Chapter 8

EIGHT

Izzy

“Are you still up there?” Liam calls from somewhere below me on the stairwell.

I giggle, adjusting my grip on the tree. It’s uncomfortable, with the bark digging into my palms, fir needles poking me, and sap sticky on my fingers.

“Yes. I think. Are you? I hear you but can only see branches. Are you sure we didn’t go overboard?”

After wearing Liam’s pajamas to Target, which I think made him slightly more uncomfortable than it did me, I picked up a few basic things to wear, changed in the bathroom, then found Liam standing in the middle of the Christmas section, scratching his head like he had no idea where to start. He thankfully let me take the lead, and we loaded his cart full to the top.

With all of his new decor loaded into his car, we headed to the Christmas tree lot. And that’s where we ran into trouble.

Theoretically, this tree should fit in Liam’s apartment—if we can get it up there.

And therein lies the rub.

“Oh, we went overboard. But I have no regrets. Pivot!” Liam says in a perfect Ross Geller impression as we turn the corner on the third-floor landing.

“Are you a Friends fan?”

“My mom loves it,” Liam says. “It was the first, like, more adult show she let me watch with her. I related a lot to Ross.”

“Ah—the paleontology connection. I can see that. Ouch!” I grunt as my hip hits the railing.

“You okay?” Liam asks.

“Just … a little more this way.” The branches flap, one brushing my chin, as Liam adjusts down below. The people working the lot tied down the branches, but not well enough, and they’ve been popping out as we move. “That’s better. Were you also a Rachel fan?”

I’m not sure why I ask because I’m not really interested in thinking about Liam thinking about other women. Even fictional ones or the actresses who play them.

“I prefer brunettes. Especially ones who used to be more dirty blond,” Liam says, and I’m glad my face is hidden so he can’t see the way I’m blushing. Or how I’m grinning.

As I got older, my sun-kissed locks darkened little by little. Only sometimes in summer, if I’ve spent a lot of time outside, will I see any hint of a lighter, honey color.

Liam is talking about me, and I feel giddy at the thought.

We’ve been dancing around this since last night, the subtle flirting shifting into not-so-subtle subtext. It’s kept butterflies in a constant holding pattern, fluttering around my belly nonstop. Part of me wants to drop the tree, climb over it, and throw my arms around Liam.

The other part of me loves the anticipation of it all. It’s like seeing the presents under the tree and knowing you can’t open them until Christmas morning.

I stumble on the top step but manage to keep my feet under me. Thankfully, another resident happens to be walking through the door and holds it for us as we try to squeeze through. It takes Liam a little wiggling, but he finally manages with a grunt. I still can’t see him through the branches.

We set the tree down outside Liam’s door so he can find his keys. I clench and unclench my fingers, which are starting to cramp. My palms are red and a little scraped, but Liam got the worst of it. There’s a slim cut on his cheek, and as he unlocks the door, I step closer and brush my fingers over his face.

“Looks like the tree marked you,” I say. “It broke the skin.”

“A branch slapped me when we were coming through the stairwell door, but it doesn’t hurt.” His hazel eyes suddenly flare with intensity. “How do you feel about guys with scars?”

Feeling bold, I lean forward and press a lingering kiss to his skin just over the cut. He smells like Christmas. Like pine sap and cold air.

When I pull back, his eyes are molten, a hint of color darkening his cheeks.

“They’re the sexiest,” I say. “My favorite kind.”

Two hours later, the tree is up with lights and a smattering of ornaments. It’s massive, dwarfing his apartment, but it also makes the box-filled space look much warmer and more inviting.

We survived a friendly battle over how to decorate the tree, with Liam wanting to space things out evenly and intentionally alternate sizes so it looked uniform. I thought it would take all the fun out of decorating to follow a pattern, so we ended up landing somewhere in the middle. The tree doesn’t look magazine-perfect, but it’s bright and full and beautiful.

I wrapped big red bows around the backs of his chairs and barstools at the counter, a skill I learned in college when I worked in a home store and part of my job was gift wrapping. Liam hung strands of lights from one side of the room to the other, all while we listened to Christmas music and sipped hot cocoa. The only thing we forgot was marshmallows, which is almost a crime when it comes to hot cocoa.

But honestly—being around Liam is enough to make me forget marshmallows.

“I think our work here is done,” I say, leaning a hip on the kitchen island and glancing around.

Liam joins me and surveys the apartment. “This is the best this place has ever looked,” he says. “Maybe I should keep it up year-round.”

“Or you could let me help you decorate. Not that you couldn’t do it on your own,” I say quickly, hoping I didn’t offend him.

“I’d love the help,” he says. “I like the sound of having more Izzy around here.”

I don’t know whether he means he’d like touches of Izzy decor around his apartment or if he’d just like me around. Hopefully both.

“Oh—one more thing I forgot.”

Liam walks to the table which is laden with empty shopping bags and boxes. He pulls out a green floral thing that I definitely didn’t buy.

“What is that?” I ask.

He turns, his cheeks an endearing shade of pink. “It’s mistletoe. According to the tag, anyway. I’m not sure if this is what mistletoe is supposed to look like.”

I’m not sure either, but I’m a lot more preoccupied with why Liam bought mistletoe in the first place. “How did you manage to buy that without me noticing?”

He smirks. “I have my ways. Now, help me decide where to hang it. I could put it here …” Liam walks toward the door leading back to the bedroom, office, and bathrooms and holds the mistletoe up. Before I can respond, he’s crossing toward the living room, where he lifts it near the ceiling fan. “Or here.”

