Chapter 6

SIX

Izzy

“This has to be a mistake,” I say, staring at my apartment. It looked normal a few hours ago when Liam and I dropped my car off.

Now? There’s a giant yellow fumigation tent over the entire building. The kind I’ve only seen in movies or TV shows.

“I’m so sorry,” Sadie says, her voice a little crackly. Reception on Oakley isn’t always great, and she and Ben might be on his yacht, which doesn’t help. I have the call on speaker so Liam can hear. “We barely had any warning. The company said they contacted the tenants, but they must not have had your info. Still, we should have called to make sure you knew the second we heard. I’m so sorry! I assumed you were packed and out. Benedict and I are just as surprised as you are.”

“So, Mrs. Hartley got out okay?” I don’t know all the other tenants, but every few days, I check in on the elderly woman who occupies the other half of the first floor. I hate to think of her with nowhere to go. She’s very active for being in her eighties, but if this is an inconvenience for me, it’s got to be worse for her.

“She’s totally safe,” Sadie says. “Unfortunately, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t get notice.”

I glance at Liam, and he gives me a tiny eye roll and a shake of his head. So I’m NOT the only one who finds this highly sus , as Liam’s little sister Mandy would say.

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask. “I’m literally standing outside in a cocktail dress and”—here, I barely stop myself from saying Liam’s suit coat, which would unleash an entire case of Pandora’s boxes— “I don’t even have a toothbrush. Or underwear.”

Oops. Probably shouldn’t have said that either.

“I mean, I’m wearing underwear. I just don’t have any extras. It’s not like I carry panties in my purse.”

No.

I. Did. Not.

But yes—I actually did just say all that. Proving Liam isn’t the only one who can say too much when he’s nervous.

I glance at him, and he’s clearly trying to hide his smile as he looks down at the sidewalk. On the edge of the curb, someone carved their initials when the cement was wet. It’s a spot I sometimes step on for good luck. Maybe I should have been stepping over it instead. Luck definitely isn’t on my side tonight.

“I’ll send you a stipend to pick up a few things just to last through the weekend,” Sadie says. “You can go on a little shopping spree on our dime! At least tomorrow is Saturday, so you don’t need work clothes.”

“Yes, but I need something to wear.”

“Could you borrow something from a friend? I assume you have someone to stay with—or do you need help with that too? I could book you a hotel.”

“I can probably stay with Alisa, but …”

Liam touches my shoulder and shakes his head. Somehow, I know he’s silently communicating that I can stay with him. It’s both a wonderful and terrifying prospect. One I can’t argue about when we’re on speakerphone with one of the nosy family members we’ve complained about several times.

Honestly, though … I don’t want to argue.

“Can I just run in and grab a few things?” I ask Sadie. “I promise I’ll be fast.”

“They said absolutely no one can go inside at least through Sunday,” Sadie says firmly. “Some kind of toxic … syndrome. From the fumes.”

Maybe I’m being paranoid, but that sounds made up. I decide to test my theory. “Toxic shock syndrome?” I ask.

“That sounds right.”

“Sadie—that’s the one you can get from tampons!”

“Oh, right. Well, it’s not that but another syndrome. Also very toxic. And shocking.”

I’m suddenly aware that now I’ve talked about both underwear and tampons in front of Liam in less than two minutes. Phenomenal.

Sadie’s response further confirms my suspicions, but I don’t want to accuse my aunt of lying. I can’t think of any reason why Sadie would lie. Or how she managed to get a fumigation tent here if not for actual fumigating.

Then again, Uncle Benedict is a billionaire. He owns an island. A super yacht. And a hockey team. If anyone could procure a fumigation tent on demand, it’s him. I just don’t get why . I’m probably overthinking this.

“I’ll hold my breath. It’ll take two seconds to grab my computer bag. It’s got my laptop and my charger.”

I can see Liam opening his mouth to say something, probably forgetting that we agreed we didn’t want the family to know we’re together right now. I only have a split second to react, so I reach out and press a finger to his lips.

The goal was to stop him from talking. In that sense, mission accomplished!

But it doesn’t just shut him up. I’m suddenly speechless, the feel of his soft, firm lips on the pad of my finger. Nerves spark to immediate awareness. Liam, the archivist of copious amounts of random facts, could probably tell me the exact number of nerve endings in a fingertip. I swear, right now, I feel more than seems possible.

