“Welcome to Honeywell Hollow, Joss. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“I think I’m going to.” My voice comes out low, almost suggestive. I have a second to see Liam’s mouth quirk to one side before he takes a sip of wine, his eyes still on mine.
It couldn’t be this easy, could it? Natalie suggested I go out and find a guy to sleep with, but is it possible one has literally come to me? If I still believed in romance or was remotely interested in finding love again anytime soon, I’d think this was a pretty great meet cute: spot a handsome stranger downtown, have him show up unexpectedly at my door less than an hour later, invite him for dinner and have him accept. He even fits Nat’s prerequisite of driving a pickup truck and working with his hands. It’s a classic small-town romance, the type of movie I’ve starred in countless times. Before I can think too much more about it, Liam sits on one of the stools at the kitchen counter and motions to the one I vacated a few minutes ago.
“So, Joss. Do you mind me asking what you do that you can take this much time off work? Mae mentioned you’re renting the house until the end of the year.”
I should have known I wouldn’t be able to avoid this subject for long. I hate lying, and yet I don’t necessarily want people knowing who I am if they don’t already. Even if they’ve never seen me in anything, once people know I’m an actress, they treat me differently. I doubt it’s ever a conscious thing, but after years of dealing with it I know to expect the subtle changes in body language or the way people talk to me once they know who I am. I didn’t bother renting the house under an assumed name or anything like that, and I’m sure at least a few of Honeywell Hollow’s residents are bound to recognize me eventually. I’m just hoping if I lie low I won’t have to worry too much about it.
I decide to stick as close to the truth as possible. “I work for the Canadian contingent of the From the Heart Network,” I tell him, taking a sip of wine. “I’ve basically worked non-stop the last few years, so I’ve saved up a lot of holiday time.”
“The From the Heart Network, eh?” He stares into his glass, nodding his head. Part of me expects dismissal or ridicule. I’ve encountered enough of that over the years, especially from men who think romance and anything that appeals mostly to women is somehow lesser than. It’s common in the romance genre, whether in television, movies, or books; I’ve befriended a few romance authors over the years and some of the stories they’ve told me about the sexist, condescending people they’ve encountered have made my blood boil.
Finally, Liam raises his head and meets my eyes. “That’s the network with all the romantic movies and TV shows, right? Like all romance, all the time? My sister loves those movies. Especially the Christmas ones.”
“That’s the one,” I say, my voice shaking slightly.Shit. There’s at least one person in town who will likely recognize me. Maybe I should adopt Natalie’s habit of wearing hats or wigs, along with large fake glasses.
“That must be fun,” he says, shooting me a sidelong glance. His eyes, like the rest of him, are beautiful: dark, chocolaty brown with flecks of gold. “I know it’s all scripted, but to be surrounded by love like that all the time. To get to see love stories play out, even if they’re not real.”
He’s gone back to looking into his glass, which is a good thing because I can feel my eyes widening in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I suppose you’re right. You sound like quite the romantic.”
He shifts in his seat, chuckling quietly. “You’re not the first person to say that. Mae Murphy’s husband is an author; he writes fantasy and sci-fi with strong elements of romance. I’ve known him my whole life, and we’ve spent countless hours talking about life, love, and literature. He’s always said to me, ‘Liam, my lad, you’re a lover of love’.” He says the last bit in an impressive Irish accent that makes me grin. When he glances at me, he laughs and says, “In case you couldn’t tell by my horrible impression, he’s originally from Ireland.”
The way his tanned cheeks pinken ever so slightly makes it hard to stop my grin from spreading. “I got that. I thought it was actually spot on.” With or without the fake accent, Liam has one of those I’d-happily-listen-to-him-read-the-phonebook voices. Deep and quiet, lulling in a way that’s almost hypnotic. The kind of voice that it doesn’t necessarily matterwhathe’s saying as long as he keeps talking. The kind you dream about. The kind that when you’re alone at night, you imagine what it would sound like whispering intimate words in your ear.
I draw in a sharp breath and give my head a little shake. Damn Natalie and all her sex talk. She’s got my mind straying into the gutter as fast as hers does. I collect myself and say, “I like that. A lover of love. Seems like most people these days are too jaded and cynical to feel that way.”
“Areyou?” he asks.
I’m caught off guard by the question. By this whole line of conversation, really. We’re talking like we’ve known each other for ages instead of having met less than an hour ago. It’s unnerving, as is the undeniable hum of attraction vibrating through my body. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this charmed by a man, and I can’t remembereverexperiencing such instant attraction. But this guy with his soft voice and his bedroom eyes and his solid presence next to me…
The oven timer goes off, saving me from having to formulate a response. Liam’s eyes remain on mine for a few beats, and then he slides off his stool, opening a drawer to show me where the oven mitts and potholders are before pulling the casserole from the oven himself. He suggests we eat at the kitchen table where the seats are more comfortable and we won’t have to sit side by side, knocking elbows. I top up our wine and take the glasses to the table as he dishes up two generous portions of casserole.
Thankfully, once we start eating, the conversation veers from the personal to the general, with Liam telling me various things about the town and its people. My thoughts from earlier are confirmed: I could listen to him talk forever about any subject. Sometimes I find myself simply listening to his voice and missing what he’s actually saying, and I have to mentally kick myself and tune back in.
When we finish eating, I peer down at my empty plate, shocked to discover I ate every last bite. After years of a semi-unhealthy relationship with food due to the pressures of my job, I expect to experience a surge of guilt or the urge to jump up and run around the block a few times. All I feel is full and happy, though. Liam smiles softly when I let out a small, contented sigh.
“I’m glad you stayed,” I tell him.
“I am too.” He stands and starts to collect our plates, but I shoo him away, telling him I’ll tidy up later. We argue back and forth for a few moments before I finally convince him to leave it to me.
“I guess I’d better be on my way then,” he says.
I’m half tempted to ask him to stay. To see if the lingering looks he’s been giving me all night and the flirty banter we’ve shared might turn into something else. Something that would fulfill Natalie’s idea of getting over my ex.
As we make our way out of the kitchen, I tell myself the reason I don’t ask him to stay is because I don’t need any extra complications in my life right now. I’m newly divorced and still adjusting to this life where I’m not only single, but have a bruised heart—and ego—from being cheated on and dragged through a media circus. I came here to lie low and figure some things out. Besides, for all I know, Liam is happily married and is heading home to a spouse and half a dozen kids. He’s not wearing a ring and he didn’t mention any family, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.
We’re silent as he puts his boots and coat on. I watch him while he’s preoccupied, admiring his solid physique and the way his hair falls over his forehead. He catches me staring when he lifts his head while zipping his jacket. There’s something in his eyes I can’t quite pinpoint—a sort of curiosity mixed with heat. It makes me think he’d say yes if I asked him to stay.
The moment passes, and he gives me that easy smile again. It shouldn’t make my heart kick into overdrive, and yet it does.
“Would it be weird to hug you goodbye?” he asks.
This guy, he’s just full of surprises.
“No weirder than complete strangers having dinner together,” I say, and we both laugh. He opens his arms and I step into them. I’m sure we both intend for it to be a quick embrace, something fitting of two people who just met and don’t know each other well. We both linger, though, and I’m acutely aware of how close our faces are. If I turned my head to the side, I could easily kiss him, which twists my thoughts and hormones together into something I haven’t felt for a very long time. I simultaneously want to pull him closer and push him away, ask him to stay and beg him to leave before I say or do something stupid.
“I had fun tonight.” He releases me slowly, straightening to his full height. “We should do it again if all the other townspeople don’t claim every moment of your time.”
