Before cracking my lids open, I sighed, wondering if he’d keep his promise comemorning.
He lifted my hand, flipped it over, then placed a chaste kiss against my palm. Lowering it, he asked, “Have youeaten?”
Food was the furthest thing from my mind right now. “No.”
“Are youhungry?”
“Notreally.”
He tapped his finger against my cool skin. “Maybe once you see the contents of my fridge, it’ll inspireyou.”
“Maybe.” I doubted it, though. My stomach was one giantknot.
Clutching my crossbody bag to me, I pumped my door handle and hopped out. Once inside the house, he kicked off his boots. I followed suit, lining my sneakers up next to his shoes. As I stood back up, a nervousness—that had nothing to do with my cousin’s fate—overwhelmed me. I’d never stayed at someone’s house before—well, besides Evelyn’sapartment.
When Mom would work late, I’d stay with Evelyn. She’d fill my belly with her delicious cooking, then fit a mug brimming with stovetop-warmed milk into my hands and read to me until I fell asleep with my head on her lap and her fingers in my hair. The month following my mother’s last breath, I’d stayed with Evelyn almost every night. She’d tried to feed me, tried to make me sip milk, tried to distract me with one of her books. All I’d managed was to sleep, and even that had come in fitfulbursts.
Liam propped my chin on his fingers and crooked my face up toward his. “You just checked out on meagain.”
“Sorry.” I slid my chin off his fingers and swept my gaze over the clean, sharp décor that seemed simple but had probably cost him a smallfortune.
He sighed as he wrapped his hand around mine and pulled me toward a large door. Behind it stood a bachelor’s kitchen: beige-veined chocolate marble with copper fixings and smoky-mirrored cupboards that rose with the press of a finger. I’d come to his house before, but hadn’t ventured into the kitchenthen.
Liam seized plastic containers from the fridge and set them on the marble island, popping the lidsoff.
“Did you cook all of this?” I asked as I climbed onto one of the leather stools, admiring how clean and shiny the kitchenwas.
“Since Dad died, Matt’s mom’s been sending food overreligiously.”
“That’s really sweet ofher.”
“She’s a good woman. I heard she came to help out at the inn.” He took out two plates andsilverware.
“She did. Isobeltoo.”
“The pack takes care of theirown.”
A warm, fluttery feeling swept through me. I would never tire of hearing I was part of thepack.
He tipped his chin toward theofferings.
Realizing we still knew very little about each other, I asked, “What’s your favoritefood?”
“Steak.” He spooned something that looked like polenta onto his plate before adding a bunch of green beans and a thick piece of browned meat. “Original, huh?” He shot me a brazen smile as he slid his plate into the microwave and pressed a couple buttons that filled the quiet kitchen with a soft whirring noise. “What aboutyou?”
“I pretty much love everything. But I have a soft spot for Mexican cuisine. Evelyn”—I dragged my hand through my hair—“she made a lot of our meals back inLA.”
After I prepped myself a plate, Liam set it in themicrowave.
“Want anything todrink?”
“Water would begreat.”
He pulled open his fridge and took out a bottle of water and abeer.
“This feels like a first date,” Isaid.
He uncapped his beer, then took a deep drink and swallowed before leaning over to kiss me. “I don’t want this to be our first date. I want to take you out. Tomorrow night, you andme.”
