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Again, his lip twitched. Would she finally be rewarded with one of those rare, elusive smiles she’d only seen a handful of times? She was beginning to wonder if she should make it a life goal of hers now—to spot one of Liam Everhart’s grins.
No, not just to spot one. To cause one.
“So,” she prodded, “what team are you on?”
A couple walked past them, pointing in the direction of the golden Quire screen.
Liam leaned slightly closer to her, but not close enough for her to smell his cologne again.
Dang it.
“I’m Team ‘It Doesn’t Matter,’” he responded. Then he raised a brow. “But I’m sure I can safely assume that you are Team Meghan?”
Claire raised her chin. “Nope.”
“Wow. So you chose a Brit over a Yank.”
“No. I choose them both.”
He stared down at her with an incredulous look. “Both? You can’t choose both.”
Ignoring how lovely the word “can’t” sounded in his accent, she shrugged. “Says who?”
“Says literally everyone. That would be like choosing to cheer on opposing Premier Teams. You can’t support both Man United and Liverpool.”
“Why not?”
His lips parted in shock, and he looked at her as if she’d just sprouted a beard and asked him to call her Santa Claus. Had what she said truly been so crazy?
She shook her head. “I just don’t think—”
Her words ended abruptly, cut off by the loudest rendition of “Highway to Hell” she’d ever heard, blaring forth from her phone.
“Oh my heck,” she sputtered, pulling out her phone in frantic movements, the sound echoing to the highest reaches of the abbey and bouncing back at her with an even greater force.
In her mad dash to end the most embarrassing phone call of her life, Claire fumbled with the phone before it dropped with an even louder clatter to the floor. She reached down at the same time as Liam, but he swiped it from her hands first and instantly muted the ring.
The deafening silence around them pulsed in Claire’s ears even louder than the music had, and she ducked her head in total and absolute shame as she accepted her phone back from Liam.
He remained silent, giving an apologetic nod to those around them, though their accusatory glances were sent in Claire’s direction instead of his.
This was just like the Temperate House all over again. What was going on with her? How could she continually embarrass herself in front of this man over and over and over again?
“I gotta get out of here,” she said, heat rushing through her body.
They hadn’t seen half of what the abbey had to offer, but she couldn’t bear to remain inside a moment longer.
To her relief, Liam followed after her in silence as they left the church and stepped out into the cold air, standing near a tree with its lower half covered in ivy.
Pressing her face into her hands, Claire shook her head. “I cannot believe that just happened.”
She never—never—had her phone off vibrate. How could she have been so stupid as to not remember that she’d set it to its loudest volume in case Melody called? And to have it go off in an abbey, of all places. With that song, of all songs.
Liam remained at her side in silence, though she knew he was probably dying to make fun of her again. He had every right to. She was a total idiot.
Groaning, she dropped her hands in surrender. What did it matter if he saw her blush? He’d seen it a thousand times before—at Kew gardens, in his bed, at the airport. “Fine. I give up.”
He eyed her curiously.
