14. Adam

Liam looked exhausted.

Even though I'd seen him every day this week, it was when he slid into the passenger seat of my car that I truly noticed. He still looked good, of course—fit and tall and tan, not that I was biased. But he radiated tiredness. I should have forced him into taking a break sooner.

"Ready to slow down for a few days?" I asked once he'd tossed his bag into the backseat.

"I was ready a month ago—before I watched you flatten a dozen buildings like it's nothing. No wonder I'm having nightmares." He softened the statement with a smile that was fringed with fatigue.

I smiled back. "No one forced you to watch."

Some loved it—got off on it, maybe. Others found it terrifying when houses turned to ashes and dust, couldn't look me in the eye for a while after. With Liam, it was different because he saw the magic itself as it tore at steel, glass, and concrete. He'd tried describing it to me when we'd made our way to the second site, after the night he'd stayed over. ‘A tsunami of light that crushes everything in its way.'

"True. But what a sight." He settled deeper into his seat as I started the car, Lila the Drone performing a cheerful somersault in front of the windscreen. "So," he asked as we backed out of the Morgans' compound. "I see you skipped a third night in the circle?"

"Yeah. Gave the floor a break and chose my bed instead—much more comfortable." I tossed him a quick, bright look. "In case you want to try it out again, there's an open invitation for you."

"Maybe later," he said easily. It wasn't entirely new—ever since we'd cleared the air after those interviews, playful flirting had become part of our interactions when no one was watching. I made no secret of wanting him. It was mutual, but the pull wasn't strong enough to outshine the reasons we shouldn't. Not for him, at least.

"What does she look like?" I asked instead of giving voice to any of the thoughts swirling around my head.

"She?" he repeated with a hint of fond amusement. "Did you name her too?"

I huffed out a laugh and turned the car towards the North Circular. "Pending. But feels like she's at maybe a quarter or so right now." I hadn't been fully drained after the last site in Finsbury, and I'd had a day to recover. But without the replenishment circle, my reserves recovered much more slowly.

"It's…" Liam squinted against the sun, still high in the sky now that we were nearing the longest days of the year. "Right now, in this light, it's hard to even make her out—when you're at full capacity, it's like a blinding halo that surrounds you."

"Good thing you can turn it off," I told him. "The magic vision. Or you'd be walking around with sunglasses at nighttime."

The way he'd explained it to me, seeing magic was like sorting through layers of reality, eyes adjusting to a certain…dimension. Or something. It required no effort on his side, didn't drain him the way using his other powers did, was more like a state of mind than an active effort.

"Yeah, I'd be quite the rockstar." He snorted, then shot me a curious look. "Without the circle, how long does it take you to recover?"

"Another five days, maybe?" I slowed down to pass a cyclist—bit of a dangerous spot here. "It'll be longer this time, what with spending a few days away from London. More of a trickle."

It was no secret that in the UK, magic centred around London. Oh, there were other, smaller pockets—Salisbury and Inverness, Wells and Plymouth. But they all paled compared to the size and might of London.

"Does it make you feel vulnerable when you're low on magic?" Liam asked. "Low by your standards, that is. Not by most people's."

"A little, yeah. A little more tired, too." I pursed my mouth. "But it's not the Wild West anymore, is it? The Ashtons aren't going to suddenly jump out from behind a bush and hit me with their worst."

"What is it with your family and them anyway? I've heard rumours, but it's like you're reenacting a Shakespeare play." Wry amusement coloured his tone. "‘Two households, both alike in dignity…' I used to consider us rivals, you know? Your family and mine, except we're hardly a match for you."

I slid him a grin. "One, pretty sure that was all in your head. You and I were"—are—"complicated, yeah, but it hardly counted as an ancient grudge. And two, I think we are pretty well-matched."

"Are we." Not quite a question, more a contemplative murmur that didn't need a response.

"As for the Ashtons…" I braked for a red light. "Honestly, no one really remembers. I think someone slighted someone ages ago, and it all just escalated because everyone's too bloody proud for their own good."

"And here I thought it was some thrilling kind of tale," Liam said wryly.

"Sorry to disappoint." I lifted a shoulder, and he made an amused noise in response.

Green light. We merged onto the North Circular, blending into the steady flow of vehicles. Liam was quiet until we'd found our spot.

"So officially, you're doing this trip with Cassandra?"

"Yeah. She and Amit booked a nice hotel in Portsmouth. Told me not to do anything she wouldn't do."

"I get the sense that's a short list."

"Nothing that will get me arrested." I paused for a chuckle. "Nothing that's likely to get me arrested."

"And you're sure there won't be—I don't know. Neighbours or a housekeeper or something who might call your bluff?"

‘I'm no one's secret. Not even yours.'

