Chapter 3

THREE

Izzy

I stand in the center of my bedroom, which now looks more like a clothing morgue. Here lie all of Izzy’s work clothes, dead from indecision now that my lifelong crush will be working in my office. In the conference room. With me.

“This is stupid,” I tell myself. So stupid I’m talking to myself. And you know what? I don’t need to puzzle this out on my own.

I grab my phone. Merritt picks up on the second ring, and my chest loosens a little at the sound of her voice.

“Izzy? You okay?”

“I need help. Clothing help.”

“Ohhh, yay,” she says. “Are we talking work clothes? Do you have an interview for a different position? Are they finally moving you out of cubicle land?”

“I wish.” My boss had a lot to say at my job interview about how I could move up in the company. I’ve since realized they were nothing more than false promises used to hustle me in the door. After eighteen months, it’s very clear there is no corporate ladder. Just a corporate basement I’m trapped in.

“Not exactly. Can you FaceTime?”

“Uh …” There’s a little rustling and then a low male voice mumbling something in the background. “Let me just put on a shirt.”

I squeeze my eyes closed and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to exorcize all mental images of Merritt in bed, shirtless, with my dad. I mean, good for them, but ew ew ew! for me.

Still, I’m happy they’re happy. Though Dad and Merritt fostered quite a few kids while I was growing up, they never had any biological children, and nothing ever led to adoption, though not for their lack of trying. It wasn’t always easy for them to work through those hurdles and heartaches, but they’ve always found solace in each other. And me. And in all the rescue dogs. Even a few more rescue raccoons.

Which, anywhere else in the world, rescue raccoons named after musical instruments—Banjo (the original), Cello (the chonkiest), Piccolo (the youngest), and Ukulele (the troublemaker)—might seem like a really strange thing to be grateful for, but somehow, in my family, it just seems normal.

Despite a life that hasn’t always been perfect, my parents have taught me to find joy anyway.

I have to be grateful for that.

And grateful that Merritt is always willing to help with stuff like this.

Before moving to Oakley and marrying Dad, she had a big-time corporate job in New York. And though she swears she has no regrets about trading in her big-city life, she also lights up when I need help with everything from resumes and interviews to outfits.

“Okay,” she says cheerfully, and when her camera comes on, she’s out on the porch overlooking the marsh. A sudden bolt of homesickness runs through me. It’s been too long since I’ve been back on Oakley Island.

When I turn my camera toward the floor of my room, Merritt winces. “Wow. Okay. Yeah, you do look like you could use some help. What’s the occasion?”

I should have known she’d ask. That this level of clothing carnage needs an explanation. But I want some information from her first.

I flip the camera around so it faces me again. I look like I haven’t slept much—which is accurate. Liam’s words about seeing a lot more of him and the phantom sensation of him tugging on my ponytail kept me up most of the night. Also—the idea of sharing a conference room with just him has my knees feeling wobbly.

It’s unfair. I’ve worked so hard to eradicate my stupid girlish crush on him. At this point, it’s more like a chronic illness with occasional painful flare-ups.

“Maybe I’ll tell you once you explain why you didn’t tell me Liam freaking Fieldstone just moved to Savannah.”

Merritt’s expression turns wry. “You mean after I pinky promised I would never mention his name to you again? That’s when you wanted me to tell you what he was up to?”

I huff and drop onto my bed, knocking a pair of tuxedo stripe work pants onto the floor. “You made that pinky promise months ago. And this is different. He’s in Savannah. And now he’s working at my office, and I really feel like someone should have given me a heads up.”

For the past year, I’ve had a break from the family bringing up Liam. Bringing Natasha home for Christmas didn’t just give me a reality check, I guess. But I haven’t kept any secrets from Merritt. She knows better than anyone how hard I’ve tried to rid myself of these unrequited feelings. I’ve tried: dating other guys (which didn’t work), avoiding home (which made me miss my family), and burning sage around myself the way people do to clear out spirits from old houses (which just made me sneeze).

Right after Christmas last year, I forced myself to look through all of Liam’s social media posts with his super hot, super perfect girlfriend.

Then, I unfollowed him.

I’m not the type to steal someone else’s guy. Pining after Liam when he’s in a happy relationship—probably an almost engaged one—is just plain wrong .

But it took one stairwell conversation to unravel all my hard work. I can only hope Liam couldn’t tell. My crush on him was so obvious back in the day. To the point of embarrassment.

With our family teasing me relentlessly, I know Liam had to know how I felt. Which is even more embarrassing.

I need him to believe it’s all past tense.

Which is going to take a Herculean effort now that I’m going to be working alongside him daily.

