I grab the tea and inhale the steam, letting it settle my nerves.
“I’ll be out on the couch doing some work if you need anything,” he says once I’m relaxed a fraction more in bed.
“Oh. I mean—I’m going to putAn American in Parison if you wanted—I could give you the lap desk when I’m done eating, and you could work in here?”
Liam cocks his head to the side. “Do you want me in here?”
I shrug, slathering the Nutella on a piece of bread. “I may secretly enjoy your company.”
“You sure that concussion is healed? You sound delirious.”
“Oh no. It’s definitely not.” I pat next to me on the bed. “But come sit anyway, Wonder Boy.” I smirk. There’s a decided new warmth in that nickname, and it summons his eye crinkles as he settles next to me.
The happy chimes of Gershwin’s opening score toAn American in Parisplay on the TV, and an icy shiver shakes my entire core.
Struggling, I try to pull the blankets up under the lap desk.
“Are you cold?” Liam asks.
“I get these weird cold flashes during my flares. It’s fine.” I sip my tea, savoring the warmth sliding down my throat.
“You can steal some of my body heat. If you think it would help.”
I glance up at him. His honey eyes stare softly at me under a blanket of inky black lashes. His dimples slightly prick his cheeks in a closed-lip smile. If I didn’t have a barrier of tea and bread around me, I sense that he’d dip his head and kiss me again. “I’ve honestly never tried it before. But it might?”
Scooting over, Liam wraps an arm around me. His hand falls on my right shoulder as warmth radiates down my left side, burning at every point of contact. He pulls me in tighter, and his firm grip keeps the shivers from thoroughly shaking everything on the bed.
His head turns, his lips resting a fingerbreadth away from my ear, and warm excitement spirals through me as I recall how they felt pressed against my skin. Gooseflesh pebbles on my skin, and I don’t think it’s from my shivers this time.
“Is this helping at all?” he asks.
His hot breath pricks the nape of my neck. My body practically calls to it. Like there really was a spellbinding moment in our exchange of breaths, and now I’m doomed to answer it every time we’re near each other.
“Yeah, actually.” I stuff some bread and Nutella in my mouth, hoping to satiate my craving for something sweet.
Liam draws soft circles on the top of my arm as “I’ve Got Rhythm” starts up on the screen, and Gene spins his arms like an airplane propeller.
“Remember when we got so dizzy trying to do that we fell face-first into a pile of mud?” he asks, a smile curling on his lips.
“Oh yeah. It took my mom a good hour to scrub me clean that night.”
“I don’t doubt it. I think I had mud in my ears for a good week after that. Got a wicked bad ear infection.”
I swallow, picking at the crumbs of bread on my plate. For all I thought I knew about Liam, his home life was never one of them.
“Your parents weren’t home to help?”
“No, they weren’t really around a lot.” His soft smile falters slightly. Maybe I should stop there, but he’s being open, and I’m curious to get to know this part of him.
“How was that for you?”
I couldn’t imagine a quiet, lonely house. Not without the chaos of Caleb’s or Nana’s singing, even my mom—as much as she causes so much strife—and her homemade meals.
“It wasn’t ideal, but I had pretty good neighbors who took me in and shared their Nana.” He pulls me in closer.
“She knew you needed her.” I sigh. “Trust me, it wasn’t my choice.”
“I still appreciated it,” he says, stroking my arm with his fingers.