My default response tells me to pull away, but without Natasha in the picture anymore, do I really need to?

Liam’s gaze is intense, and I am struck with a sudden urge to rip off his glasses. Not because they look bad—far from it—but because I don’t want anything between us.

“Hello? Izzy?”

I drop my finger from Liam’s lips and fumble with the phone. “Sorry. What?”

“I’ll send you a new charger and some money for clothes. Or I’ll just shop myself and send you new clothes—whatever you want. This is a mess, and it’s my fault for not checking to make sure you heard when the city first called. Just let me take care of this. You have an iPhone, right?”

“You can’t just buy me a new everything,” I protest.

“Actually, yes, I can. There are a limited number of billionaires in the world, and I happen to be married to one. I could probably buy you a whole house and have you moved in by morning.”

I hear a deep grumble in the background, probably Uncle Benedict arguing that buying a new house would be a little extreme. But I also know he’d do whatever she asked, even if that meant investing in real estate because of an unexpected fumigation issue.

One which I still think seems contrived.

Benedict’s voice comes over the line. “I’m sorry about this, Izzy. It wasn’t my idea. Ow!”

Sadie whispers something harshly in the background and must take the phone back because her voice is louder, like she turned off speaker phone. “He means the fumigation wasn’t his idea. It was the inspector’s. Who plans fumigation on a perfectly good Friday night? Anyway. You’re sure you have somewhere safe to stay?”

I glance at Liam, who nods his head firmly. “I’m good. I’m staying with a friend.”

Friend doesn’t come close to encompassing my feelings for Liam, but it seems like the safest word choice right now. I’d prefer not to be featured as a “hot news” segment on Frank the barber’s famous Oakley TikTok account.

“How long did they say this will take?” I ask.

“That’s a good question. At least a few days. I’ll let you know. And look for money in your Venmo for clothes and whatever else you need. Okay, bye!” Sadie hangs up so quickly I don’t get a chance to ask any more questions.

Like—a few days? Really?

I slide my phone back into my purse and shake my head. “So, I guess this is happening.”

Liam stares up at the giant yellow building. “It looks like your building is wearing a raincoat.”

I laugh. “Yeah, it really does. This is totally ridiculous. I didn’t think these things were real outside of movies.”

“Think they’re actually fumigating? Or maybe just making meth?”

My head whips to him. “What?”

“Did you not watch Breaking Bad ?”

“No. I loved Brian Cranston in Malcolm in the Middle . I didn’t want to ruin my image of him as Hal by watching him deal drugs.”

Liam chuckles. “Probably a good call.” He glances at his watch. “Should we head to my place?”

“Are you sure? If Sadie is offering to pay, I really could just stay in a hotel.”

“Like I’d send you to a hotel. No way. I’ve got you, Iz.”

I know he means I’ve got you like I’ll provide your accommodations for the evening , but I like the sound of those words far too much. “Well, then, let’s go. Should I follow you?”

“I’ve only got one reserved spot, and street parking is terrible. Want to just leave it? My place is only ten minutes, so I can always drive you back to get your car. Or you could let me play the role of weekend host and personal chauffeur. I’ve even got some clothes you can sleep in.”

Sleeping. In Liam’s apartment. In Liam’s clothes.

The mere idea of it all has my skin feeling too tight. Like my reflexes are still warning me to abort whatever is happening and run far, far away. I’ve been protecting myself from my feelings for Liam for so long, it’s hard to make myself stop. Like trying to fight muscle memory.

But without Natasha in the picture and with Liam being flirty and talking about the next time we have dinner … maybe it’s time to try.

Armed with only my purse, a few toiletries I grabbed at CVS, and a nervous flutter in my stomach, I find myself stepping inside Liam’s apartment.

“Come on in,” he says, opening the door wide and ushering me in. “And please forgive the boxes. I’ve gotten a few things unpacked, but … I haven’t had a lot of time.”

Where my place has all the charm and character of old Savannah architecture and sometimes iffy heat during the winter, Liam’s apartment is in a shiny new building that still smells like fresh paint. I love my place, but there are definitely perks to a building like this. Like the gym we passed downstairs, the secure garage parking as opposed to my challenging street parking, and the view.

I walk right to the giant windows overlooking an old church and part of the city. If I angle my head just so, I can see a sliver of the Savannah River.

