“Sloane,” I whisper, leaning down to gently kiss her forehead, trying not to startle her. Slowly, I see her eyes open. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Still half asleep, she nods and gets up, grabbing my free hand before making her way to her room, wordlessly pulling me along with her.
Once we’re both settled under the covers, I hear her softly say, “Thanks for not carrying me. I hate being carried.”
Chapter 31
I’d like to say the few days following what I’m now calling ourLasagna Nightwent by quickly, but that would be a lie. It’s a few days before the exam period officially starts and students are panicking. Thankfully, I’m ahead, as always, so all my papers are already written, because these students are not ready. They didn’t have the sense to do things ahead like I did. I’ve had a line at my office door twenty-four seven the past two days. Luckily, as a PhD student, I don’t have any exams and I only need to supervise four exams this year, meaning the next three weeks will be a walk in the park. And after that, we have a month for winter break.
“You look exhausted,” Liam says from across the dinner table. We’ve fallen into a domesticated routine over the last forty-eight hours. He makes me breakfast, kisses me goodbye at the door, and tells me to have a good day as he sends me off with a packed lunch. Then, when I get home, he greets me at the door with a kiss and supper waiting for me on the table. After eating together, and telling each other about our day, we make our way to the living room where we, or ratherhe,will watch a movie. Ifell asleep on the couch barely after opening credits the last two nights. Then, he would wake me up when the movie ended and we’d crawl into my bed together.
“I am,” I confirm. “I hate the end of semester. It’s like they all forgot they had stuff to submit and that they should have been paying attention and learning the last four months, not doing whatever they were doing.”
He laughs and says, “I can’t say I was much different.”
“I was—still am. All my stuff was done and submitted two weeks ago. I don’t understand procrastination.” I really don’t. Why put off what you can do right away? My comment just makes him laugh even more.
I’ve noticed over the last few days that he’s been laughing more freely. He even looks lighter. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t say I’m against it, even if I am a little suspicious. It’s not like him to laugh, or at least it hasn’t been since he moved in with me. In the past, he was always a little lighter and carefree with me, but not like this. This is different.
“You’ve never liked procrastinating, always needing to get everything done at the first chance. Even when you were a kid.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I say jokingly.
“Not at all. I’ve always admired that trait of yours, being a procrastinator myself.” I blush. “Speaking of admiring,” he starts, then looks away from me, but not before I catch the subtle red hue that graces his cheeks. Is he blushing? “I also admired how diligently you tend to your plants.”
That earns him a look, and I can’t control the snort that comes out of me at the memory of his comments towardmy plants when he first moved in. Not to mention the words that just came out of his mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak in that manner.
His cheeks darken at my reaction.
“Is that so?” I ask, raising a brow. “If I remember correctly, you had a few choice words for my plants and howdiligentlyI cared for them when you first moved in.”
“Anyways,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. He’s the one who brought up this weird conversation, though, so why is he so uncomfortable? “Anyways,” he repeats, “I found this place online—here in town—where we can go paint some ceramic pots, or anything else, really. They seem to have it all. I thought maybe we could go tomorrow morning and then grab lunch?” He nervously runs a hand through his hair, still not meeting my gaze.
Oh my God, is he asking me on a date? Unable to stop the words from coming out, that’s exactly what I ask him. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Would that be okay?” he asks.
Is he really that nervous? In what world does he think I would say no? I mean, I kiss him goodbye every morning and hello every night—or, at least I have for the past two days. I guess it’s only happened twice. Have I been reading too much into those interactions? I really should have paid more attention when my undergrad roommates talked about boys. I have no idea what I’m doing here.
Looking up, I see Liam is still there, just looking right back at me, seeming nervous.
“Of course! I just wanted to make sure that’s what you were asking. That I wasn’t getting ahead of myself. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page . . .”
“Are you nervous, Sloane?” he asks, teasingly.
“Says the guy that’s blushing,” I sass back with an eye roll.
“I am not blushing,” he retorts.
“Sure you’re not,” I tease.
“You’re a little shit, you know that?”
“Oh, is that why you asked me out on a date?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Whatever,” he says, in his usual grumpy tone, this time throwing me a small smirk that makes my stomach swoosh before making his way past the living room and into my bedroom.
Why is he going in there? Usually we watch a movie before calling it a night. I quickly clear off the table and start the dishwasher before joining.