Fuck. I'd messed up.

"That's not your problem, okay? Let me worry about it." I'd claim that Cassandra and I had fought but I hadn't wanted to cancel the trip. She'd back me up. Anyway, the housekeeper came on Mondays, and the neighbours were hardly around and we didn't interact much.

"Okay," Liam said softly.

"Hey, why don't you take a nap, half an hour or so? That should be enough to leave the city traffic behind." I glanced at Liam's profile. "You look like you could use it."

"That bad, huh?" The question carried self-deprecating humour, and he continued before I could react. "But sounds good. Before I forget, though—I brought your T-shirt. Washed and all."

Right, the one I'd lent him on Tuesday. It was a simple, white one that not even Gale would have recognised as mine had he shown up that day. He hadn't, of course. As a rule, Gale never attended site demolitions. I assumed it was too painful a reminder that he would never wield that kind of power.

Also, wasn't it funny how Liam and I were friends, just friends—yet the simple act of lending him a T-shirt required careful consideration, and a weekend trip turned into a cloak-and-dagger operation? And by funny, what I really meant was a tragic illustration of what Liam had called my golden cage.

"Thanks," I said, slightly belated. "That's great. Now get some sleep."

"Yes, Mum."

"Uh." I let it hang between us for a second before adding a pointed, "Hardly."

"Right, yeah." He exhaled a laugh. "Valid point."

For a moment, it felt as though his attention focused on my mouth. But when I looked over, he'd tipped his head against the backrest, lashes fanned out against his cheeks. At this point, wanting him was a constant, distant ache behind my ribs.

I kept driving.

* * *

We picked up pizzas,salads, and a bottle of wine in town, which prompted a brief discussion about who would pay for it.

"I invited you on this trip," was my opening argument. "So this one's on me."

"There was nothing in the fine print that said I don't get to chip in." He tried to bump me out of the way. The cashier, a woman in her late fifties with a kind air, waited for us to sort ourselves out.

"It was heavily implied." I nudged my card towards her, only for Liam to place his on top of mine.

"Petrol money!" he announced as if there was some irrefutable logic inherent to those words. Not so.

"It's my birthday," I countered. "I make the rules."

"It's your birthday on Saturday. I've got this." Liam tugged his card out from under mine to wave it at the cashier. She was clearly stifling a smile, and it made me wonder what she saw. Two friends, or more? The idea made the back of my neck feel a little hot.

"Sorry," I told her. "Please give us just a minute." With that, I tugged Liam slightly over to the side and lowered my voice. "Okay, why is this such a big deal?"

His gaze was steady. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Because…" I trailed off.

Because that was how it worked, wasn't it? Yeah, I'd rid myself of people who expected me to continuously pay for them, but I had a handful of casual friends who I sometimes met for dinners or a movie. As the wealthiest guy among them, I picked up the tab a good part of the time. They might put up some token protest, but they didn't actually mind.

Liam's protest seemed genuine. But why?

"Because," I started fresh, "it's a nice, easy thing I can do for you."

"Okay." Liam nodded, voice even. "And what about nice, easy things that I can do for you?"

That was…

Well.

It was the kind of question Cassandra might ask. Or Gale, but as my brother, he ranked in a different category.

I must have been silent for a beat too long, staring at Liam, because he shook his head. "I don't hang around you for the free stuff, Adam."

While said lightly, it made me straighten on a quick intake of air. "I know. That's not what I think."

"So let me contribute. As you keep telling me"—his mouth curved up—"I can afford things now. Whether it's a new office or some pizza."

It made sense. Then why did it stir a strange, sweet pang in my stomach?

"Okay," I said.

"Good." The smile sat mostly around his eyes now. He brushed his fingers over my wrist, just a quick skim that was over before it fully registered, and turned back to the cashier. "It's on me."

"Won this round, did you?" she asked, fond amusement rounding her cheeks.

"I sure did." He slapped his card down with an air of triumph, and I ducked my head to hide a laugh. I felt…Christ. I felt free. And that was dangerous, wasn't it?

It was only for three days, though. Three days by the sea. I could pretend to be a little happier, a little less trapped.

Just for three days.

* * *

My thoughts washedup in time with the waves.

We'd eaten on the terrace of the beach house, then taken the bottle of wine down to the pebbly shore just as the sunset had rolled in along with the tide. I wasn't used to being quiet with someone else, but over the past few weeks, even months, I'd come to learn that Liam didn't always feel a need to fill silence with words.

Salt in the air. Bold strokes of orange, pink, and purple across the sky, the sea reflecting them in shimmering colours. A cool breeze sneaking underneath my jacket. The taste of wine lingering on my tongue.

