“As sure as I am that I’ll be able to get you to do karaoke by the end of the night.”
“Not a chance.”
“Oh, I have my ways.” I grin up at him and shimmy my shoulders. “What use are these feminine wiles of mine if I don’t put them to work? Come on.” I cock my head toward the hall entrance.
The conference room is two doors down. Neither of us flick on the lights as we go in, but there’s a light glow from a Christmas tree in one corner. Liam perches on the windowsill, balancing his plate on his lap. I pull up a chair next to him and look out the window. A lazy snowfall has started to swirl and whiz through the air.
We fall into a comfortable silence as we eat, and there’s something about the food I can’t put my finger on.
“What’s with the face?” Liam asks, a knowing smile tugging at his mouth.
“I swear I’ve had this before. I’m having this fuzzy, déjà vu feeling. But maybe it’s just how you get when you walk next to someone with the same cologne as your college ex, and have a visceral flashback to when you watched them scramble for theball while playing beer pong and realized you don’t find them attractive anymore.” I shudder at the thought.
He attempts to stifle a laugh, which only causes it to come out as a snort. “I’m happy to say I never had that experience. It probably has to do with the fact it’s from Bide.”
“Ahh the scene of the crime of my near public indecency. I remember it fondly. But isn’t that a bit pricey for a full catering spread?”
“It would be without the discount Fallon was given.” He pushes a clump of mashed potatoes into a pool of gravy. “Fallon got a discount on it—barely paid anything. I rated them lower than last year and they’re trying to compensate.”
“Maybe I should become a food critic if it means I get bribed like that.” I take a bite and consider the flavors. “Now that you’ve said it, this is similar, but definitely tastes richer and more balanced.”
“Really earning that spot as your celebrity crush.”
I groan. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about that.”
“Never. I’m carrying it with me to my grave.” He stops and holds up his fork. “Better yet, I’m putting itonmy grave.”
“The commitment is impressive.”
“WhySpitfire? The Thanksgiving list? My articles? There must be hundreds of other things to choose from.”
I hesitate for a moment. The truth feels like too much, and there’s a tender part of me that is haunted by the last time people learned about my dad. How they left without a second thought. “I was nineteen, just halfway through my second year of college when my family was hit pretty hard financially. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I didn’t have any real world skills. I’d never worked, or budgeted, or thought too hard about anything because, before, if I wanted something, I just had to ask for it.” My eyes turn down to my plate and I shove around a stray macaroni noodle coated in silk bechamel. “My mom was busyall the time, so I didn’t want to ask her how to do things, and I didn’t have anyone else. I was at the grocery store and saw aSpitfiremagazine—-A Broke Girl’s Guide to Moneyissue—and I picked it up.” I remember how I ended up having to put back a bag of salt and vinegar chips to afford it, the kettle cooked kind that I’d been craving but couldn’t justify buying becauseGodwhy did they cost so much. “I read it and got my shit together. It felt like I was getting a no-nonsense pep talk from a best friend. It sounds silly, but it’s the truth.”
“I don’t think it’s silly,” Liam says, and I know he means it. I look up and find that he’s focused intently on me.
“Well, thanks.” I shrug, my skin feeling tight under the full force of his gaze. The room seems to have shrunken too. “After that, I kept buying issues and looking online, especially when I started reading articles by a certain L. Hughes.” Heat floods my cheeks. “Is it weird to say that it’s like I knew you before we ran into each other. Maybe that’s the reason it’s so easy to be around each other?” That has to be it, right?
“I didn’t know you before this. Maybe it’s just easy to be around each other for some other reason.”
“Yeah you’re right.” I shake my head, dislodging the thought. Okay, delusionally-hopeful hypothesis disproven. “If you’re done eating, we could rejoin the group. It’s hard for this to be a trial run of our fake relationship if we’re alone.”
“I prefer being alone with you than putting on a show.” A flash of disappointment crosses his face as he rises to his feet, rolling his shoulders in a stretch. “But you’re the expert—exposure therapy and all.”
He grabs my plate and stacks it with his. When we are back out in the hall, the sounds of the party welcome us. Someone is singing a break-up song so intensely I’m genuinely worried if they’re okay. Liam stiffens but walks with me. A few feet before the end of the hall, he pauses.
“Wait. Can I hold your hand? That would be a couple-y thing to do,” he says.
“If you want,” I tell him, pretending not to care even as my fingers twitch, eager to tangle with his.
“But wouldn’t that help make it look like we’re together?”
“Yeah, but only if you're comfortable with it. Sometimes I don’t do any PDA, other times a kiss or two is appropriate for the situation, but only if agreed upon beforehand.” I’d usually have already established these boundaries, but I’ve been putting it off when it comes to Liam.
“Just hand-holding.”
I thrust out my hand and he takes it—stiffly at first, then his palm molds against mine.
A hush falls when we reach the doorway, then a few tipsy giggles leak from sealed lips.
