Oh, for heaven’s sake.“I didn’t mean it that way. The only movie I’ve seen you in isJiltedand—”
“You thought I played the role of cheating fiancé a little too well.”
She couldn’t seem to say the right thing to save her soul.“Argh.”
He chuckled. “Settle down, I’m just kidding. I’ll even take that as a compliment since I’ve never even had a fiancée, much less cheated on one. You bought the part, right? That’s what matters.”
He had a point. But truly all her fears had been allayed whenthey’d read lines yesterday. “I overreacted when Simone called three months ago. I believe I’ve already apologized for that.”
He flashed a grin. “I just like to give you a hard time. You’re so easy to rile.”
She pursed her mouth in a scowl, but it was more to prevent the smile that teased her lips than anything else.
“Well, well, well... What isthis?” From his corner of the garage, Liam held up a familiar white binder covered in tacky flowers, hearts, satin ribbon, and the wordsMy Dream Weddingscrawled in fancy script.
Chloe hurdled over a row of boxes and ripped the hefty binder from his arms. “Never you mind.” Face burning, she dumped the scrapbook into a box and carried it to the edge of the garage. The scrapbook was an ill-conceived creation, made back when she thought Mr.Right would sweep her away just in time for her twenty-first birthday—the ideal bridal age, she’d thought.
Liam made a show of brushing the white glitter from his arms. It rained down like a monsoon.
She hurled a balled-up sock at him, missing entirely.
A few minutes later he snagged her attention once again. “Aw... lookie here.” He held up her seventh-grade photo, complete with braces, acne, and hair that had yet to see a straight iron.
She dashed over and jerked the photo away. “Every child goes through an ugly phase.” She glanced down into the box at his feet. It contained her boy band paraphernalia (including her shrine to One Direction), her stash of diaries (filled with romantic melodrama), the complete set of the Twilight series, and her old band uniform. Why hadn’t she realized her garage was a virtual land mine of embarrassing memorabilia?
“You played an instrument?” he asked. “Maybe we could form a band.”
“You need a clarinet?” she asked drolly, then grabbed the box. “I’ll just take this. You’re supposed to be moving them, not pawing through them.”
He chuckled. “You’re no fun. I’ll bet those diaries contain some interesting material.”
“Guess who’s not gonna find out?” Chloe went back to work.
She paused a few minutes later to wipe the sweat from her forehead. The back door they’d opened offered only a bit of warm breeze. “Sure would be nice if we could open the garage door. This will take a while.”
“We’re getting there. It’s not that bad really. You should see my mom’s garage. When she moved, she refused to toss anything, even my old stuff. She has stacks of boxes she’ll probably never open again.”
“Wouldn’t the paparazzi like to get their hands on that? What would I find if I cleaned out her garage?”
“Oh, let’s see... My starter guitar—a used Glarry made of basswood—several amps, and various pieces of band equipment. A few soccer trophies and jerseys—I played goalie because I was too chubby to play anywhere else.”
Her gaze swept over his form.“You?”
“I didn’t hit a growth spurt until my junior year. Just in time to finally get a girl to go out with me.”
Hard to imagine him that way, chubby and unpopular with the girls. “I’ll bet they’re kicking themselves now. What else?”
“Oh, the usual. Schoolwork, artwork—and I was bad. Like, really bad. That’s pretty much it, I guess. Oh, and everything my dad left behind. Scratch that. I think she still keeps that stuff in her bedroom closet.”
“Most people toss their ex’s stuff when they divorce, don’t they? My mom couldn’t get rid of my father’s things quickly enough.”
Liam gave a mirthless laugh. “Well, my mom’s still hoping he’ll come back, so there’s that.”
There was a lot of feeling behind those words, behind that scowl. She couldn’t imagine her mom still pining away for her father. Even Chloe wanted nothing to do with him. After all, he’d chosen to permanently exit her life. She had no interest in being part of his now. She’d never even had the desire to look him up. “How long’s it been since the divorce?”
“Oh, about twenty-five years and a dozen women. He’s not coming back, though there’s no making my mom understand that.”
She felt a pang of sympathy for his mother—and him. “That must be hard to watch.”
