EMMA
I splurgeon an Uber to the restaurant, nerves buzzing the whole ride, and I’m not surprised to see Liam already there, even though I’m early.
He stands when he sees me, that easy smile tugging at his lips. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek, his hands settling briefly on my shoulders.
“You look amazing,” he says.
He’s in a blue button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, paired with dark denim. His sandy hair flops into his eyes a bit in a way that is sexier than it has a right to be.
“You do, too,” I say, feeling my cheeks go hot as I blush under his direct gaze.
It’s really so silly. He’s seen all of me back when we were together, and more recently on our FaceTime sessions. And I meanallof me. I’m not embarrassed about what we did. But standing here now, with himright in front of me, I can thinkabout what it might be like to touch him for real, for him to touch me.
Not with my hand, but his.
Not just imagining what he could do to me, but actually experiencing it.
Again.
As a grown adult and not a fumbling, inexperienced teen.
“You okay?” Liam asks.
“I’m good,” I say, realizing I was daydreaming about sex with Liam in the lobby of this restaurant. “Is our table ready?”
He nods, and we turn, following the hostess to a small, semi-private table at the back of the restaurant. The lighting is low and romantic, and Liam’s green eyes glow in the soft flicker of a tabletop candle.
“Let us know if there is anything we can do to make your experience more comfortable, Mr. Callaghan,” the hostess says.
As she walks away, I lift an eyebrow and grin. “Mr. Callaghan?” I ask. “Aren’t we fancy since we joined the NHL?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah. My teammate’s wife owns this place or something like that. “I’ve actually, uh, not dated anyone in Chicago. I had to ask the guys what they recommended.”
I’m dubious, and I’m certain my face says so. “What do you mean you haven’t dated since you got to Chicago? You’ve been here, what, four or five years?”
“I mean, it’s not that I haven’t...um...” He clears his throat, and it’s his turn to blush, which tickles me to no end. “I just...never wanted a relationship. So I didn’t date.”
“Ah,” I say, grinning. “Look, it’s been a while since we were together. I would expect you to move on, to be with other people. It’s fine.”
With a nod, Liam studiously sets his gaze on his wine menu. A moment later, a waiter appears to ask if we’d like something to drink. Liam asks for a wine recommendation, and we agree on a bottle of red.
When the waiter walks away, Liam says, “It’s not fine, Emma, not really. Not for me.”
I cock my head in question. “What’s not fine?”
“That we’ve been with other people. I mean, we’re adults, and you’re right, we both had the right to move on. And people have, you know, needs. But my heart was broken after you left, and it never healed.”
This is a big speech out of Liam, a big show of feelings that isn’t his norm. And it embarrasses me, because I hate that I did that to him.
I hate that he was pining for me that way.
I hate that I owe him an answer that I’m not ready to give.
I clear my throat, thankful that the waiter is back quickly with our wine and some water.
As he uncorks the bottle and goes through the whole rigmarole of pouring a bit and having Liam taste it, I sip my water, tryingto will my stupid, hammering heart to calm its fluttering in my chest.
Wine poured, I take a sip, then gently ask, “How’s your mom doing? Any better since the last time we talked?”