"You know what's weird?" Liam broke the silence, voice blending in with the gentle lapping of the waves. "I love London. There's nowhere else I'd rather live. But sometimes, I need to get away to feel like I can breathe again."

"It's lighter here, isn't it?" I handed him the bottle, our fingers brushing. "Like, you ever feel like there's a certain weight to your magic? Or maybe that's just me."

"No, that's…" A faint sigh. "Yeah. I get what you mean."

Another moment of silence fell. I flattened my hand against the cool, uneven ground, only a hint of the day's warmth lingering under my palm.

"Most of the time," I said softly, "I don't mind, you know? The weight. It's like a familiar blanket—warm and comfortable. Just once in a while, that's when it's nice to fold it up and set it aside and take a few steps without it."

I wasn't really sure what I was saying, whether it made any sense. The rhythm of the sea lulled my mind into slow, dreamy lethargy, and honestly, I was exhausted too. There was the yo-yo effect of partially draining my magic only to reclaim it overnight, and sleeping in a circle was never truly restful. One night in a proper bed hadn't been enough to recover.

"I never used to feel like my magic was heavy," Liam said. He handed the bottle back, his words as slow as my mind. "Wonder if it's because you're much more powerful?"

Huh. I'd never considered that.

"Could be? I guess I never thought about it. It's the kind of thing Gale might know." Rather than take another sip, I set the bottle down between us and shot Liam a brief look. "You said you never used to feel like it was heavy. So you do now?"

He didn't immediately answer, and when he did, hesitation coloured his tone. "Kind of? It's like my magic has been…" He inhaled, the distant call of a seabird bridging the gap. "Restless, I guess."

"Restless?"

"Like it's…" He raised a hand, palm up, in a helpless sort of gesture. "I'm not quite sure how to describe it. Not like it's rebelling against me—more like it's changing and kind of…evolving? But that's not possible. Right? And anyway, it feels lighter here, like you said."

Evolving? Magic was considered fairly stable once a child had risen to full potential, typically before the age of six.

"Well, I thought it wasn't possible for anyone to control more than two elements, so…" I glanced at his profile, cut out against a sky that was starting to turn a deeper shade of crimson. "What do I know?"

For several seconds, only the soft sounds of the beach hung around us—the whisper of the sea and a steady breeze, laughter drifting over from a group of friends who'd brought candles, blankets, and a generous supply of cider.

Then Liam exhaled and tipped his head back, rolling his shoulders against invisible tension. "Honestly feels like I'm going a bit mad—first the nightmares, now this. Haven't actually told anyone about it."

"Until me just now?" I asked, and his response carried the trace of a smile.

"I guess so, yeah. But you already knew about the nightmares."

I wanted to run my hands along the curve of his spine and up. Slowly, slowly, then dig my fingers into the corded muscle between his shoulder blades until whatever tension he held melted away.

I didn't. Of course I didn't.

"No more headaches?" I asked instead.

"Not since Monday."

"Good." I picked up a pebble, smooth in my palm. The evening's coolness was truly beginning to set in now, the world fading into a silhouette against the twilight sky. Boats blurred into shadows. "And when you say your magic is evolving…Does it look different?"

"I'm not sure." He shifted, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. "It's hard to see myself objectively, you know?"

I flashed him a smile. "What a deeply profound statement. Next you'll tell me that beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

"Smartarse." His voice was warm. "I meant my magic. Much easier to read others' than my own."

Yeah, I got that. When working on prototypes with him, my own magic had seemed dim to me, faintly tinting the world around me. Only if I focused on specific areas could I make it out in more concrete detail, visible tendrils snaking out as I guided them towards a task. I'd seen Liam's magic much more clearly, swirls of blue, green, white, and orange enveloping him.

Hmm.

"You want me to take a look?" I asked.

"You know, I didn't even think of that. Guess I could have asked my Nan, too."

I stifled a grin. "You're too bloody used to doing everything yourself. Share some of the burden, Liam. The rest of us want to feel useful, too."

"Oh, shut up." It carried no real heat, and he didn't hesitate before reaching over to slot our fingers together. At this point, the contact felt natural—even here, on a public beach where the falling darkness provided a sense of anonymity.

One blink, and the world was coated in a distant haze of orange. I gave myself a moment to adjust before I turned my attention to Liam. He shone like a beacon, colours shifting in a gentle, soothing dance. Brighter than before? Impossible to say with shadows wrapped around us that made the flicker of a candle appear like a blazing halo.

"It's..." Beautiful. "Calm. Doesn't seem restless or anything like that. And didn't you tell me it reflects a person's mood? Rather than it being an independent entity."

"I think it depends." After a squeeze of my fingers, Liam let go, and the stars came out again. "There are some, like you, who have amazing control over their magic. With you, it's an extension of who you are, not just this separate entity that happens to be attached to you. So, yeah, it reacts to your mood—like I said, I can tell whether you're angry, for example." He paused, a small grin showing in his tone. "Or turned on."

