“Do you have siblings?” Liam asks.
“No, only child.”
“I’m envious and yet feel sorry for you at the same time.”
I take a sip of my drink, peering at him over the rim of the glass. He wears a fond expression as he watches his sister pouring drinks. From the people I know who have siblings, it seems common for there to be a love/hate relationship. I have a feeling Liam and Thea fall on the love side more often than not, though. “She said you came back to town after Rex was born?”
“Yeah. I’d been living and working in Toronto for a few years. The guy Thea was dating left when she got pregnant; she was only sixteen at the time, seventeen when Rex was born. Our mother was no help, and since all I did was worry about Thea and the baby anyway, I decided to come home. It was supposed to be temporary, but then our mom got sick, so I decided to move back for good.”
I remember what Mae said about Liam taking care of everyone:He’s a fixer, that boy. A caregiver. Always looking out for people, wanting to lend a hand, making himself useful.“Thea and your mom are lucky to have you.”
His lips lift into something I wouldn’t exactly call a smile. “I’m glad I came back. I can’t imagine my life without Rex, and I love Thea even when we drive each other nuts.” He pauses, leaning against the bar and angling his upper body toward me. “And my mom…she was a good woman, but not much of a mother. You’ll likely hear stories about her around town if you haven’t already.”
My heart pinches at his words. I can’t count the number of times I’ve thought the same thing about my own mom: she was a good woman and, although I know she did her best as a mother, her best wasn’t great. She had all the compassion in the world for her patients, while her motherly duties often took a back seat. As I always do when this subject comes up, I feel like I'm betraying her simply by having these thoughts. And yet her death doesn’t change the fact I was never her top priority. It sounds like Liam can relate. “I’m sorry about your mom. Mine is gone too, and I understand the whole complicated mother-child situation.”
His smile is a bit more genuine now, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He gives his head a little shake. “Thea would be horrified if she heard our topic of conversation. She told us to get back to flirting and here we are talking about our pasts and our dearly departed mothers.”
“Well,” I say, taking a fortifying sip of my martini, “flirt away. Hit me with your best stuff.”
His answering chuckle is a low rumble that sends warmth spreading through my body. “I’m not sure I can flirt on command.”
“Come on, a hottie like you must have the residents of Honeywell all aflutter on a regular basis.”
This draws another laugh out of him and I swear his cheeks are turning pink under his dark stubble. His eyes lock on mine, his easy smile making the skin around his eyes crinkle in a way that nearly takes my breath away. I don’t know about the residents of Honeywell, butI’mcertainly all aflutter right now. Those eyes are what you’d call bedroom eyes, and they have me wondering what it would be like to get Liam Doherty alone in a bedroom.
“You think I’m a hottie?” he asks quietly, playfully.
Between his eyes and his read-me-the-phone-book voice, there’s soon going to be nothing left of me but a steaming Joss-shaped puddle. Normally I’d find a way to change the subject. I’ve never been good at flirting, possibly because most of my flirting has been contained to movies where someone else has written the lines for me. But I don’t want to change the subject. I want to see where this conversation goes. Now that I know Thea is Liam’s sister and not his girlfriend or wife, my attraction to him has amped back up. So I clear my throat and swivel on my stool to face him. “I do.”
His eyebrows quirk, head tilting to the side. I don’t think he was expecting my answer.
“Do you have a girlfriend, Liam?” I ask.
“I don’t,” he says slowly, something changing in his eyes. If possible, they’re darker now than they were a moment ago. “How about you?”
“Nope, no girlfriend.”
He chuckles under his breath, tilting his head a bit further, eyes narrowing on my face like he’s trying to figure something out.
“No significant other,” I add. “Is it difficult dating here? You probably know most of the women in Honeywell.”
“Since childhood,” he confirms. “I had a couple of relationships here before I left for the city.”
“And since then?”
He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes darting away from mine. “Since then, only one serious relationship, and it was with a woman who moved to town for a while. I’ve been single since she left.”
His flat tone tells me this is a wound better not poked at. I get it. I hate talking about Alan and I avoid it whenever possible.
Liam clears his throat and straightens. Our conversations keep starting out light before veering into darker territory. He opens his mouth to speak, but it hangs open as his attention shifts past me. His eyes narrow and his mouth snaps shut, brows pulling together. Before I can turn to see what he’s looking at, a red blur streaks by. It’s Thea, dashing at full speed toward the bar from the seating area. She’s looking in the same direction as Liam and pointing at something with one hand, making a silent slashing motion across her throat with the other. I whip around to see the other bartender staring at her in confusion.
My gaze lifts to the TV above the bar. I noticed it when I came in, but have had my back to it since I’ve been sitting. The screen has my full attention now, though, as my own face flashes across it. A picture of Alan and me from an awards show last year fills the screen before shrinking to a circle in the corner and being replaced by a shot of Alan and the woman he left me for. Seeing them makes me feel as if my whole body has been doused in ice water.
When a familiar-looking woman appears on the screen, I realize this is one of those nightly celebrity entertainment-slash-gossip shows. The TV is muted so I can’t hear what she’s saying. It doesn’t matter because a moment later the photo of Alan and his girlfriend is replaced by a video of them outside a restaurant in Toronto. Flashbulbs go off as they’re followed down the street by a group of photographers.
A grainy photo is superimposed over the video. Despite the crappy quality of the shot, there's no mistaking the giant diamond ring on Alan’s girlfriend’s left hand. The picture of Alan and me returns to the screen along with the host of the show. When the channel suddenly changes, I snap out of my daze to see Thea with the remote in her hand. Her wide eyes meet mine. The look she gives me is likely meant to be sympathetic, but all I can see is pity.
My body has gone from cold to hot. My cheeks are on fire and my hands are shaking. The weight of eyes on me is nearly suffocating and, as I peer around, my fears are confirmed: there aren’t many people in the bar, but nearly all of them are watching me, likely curious after Thea’s mad dash to change the channel.