“So I’m guessing Liam is a part of the clothing crisis we’re discussing?” Merritt asks.

“We’re working together,” I say. “In the same conference room. Getting his brilliant, perfect, amazing software implemented company wide. Which, I’m so proud of him, Mer. But I don’t think I can do this. I can’t face him every day for an entire week.”

“Oh, Iz,” she says with a wince. “That does sound like a lot.” She doesn’t seem surprised about Liam’s software though, so I have to assume the family knew this was happening. I both hate them and love them for keeping me in the dark.

“Tell me what to do?” I say, sounding just as pitiful as I feel.

Merritt gives me one more soft smile, and then her face transforms. She straightens her shoulders as a spark lights her eyes.

“What you need is an outfit to act both as a sword and a shield. I think I know just the thing.”

Before I report to my new temporary workspace, I do my version of a movie montage of preparation for some brave event. Only, unlike Rocky jogging through the streets and then fist pumping atop the stairs, I pace at the bottom of the stairwell, playing Meghan Trainor on my phone. No fist pumping. Only steady, controlled breathing like Merritt suggested.

Maybe too controlled, because by the time I vacate the stairwell and head to the elevator—no way I’m using the stairs for anything but a hiding spot in these heels—I’m light-headed and accidentally lean on the elevator console, pressing the buttons for every single floor. Thankfully, that’s only five before mine. I’m eternally grateful no one gets on at any of the stops.

I’ve almost recovered when I reach my floor, only to have my breath hitch again at the sight of Liam exiting the stairwell. He’s in a suit that looks tailor-made for maximized hotness. And he’s grinning at me.

“Thought I’d cut through your office in case I ran into you,” he says, pointing toward the stairwell.

My heart seizes at the realization that, if he had been a tiny bit earlier, he would have walked right in on me pacing at the bottom.

I’m sure my smile looks deranged. “I told you—it’s not my office. I’ve got a cube.”

“And now, a conference room. What will you do with all the extra space?”

A year ago, I’d have said something perfect and snarky, matching him quip for quip. Now? I can’t stop overthinking every syllable.

He’s almost engaged, I remind myself. Act like it. Fake it till you make it out alive.

“I guess I’ll be the best professional I can be?” I say with a lame shrug.

The furrow in Liam’s brow lets me know he’s disappointed. Or maybe just confused as to how I’ve shifted from the person who would give it right back to this robot version of myself.

“Shall we?” I ask, needing to disentangle myself from a conversation that quickly turned awkward.

Even though it’s still a few minutes before I’m actually supposed to be at work, I catch Shaun leaning out of his cubicle, watching my exchange with Liam with narrowed eyes.

My relief at having some space from him almost dwarfs my anxiety about working with Liam. Shaun can’t watch my every move and report perceived infractions to our boss if I’m out of sight.

As though he’s taking his cues from me, Liam shifts to all business as we enter the conference room, explaining his goals for the next few weeks and how I’ll be helping.

I only wish this professional version of him was less hot. But it makes warmth expand in my chest to hear him talking about his new software, pointing out the little things he’s proud of, listing off the ways it will save time and improve workflow for nonprofits who have better things to do than stress about their finances.

I always knew Liam would do amazing things with his brain, but to see this very tangible evidence of his brilliance is pretty amazing. He’s doing exactly what he wanted to do with his life. And doing it well.

Not that it’s surprising. Liam was always this way. A nerdy little boy who turned into a hot, nerdy man. It makes me proud, though it’s not like I have any part at all in his success. It’s just nice to see someone I know reaching their full potential. Unlike me, with my graduate degree going totally unused while I do busy work.

“What?” Liam asks, and I realize I’m staring at him.

“Nothing. It’s just … good to see you doing so well at this. I’m happy for you.” This feels almost like a confession of feelings, way too intimate for this room. Which suddenly feels smaller.

His cheeks flush the slightest shade of pink, and I remember him during his awkward middle school years when he blushed constantly.

“Thanks,” he says, recovering and flashing me a devastating grin. One that makes my chest pinch with guilt.

Because I shouldn’t be looking at a taken man this way.

The rest of the day, I keep my focus on work, doing an admirable job of being robot Izzy who has no feelings. Such an admirable job that I forget all about Christmas karaoke until Alisa calls as I’m packing up.

I consider not answering but she’s the kind who will keep calling.

“Hey,” I say quietly, well aware of Liam at the other end of the conference table, packing up his computer, not even attempting to hide his interest in my conversation.

“You’re not going to back out, are you?”

She knows me too well. “I’ll be there.”

“Stop sounding so disappointed. It’s not like I’m going to force you to sing ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You.’ Unless you want to. Then I’ll totally be your backup singer.”