“Wow. This place is awesome.”

Liam comes to stand beside me. Only a low light in the kitchen is on behind us, and our reflections are shadows against the glass, standing side by side.

“You like it?” He sounds a little self-conscious, and I lean closer until my shoulder bumps his arm.

“I really do.”

I turn back to the apartment. There’s still no decor, but the furniture is arranged. A low leather sofa and several chairs in the living room, then a long table just off the kitchen I immediately recognize as one of my dad’s river tables. I run my hand along the smooth wood, tracing the blue swirl that cuts through the center. “I didn’t realize you had one of these.”

“First thing I bought as soon as I could afford one,” Liam says.

I lift an eyebrow. “He actually let you pay for it?”

“Not half what it was worth, but I didn’t want him to give it to me. When I was a kid, I always told myself that one day I’d make enough money to buy my own. So there was some symbolism behind paying for it.”

“I really love that. And I bet Dad understood, too.”

“Once I finally explained why,” Liam says. “But he grumbled a whole lot first.”

“This is going to be nice once you have everything unpacked,” I say. “It’s nice now.”

“Just sparse,” Liam says. “Mom offered to help me with decor, but … you’ve always had a good eye too, right?”

“Not as good as your mom’s, but I know my way around a Home Goods.”

My gaze catches on the fridge, which holds a bunch of photos. It’s surprising because so few things are unpacked, but as soon as I cross the room to look closer, I understand why these photos are up when nothing else is. Liam has always been an exceptional big brother. Of course he’d want his fridge covered by his family.

Well, not exactly covered.

While my fridge looks like a scrapbook exploded on it, photos at all angles, scraps of paper with notes or phone numbers, takeout menus, and business cards—all stuck on with a random hodgepodge of magnets, Liam’s are arranged in exact lines with the most basic magnets I’ve ever seen.

I touch one of the small gunmetal gray circles holding up a picture of Liam with his mom, Camden, Ezra, and Mandy. It makes me ache for Oakley. “They’re getting so big.”

“I know,” Liam says with a nod, moving up to stand behind me. He’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body, and it’s all I can do not to lean back and rest against his chest.

I wonder what he would do if I did. Would he wrap his arms around me? Tug me close? Press his lips just against my collarbone?

“I’m excited to live closer so I can see them more frequently,” Liam says, his words jolting me out of my very delicious daydream. “I feel like I’ve missed so much, especially this past year.”

I clear my throat. We are talking about his siblings. Children. Not collarbone kisses and warm bodies. “They’ve missed you,” I say, my voice only slightly higher than normal. “I’m sure they’re glad to have you home.”

He turns and leans against the fridge, giving me a shy smile that I want to snatch up and put in my pocket. “Are you glad to have me home?” he asks.

I press my lips together, fighting a grin. If he could read my mind, he wouldn’t have to ask me that question. “Are you fishing for compliments, Mr. Fieldstone?”

“Shamelessly,” he says without missing a beat.

I lift a hand and pat him on the chest. “You’re going to have to wait for that performance review. And now I’m factoring the comfort of my sleeping arrangements into my feedback.”

“Come on,” he says easily. “Things are in better shape back in the bedrooms. Well, bedroom, really. And then my office, which has a pullout sofa where I’ll be sleeping tonight.”

I’m following him down a short hallway as he talks, but at these words, I stop in my tracks. “Liam, you are not giving me your bed.”

He looks over his shoulder. “She says after she threatens me with a poor performance review.”

“But I was just kidding around! I’ll be fine on the couch in your office. I’m sure it’s a very comfortable couch.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “It is. Which is why I’ll be fine sleeping on it.”

I huff. “You aren’t going to let me win this, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” he says.

I follow him into his bedroom which really is in better shape. His bed is made with real, actual bedding, there’s a lamp and a stack of books on his bedside table, and there are clothes hanging up in the closet, visible through the slightly open door. It looks lovely and wonderful and supremely comfortable, but I cannot fathom the reality of sleeping in here. Wearing his clothes is enough to break my brain. But being in his sheets? I am not mentally prepared for this.

“Show me the other room,” I say quickly enough for Liam to startle.

“What?”

“The other room? Can I see it?” I move toward the door and into the hallway. A few paces up, there’s a second room, and when I flip on the light, I know at once I’ve found his office.

