It’s something I’d expect Liam Bishop to have said when he ended things. Even when he was in college, he’d let girls down that way. No fuss, no frills.I can’t be what you need from me, and I can’t let you settle for less than what you need.Liam isn’t in the habit of crossing his own boundaries or bending his own rules.
The food truck chef calls our names. He gets up to grab our tacos and returns with two trays, napkins, hot sauce, a couple of frosty cans of Coke. While I ordered only two tacos, Liam orderedfive, and he scarfs them down like a starved man before I finish my first.
“I forgot how fast you eat,” I say with a smile.
He wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a glug of Coke. “I forgot howslowyou eat.”
“This pace isnormal,” I protest. “You’re going to wind up burping and bloated.”
“And you’re going to wind up wrinkled and geriatric by the time you finish.” He eyes my second taco hungrily.
“I saw food in the lounge.”
“I normally don’t even have time to piss during a show. My mid-twenties have been defined by chronic purposeful dehydration.”
I laugh at that, which makes him grin. “What about your family?”
He pauses for another swig of Coke. “Both of my sisters are pregnant again. Kayla’s due first, next February. My mom is focused on the grandkids, which is fine by me. I don’t get back to Savannah more than once a year anymore.”
“How on earth will you maintain favorite-uncle status?”
“I have it all planned out,” Liam says. “When the youngest is eight years old, I’m going to get them all VIP tickets to the show of whatever artist defines their generation.”
“Lofty,” I note.
“You have to be lofty if you’re also absent,” Liam notes.
“I’m sure they don’t blame you, with how much you travel for work.”
Liam tilts his head at me, a depth in his eyes he doesn’t want to expand upon out loud.
Maybe they do blame him.
My mind tilts back to the weekend I met his family. It wasn’t exactly smooth, but I’d assumed things had changed somewhat over four years.
“Anyway,” he murmurs.
“Anyway,” I echo.
“How goes the songwriting?”
I push my second taco over to his side of the table and pop the tab of my soda. Liam doesn’t hesitate before grabbing the taco and bringing it up to his mouth.
“There’s a music executive at Stillwater who’s interested in signing me.”
His chewing halts. I track the movement of his jaw as he swallows. “Paige, that’s incredible.” After a few seconds he adds, “I always knew you’d be here one day.”
“Here, at this late-night taco joint with you?”
“Here, at the cusp of what you were meant to do with your life.”
Even as his words thrill me, I can’t ignore my lingering frustration. It spills out audibly into my next sentence. “He wants me to rewrite my lyrics first.”
Liam frowns. “All of them?”
“Basically.”
He chews, swallows, then says, “Screw that guy. Find someone else to work with.”