“I’m not going to sing.”

“It’s karaoke,” Alisa says. “Of course you’re going to sing.”

“You’re singing?”

I jolt in my chair at the sound of Liam’s voice—especially because of his proximity. How did he get across the room without me knowing? Oh—right. I had my eyes squeezed closed.

Unfortunately, my jerky movement puts our faces even closer together. He’s leaning over my shoulder, one big hand flat on the conference room table.

Have his eyes always been that gorgeous hazel? Has he always smelled this good? Has his presence always sucked all the air right out of my lungs?

A delayed sense of self-preservation hits, and I push my feet against the floor, shoving my rolling chair in the opposite direction from Liam. A little too hard, and my chair crashes into the wall.

Too late, I glance up and see Shaun watching through the conference room window. He scurries away when I glare.

“I’ve got to go.” I hang up on whatever Alisa is saying and stand on wobbly legs.

“Sorry,” Liam says, not looking sorry at all. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Given our close quarters.”

Yes, Liam. I’m all too aware of our close quarters.

I push the rolling chair away from the wall, scooting it back where it belongs while also keeping it between Liam and me.

“It’s fine.” Averting my eyes, I shut the work-issued laptop my boss reluctantly gave me for this project and grab my bag. “But I’ve got to head out. I’m meeting a friend.”

His expression shifts a little, but I can’t quite read it. He’s new in town, and he didn’t grow up right across the bridge on Oakley like I did. At least after elementary school. Does he even have friends in Savannah?

But then I think of Natasha and how, even in an ugly Christmas sweater, she still managed to look hot at last year’s Christmas Eve dinner.

Liam probably has all kinds of fancy friends as shiny and polished as his glittery, perfect fiancée.

He certainly doesn’t need me to share mine.

But I still find myself saying, “Alisa. We’re doing Christmas karaoke. More like she’s forcing me to do Christmas karaoke.”

Liam’s face blooms into something way too enthusiastic for what I’ve just said. “Awesome. Can I tag along? I’d love to meet some people in the city. Or is this a girls-only thing?”

I wish I could say it is and then bolt out of here. But there will be a whole big group of people, mostly Alisa’s friends, in attendance.

But having Liam come out with us? Not only would it be one of those awkward past-meeting-present moments, but after an entire day of measuring my every movement, hyper-aware of his presence in the room, I don’t know if I can handle anything more. It’s taken all my willpower to keep my walls up today. The outfit Merritt suggested I wear—high-waisted black pants, sky-high heels, and a blouse in my favorite bright pink—has started to feel stifling, and I feel a sudden desire to go home and change.

“You know what? Don’t worry about it,” Liam says. Because I’ve taken way too long to answer him.

There’s no way to miss the disappointment in his voice.

Even if it’s beyond hard to be around him and cage my feelings, I can’t stand the idea of hurting him like this.

“No, you should come,” I say.

He shakes his head, not looking at me, and I feel like the worst person in the world. I think, in my attempts to keep a professional distance, I’ve crossed too far and have been unnecessarily cold. It’s hard to strike a balance when you’re trying not to be in love with someone.

I step closer and put a tentative hand on his arm. I’m only touching his sleeve, but I swear the heat from him singes off my fingertips. I’ll be able to commit any crime now without ever being caught.

“Please come, Liam.” His eyes snap to mine, and they’re so uncertain yet hopeful I want to cry. “I’m sorry I’ve been so … weird. I’m not quite sure how to act around you now.”

His eyes search mine. “Because we’re working together?”

“That. And it’s been a long time since we’ve talked. I guess I’m feeling a little … unsure.”

My confession, somewhat true, seems to erase his hesitation because he straightens his shoulders and smiles at me.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? Maybe karaoke is just the shot in the arm our relationship needs.”

I want to tell him he’s not allowed to use the word relationship when he’s talking about us, but I find myself smiling despite myself.

“You think karaoke is going to fix things?”

He nods with mock solemnity. “I do. It’s the only solution at this point. A moral imperative. Plus”—he lowers his voice and leans closer—“I’ve missed hearing you sing, Iz.”

The butterflies swooping through my stomach must be some kind of mutant species. Massive and aggressive, they could eat normal butterflies for breakfast.

Only now do I remember I’m still touching Liam’s arm. I drop my hand and take a big step back.

“I’ll text you the address.”

“Or we could ride together?” he suggests. “I’d feel safer knowing you’re not alone. Can I follow you to your place, and we’ll go from there?”

Liam is not making this easy on me. It’s almost like the universe is sending me a giant test of my moral character. And the durability of my heart.

“Sounds good. Let’s go.”