His desk is perfectly neat, the couch looks soft and comfortable, and the double window provides the same view he has in the living room.

I turn to face Liam, who is watching me warily from the doorway. “You know what? This is perfect,” I say. “I would rather sleep in here.”

“Izzy, you don’t?—”

“I want to,” I say. I plop down onto the couch. “This is perfect. You’re too big for this couch anyway.”

I cross my fingers that Liam won’t fight me on this.

I don’t know what it was about standing in his bedroom, but the weight of everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours dropped onto me like an anvil.

This time last week, I was snuggled under a Christmas blanket in my newly decorated apartment, eating reindeer gingerbread cookies, convincing myself I would, once and for all, make letting go of my crush my New Year’s resolution.

Now, I’m in his apartment, he is not proposing to Natasha, and he’s flirting with me like he might have the same crush I do.

It’s everything I’ve wanted, but my brain can’t seem to compute. I have no idea how to switch the traffic signal from red to green.

But I might be able to switch it to yellow. Proceed slowly. With caution.

Sleeping on this couch instead of in Liam’s bed definitely feels like the yellow choice.

“Okay,” Liam finally says. “Let me grab you some clean sheets.”

He reappears moments later and drops a set of pale gray sheets onto the couch cushion beside me, followed by a blanket I’m pretty sure he just pulled from the foot of his bed.

“Are you sure?” he says. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“I will be. I promise. And we don’t even need to pull out the bed. I’d rather just sleep on it like this.”

“All right. At least let me make it for you.”

I nod, letting him nudge me out of the way as he tucks the bottom sheet around the cushions. My phone dings with a notification, and when I look, Sadie has sent an obscene amount of money through Venmo. The note says Sorry for the issues! Grab clothes and whatever else you need. Consider this a prorated rent for the month and a bonus for your trouble.

“Whoa,” I say. “This is ridiculous. Look what she sent me! I swear, if it weren’t for Ben’s billions, I’d send this right back.”

I hold up my phone, and Liam whistles. “But you know he enjoys giving it away. They both do. Camden is the same way. He made a lot in hockey, especially his last two years when he played in New York, but even that was nowhere near the kind of money Ben has.”

“It’s honestly weird to think of Camden having money,” I say. “He doesn’t give off rich guy vibes at all.”

“You’re right about that. He buys his clothes at Costco.”

“Shut up,” I say through a chuckle. “Seriously? Does he have to buy his jeans in a twelve-pack?”

“It’s not so bad,” Liam says, sounding a little too defensive.

“Liam—do you also buy your clothes at Costco?”

“I mean … it’s great quality at a great price.”

I can’t help it. I throw my head back and laugh. I’ve never seen Liam not look great. But when I think of Costco, my brain imagines pallets of canned goods and twenty-five-pound bags of rice. Not clothing.

“Laugh it up,” he says, his lips fighting a smile. “But where do you think the jacket you’re wearing came from?”

I stop laughing and stretch out my arms, looking at the suit jacket I’ve had on since earlier tonight. I never would have guessed. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Did it come in a set with nineteen others just like it?” I tease.

“A three-pack,” he says evenly. “Black, gray, and navy.”

I don’t think he’s being serious, but he doesn’t crack, his expression neutral until he says, “If you’re lucky, I might have some Costco pajamas you can borrow for the night.” Then he winks before disappearing from the room.

Liam winked —and it didn’t even feel cheesy. It was more adorable and charming and gah, my heart is in serious trouble.

It’s just so easy to like this man. To be impressed by who he has become.

Even if he picked up his stepdad’s propensity for Costco clothing.

While he’s in his room looking for something I can sleep in, I pull out my text and rapid-fire text Alisa.

Izzy: No coffee tomorrow.

Izzy: Long story involving a fumigation tent and my apartment.

Alisa: WHAT?

Alisa: You can’t just drop that in a text and not tell me more.

Izzy: My apartment is apparently infested and currently covered by a fumigation tent.

Alisa: Like Breaking Bad?

Izzy: I guess I really should watch the show.

Alisa: Need somewhere to crash?

Izzy: That’s the second part of the story. I’m staying with Liam.

Alisa: [ten dancing lady emojis] [six fire emojis] [one American flag emoji]

Alisa: Sorry—that last one was an accident. YOU’RE STAYING WITH LIAM?

Izzy: Yes.

Alisa: Details. Soon. And you owe me a coffee.