“Either place is fine,” I manage to croak out. My throat is suddenly dry, and my heart beats an erratic rhythm in my chest.

“Or,” Liam says, taking slow, deliberate steps until he’s only inches away from me. He lifts the mistletoe right above us both. “I’m thinking maybe it should go right here.”

Heat spreads over my skin like wildfire, and I swallow before speaking, trying to sound unaffected. But my voice comes out wobbly, and my gaze keeps bouncing from Liam’s eyes to his mouth. “How w-would you hang it?”

“Hm,” he says, shifting a little closer. “Hanging it could definitely be an issue. But I’m more concerned about the location. If it’s in the right place, I’ll find a way to hang it. Does this feel right to you, Izzy?”

Just like our conversation about the movie, we’re talking about two things at once. But I’m having trouble keeping up the verbal back and forth because Liam takes his free hand and slides it around my waist, his palm resting against my lower back. He inches me closer.

“You haven’t answered,” he murmurs, our faces close enough for me to feel his exhale across my cheek.

“What was the question?”

“Yes,” Liam says, “or no?”

“That’s not a real question,” I tell him, lifting my hands until they’re looped behind his neck. “Because there’s only one answer. Absolutely yes.”

I’ve barely finished the word when his mouth is on mine.

Liam—my childhood friend, my lifelong crush—is kissing me.

For a split second, I imagine the sound of Alisa’s laugh because she will absolutely laugh when I tell her about this, and the expression on Merritt’s face when she realizes what I’ve longed for is finally happening.

But then everything leaves my brain but Liam.

For being so precise in so many other aspects of his life, there is a wildness to this kiss that surprises me, making my breath catch in my throat.

But then, passion is never anything Liam has lacked. This has been there all along, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right time, the right person.

And that person is me.

It’s almost too much to process, so I focus on the here and now. The spicy scent of Liam’s skin. The softness of his lips. The dips and curves of his muscles as I slide my hands over his biceps and shoulders, then across the smooth planes of his chest. The little noise he makes when I tilt my head and deepen the kiss.

And then I let go completely. Surrender to the moment, to the magic not just of Liam, but of Liam and Izzy. To the rightness of being together.

I’m not sure how long we’re wrapped up in each other, but the buzzing of my phone on the counter eventually yanks me back into my present reality. At some point, Liam must have lifted me onto the kitchen island because I’m sitting on it now, my hands tangled in his hair and his pressed against my back.

We’re both out of breath, and the mistletoe Liam was holding earlier has completely disappeared. Which I guess makes sense because we’ve been making out like it’s our last few moments on earth. Who can keep track of mistletoe?

“Wow,” I whisper.

Liam closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine. “Wow is … an understatement.”

The phone keeps buzzing, but I’m perfectly happy to ignore it. Until I catch the name moving across the screen.

It’s Mrs. Hartley. A tiny bolt of panic shoots through me as I reach for my phone.

“I need to take this. It’s my neighbor, and she’s elderly.”

“Of course. But I’m not going anywhere,” Liam says, and he doesn’t. Though he does shift so he can drag his lips along my neck.

I arch my head back to give him better access, answering the call with a breathy, “Hello?”

“Hello, dear. Sorry to bother you,” Mrs. Hartley says, just like she does every time she calls.

“You’re not bothering me,” I tell her, though this time, for once, she actually is. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes, yes. I just wondered if you know what time the film crew is showing up. I’ve been sitting here all day, watching and listening. All for nothing!”

Liam must be close enough to hear what she’s said because he straightens, raising an eyebrow at me. I put the phone on speaker.

“What film crew?”

“The one making a movie in our building! Don’t you know?”

Oh, man. I really hope she’s not starting to have memory issues. “Mrs. Hartley, they’re fumigating our building, not making a movie. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“No, no—the tent is just part of the movie set.” She laughs. “There are no bugs or believe you me, I’d have been out of here in a heartbeat.”

I think Liam catches on right as I do because his eyes go wide. I shake my head.

“Hang on—you were told someone is making a movie in our building, and that’s why the giant yellow tent is there?”

“Yes! Your aunt called me, so I assumed you knew, though you didn’t answer when I knocked on your door earlier.”

“You’re still at home?” I ask, my voice rising an octave.

“Of course I am,” Mrs. Hartley says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I … cannot believe this. And yet, I can. From the start, all of this sounded just too weird.

“Mrs. Hartley, I’ve got to go. I don’t know anything about the movie, but if I hear any updates, I’ll let you know.” I end the call, and Liam and I stare at each other.

“They wouldn’t,” I say. “They didn’t.”

He nods. “They absolutely did. But why?”

Understanding dawns on his face, and he crosses the room to find his phone. When he returns, I’m glad he puts one hand back on my waist. Though the phone call has forcibly yanked me out of the happy Liam bubble, his hand on me promises that even though the moment ended abruptly, it’s just the beginning of what’s to come.

“When you went to college, did your parents use the Here I Am app?” Liam asks, pulling up the app on his phone.

I do the same. “Yep. We don’t use it as much, mostly just when I’m driving out to Oakley and Mer wants to check my location to see when I’ll arrive. Or sometimes she’ll check in and text me if she notices I’m somewhere fun. I kinda like knowing they always know where I am.”

“It’s fun, sure. But they’ve connected all our accounts. It isn’t just Merritt and your dad who can track your location. They all can. Same for me.” He takes my phone and holds it right next to his, the app open on both screens. His green dot and my yellow one are side by side, blinking in identical locations. “Which means …”

“They’ve known this whole time that we’re together,” I say just as Liam says, “They’ve been secretly matchmaking this whole time.”