Only to someone who recognizes the signs.
There was another longer pause this time.
Liam:
It's easier. Letting people close means giving them the power to hurt you when things go wrong.
The raw honesty in his message made my chest ache. I'd built my own walls after Shelton. The toxic gaslighting had mequestioning my own reality for months: different circumstances, but the same mechanism.
Liam:
Then I complicated things by kissing you on a street corner.
I smiled at the screen.
Me:
To be fair, I kissed you back. Enthusiastically.
Liam:
I noticed. Breakfast tomorrow? To properly balance the universe, coffee, food, daylight, and the opposite of street corner kisses.
My fingers froze. Breakfast. An actual date, a deliberate choice to spend time together. The flutter in my stomach morphed into a knot of anxiety.Was I ready for this? For him?The intensity of his eyes when he looked at me, the weight of whatever trauma he carried — none of it screamed simple and uncomplicated.
What if this turned into another situation where I invested myself, only to discover I'd built something on quicksand? I pushed myself off the barstool to pace the small kitchen.
Me:
Sure, why not? I could use some pancakes in my life. When and where?
Liam:
Goodwin Grove Diner, 9 a.m.? Best pancakes in town.
Me:
It's a date, Lieutenant.
I added a winking emoji.
Liam:
See you tomorrow. Now get some sleep instead of organizing drawers.
I smiled at my phone, turned off the light, and headed to my bedroom. I changed into some sleep shorts and a tank top, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed, pulling the covers under my chin. As I settled, a smile lingered on my face, and for the first time since the fire, no dreams of smoke followed me into the darkness.
The next morning, I entered the diner at 9:07 a.m., telling myself the seven-minute delay was casual, not calculated. It was absolutely calculated. The bell above the door announced my arrival with a cheerful jingle, drawing a few glances.
I scanned the diner, finding Liam in a corner booth by the window. He wore a navy-blue DryFit shirt stretching across his shoulders in a way that should be illegal before noon, and dark jeans. The man made the basic clothes look like they were designed for his body.
Liam looked up as I approached the table. My heart did a ridiculous flutter thing again, and I silently told myself to get my shit together.
"You're late," he said, but the corner of his mouth quirked up, taking the sting out of his words.
"By seven minutes. That's early in architect time." I smiled, sliding into the booth across from him.
"Is that like musician time? Show up when you feel like it?"