Izzy: Fine. Talk later.

Alisa: K. Have fun with your cousin!

Izzy: HE IS NOT MY COUSIN.

“Will these work?” Liam asks, returning with a pair of soft flannel pajama bottoms and an Appies hockey t-shirt. He grins. “All my Costco sets are in the wash.”

“These are perfect,” I say, and he drops them into my hands. Without thinking, I lift the clothes to my nose and take a deep breath, closing my eyes. They smell so good, like clean laundry and Liam.

When I open my eyes again, Liam is watching me, brows lifted and amusement in his expression. “Do they pass the smell test?”

“Yes!” I say a little too quickly. “They’re good. Great.”

His lips lift into the tiniest of smirks, like he knows exactly why I was smelling his clothes. He points toward the hallway. “There’s a bathroom right across the hall with towels in the closet. Just make yourself at home. Do you need anything else?”

“I think I’m good. Thanks for letting me stay.”

“No problem.” Liam moves to the door, then turns back, lifting his hands and gripping the door jamb overhead. The movement untucks his dress shirt the slightest bit, and I catch a glimpse of smooth, tan skin. I jerk my eyes back to his face before he catches me looking.

“So, listen,” he says. “I’m sure you already had plans for this weekend, and I know it sounds crazy when there’s still so much I need to unpack, but would you maybe want to help me decorate for Christmas?”

“For real?” I can’t hide the sudden excitement in my voice.

“I didn’t decorate when I lived in New York, and I hate that I lost that part of myself. It just didn’t feel like Christmas.”

“I totally get it. You have to decorate. And I’d love to help.”

“Good. That would be great.” He taps the door jamb once. “There’s a lot at the end of my block where a tree farm from North Carolina sets up every year. We could pick one up, buy some ornaments and lights. Whatever else you think might look good in here. You were always big into Christmas, weren’t you?”

Decorating for Christmas has always been one of my favorite things to do—and I love that Liam remembers. “You should see my apartment right now,” I say. “It’s red and silver and twinkly and perfect.”

“Basking in the glow of its new yellow raincoat,” Liam says.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

“Did you put up a tree?”

“Yes, but not a real one. I’m so glad you want to though. They smell the best.”

“So, you’re into smelling things now, hm? Clothing, trees—anything else you love to smell?”

“No.” I throw a pillow at him, and he catches it, then tosses it back with a grin.

“I love real trees,” he says. “it’s kind of our tradition now. In North Carolina, Camden would take us up into the mountains to cut one down ourselves. You should have seen Mom wielding an ax.”

“Actually, that sounds a little terrifying,” I say.

“Oh, it was. After the first year, Camden deemed her a danger to herself and took away her ax privileges. After that, it was mostly just him and I that did all the chopping.”

There is something dangerously sexy about imagining the man currently leaning in the doorway wielding an ax. Maybe Naomi has pictures somewhere, and I can find a way to ask her that doesn’t sound weird. Probably not, but I’m definitely saving the mental image for later recall.

“Anyway, the ones they sell down the block look and smell fresh. They remind me of home. Or—my other home. Oakley and Harvest Hollow somehow both manage to claim that title for me.”

Though exhaustion has set in, the more Liam talks, the more I want to ask him. Our catching up over dinner was great, but we barely scratched the surface of everything I want to know. We mostly just filled in the gaps about what we’ve been doing the past few years. College, friendships, family. But we didn’t talk about things like how it felt moving away from Oakley and adjusting to a new town. We also skipped right over dating, which felt like a wooly mammoth in the room, but I definitely don’t want to get into that subject tonight.

I sink down onto the couch, clutching Liam’s soft pajamas to my chest. “I’d love to hear more about your time in Harvest Hollow,” I tell him, a yawn taking over my last words. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Definitely. So, is that a yes to decorating?” he asks, his eyes bright behind his glasses.

“Absolutely. Especially if we can have hot cocoa to go along with it. But I might need to grab some new clothes first. Not at Costco—no offense.”

He grins. “None taken. Mostly.”

“Thank you for asking me. And thanks so much for having me.”

I almost add an I’m sorry for the trouble, but truly, I’m not. Liam doesn’t look the least bit put out to have me, so I decide not to apologize for things I can’t control. Instead, I’ll just be grateful for more time with him.

“Good,” he says. “It’s a date.”