“Sheridan, if I were to guess. To the restaurant where we had our first date.”
“And how are you feeling?”
I let out a small laugh. “Torn. Tonight was good.”
“But?”
“But it doesn’t make up for everything.”
Phern smiles. “No, it doesn’t. But maybe it’s a start.”
She’s right.
Maybe I’m not just here to look back.
Maybe I’m here to see if we still have a future to step into.
27
The next day, I’m sitting in the lounge of the B&B with my parents, picking at a sandwich and trying not to think too hard about tonight, when Will Flowers strolls in like he owns the place.
He’s got a bag from Knot and Spur in one hand and a grin that makes me immediately suspicious.
“Afternoon, folks,” he says, casual as can be. “Ms. Olive, this is for you.”
He sets the bag beside me and turns on his heel before I can even ask who it’s from.
I blink at the gift. “Okay. Which of you traitors is working with Liam?”
Dad looks up from his soup, genuinely confused. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
But Mom? Mom just grins, not even trying to hide it. When I lift my brow, she shrugs, all innocent.
“I wanted you to have a special night.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself as I open the bag. Inside is the exact outfit I wore on our first pretend date buttailored a little differently. Slightly more room in the hips and belly. Thoughtful. Specific. And so very Liam.
At five, I’m dressed and ready, standing in front of the mirror, smoothing my skirt and reminding myself not to expect too much.
But when Liam’s truck pulls up and I walk out to meet him, the breath leaves my lungs. He’s in the same outfit, too. Dark jeans, black button-up, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the top two buttons undone in a way thathas tobe intentional. His hair’s still damp, like he just showered, and when he leans over to open the door for me, his cologne hits like a memory wrapped in musk and sin.
He grins, trouble and charm personified. “Evening, honey.”
He opens the passenger door with an exaggerated flourish, and I roll my eyes as I climb in, adjusting my skirt carefully.
When I glance over, I catch him looking.
His gaze lingers on my legs before flicking up to meet mine. “You have sexy legs, Olive. Don’t know if I ever told you that before.”
Heat floods my face. “You didn’t.”
“I am now.”
He rounds the front and climbs in, filling the cab with that maddening scent. It takes everything in me not to lean closer.
“You look nice,” he says, like he’s commenting on the weather.
“You clean up alright yourself.”
