraps around the head of the spoon for another bite of yogurt. My stare rests on his lips, and my throat dries up. Okay, seriously, how much yogurt is in that cup? “Those are my terms.”
“I’ve”—I gaze down at the words—“always been in love with you but didn’t know how to tell you? So I wore a mask of negativity to hide it?”
“Wracked with nerves every time you saw me.” He clasps his hands in front of him, directing his stare to the ceiling with a dopey lovesick look.
“So when Eli said he was visiting with you, I begged,begged—really?—that we meet up, and after ten years of pent-up agony and unrequited love, I blacked out upon finally seeing you.” I pick up my head and glare. “Ha. Ha.”
“Love hit you full force, poor thing.”
“Finally, I confessed to you that I am, and have always been, head over heels in love with you and no longer want to hide my true feelings—” My voice escalates several octaves higher than it usually rests. “I’m not doing this.”
“Yeah, I figured. I just wanted to hear you get up into your squeaky panicked register,” he says nonchalantly, scraping his yogurt cup clean.
I blink at him in disbelief. “Forget it. You were right. I clearly wasn’t thinking. I’ll brave Caleb’s wedding alone.” I stand abruptly and my chair tips over with a thud.
Liam shoots up with me, lightly grasping my arm. Jolts of electricity ignite through my system at an alarming speed. “I was kidding, Peaches. Having a backstory really isn’t a condition.”
“I mean, it’s not a bad idea, really—to have one. But thisparticularone does nothing for my situation. My mom already thinks I’m a pathetic loser. Pining won’t add anything.”
He frowns, reaching beyond me, and his chest bumps into mine as he grabs the card. “Then it’s mine.”
“What?” I gasp, stepping back on my heel. “Are you trying to get me into my panicked voice again?”
“Not intentionally, no. But if you’re this stressed about going home, maybe this would give you a positive distraction.”