"Duly noted." I kept all traces of embarrassment out of my voice. Yeah, I wanted him—what else was new? "But what you just said, I'm not sure that's true. The part about how it's simply an extension of me. There are moments when it feels…alive. Conscious."

"Like when you're throwing the full force of it at a bunch of buildings?" Liam asked. It held no judgement.

"For example, yes. It's like there's this inherent glee about…not destruction, I don't think so." I let my gaze skim to the distant lights of an offshore wind farm. "Making an impact, maybe. It's like my magic gets drunk on her own power, and I need to rope her back in."

"You make it look effortless."

"It wasn't, in the past." I let the corners of my mouth hitch up. "But with what we've been doing—the prototypes, and getting used to actually seeing my magic? I think it's made me more aware. So on Monday, with the Covent Garden zone, I tried being gentle rather than turning it into a battle of wills. And it worked."

"Huh. That's quite cool."

"It was."

"I can imagine." Liam shifted closer, his shoulder brushing mine. "But, yes. Back to your question—from what I can tell, a person's magic can reflect their mood, but there's more to it than just that."

Gale might have been able to contribute some useful insights, cite a theory he'd read. Me, not so much.

"Maybe in this case, for you, it was simply stress?" I suggested. "You're carrying a lot of responsibility with the Initiative."

"So are you."

"Some, maybe. But again, as far as my family is concerned, I'm mostly just a pretty face. Whereas with you, your whole family is looking to you for guidance."

"I wish you wouldn't sell yourself short like that." The words were the same shade of velvet black as the night around us. A sweet sort of ache settled in the centre of my chest.

"I'm just being realistic."

"No. You're allowing them to define who you are when you're so much more."

Since I didn't know what to say, I stayed quiet. The sea filled in the blanks, snatches of conversation drifting over from the group of friends.

After a minute, Liam exhaled a soft sigh. "Anyway, what I actually meant to say earlier? I do feel lighter here. It's like I can breathe more easily—think I really needed this." Briefly, his knuckles pressed against the outside of my thigh. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"You're welcome," I said, smiling.

Somehow, it felt like I'd missed a chance.

* * *

We wereboth drained from the last few days and weeks and months—and so, like true party animals, we went to bed at half past ten.

"I'm turning thirty in a couple of days," I told Liam as I showed him to the bedroom Gale claimed when we came here together. "Might as well lean into it."

"I partied a lot in uni." Liam followed me up the narrow staircase, its wooden railing worn smooth by generations that had lived here. "To the point where George actually staged an intervention—you've met him, he's a pretty chill guy."

It confirmed what I'd already suspected. "And now?"

"Now I've come to realise that life is better on at least seven hours of sleep."

"That's pretty much the plan for the next three days, yeah."

I opened the door and let him enter first. It was an airy room with several lattice windows that faced the sea. Rather than turn on the light, I waited while Liam dropped his bag and walked over to open one of the windows, peering out at the dark landscape, wind turbines and boats like scattered dots of brightness across the nighttime canvas. The breeze carried over the faint rhythm of the waves.

"This is great." Liam turned, veiled in shadows. "It's so…It's cosy here. It's not something I expected your family would own."

"My mum discovered it some twenty years ago." I flicked on the bedside lamp. Its glow outlined sheets striped in blue and white, old oak floors, and a rattan lamp that hung from the ceiling. "Most of the furniture came with it."

She'd called it vintage charm while my dad just hadn't cared enough to make any changes even after she'd passed. It was the only place I could remember my parents ever slowing down, making time for relaxed family dinners and fossil foraging on the beach.

"Seems like a pretty special place," Liam said quietly.

"It is."

Neither of us moved, watching each other across the bed. My lungs felt tight, words a tangled knot in my throat. I hadn't brought Liam here for things to change between us. But my attention still lingered on the curve of his jaw, the bow of his upper lip. If only…

"Guess we better turn in." His voice was a murmur, steady like the sea.

Yeah.

Move. I did. Said goodnight and headed out the door, closed it softly behind me and didn't glance back.

My own bedroom was further along the same hallway, with one big window instead of multiple smaller ones. I always kept some clothes in the built-in wardrobe, its white-stained wood echoing the marine vibe, so I'd packed lightly. After dropping my backpack on the floor, I opened the window wide enough for fresh air to waft through the space. It carried the faint smell of seaweed, and I took a deep breath, my pulse slowing down.

God, it was good to be here. It had been too long.

I brushed my teeth in the sink in my room, right next to the door, and fell into bed with heavy bones and a light heart.

* * *

The next morning,I didn't wake to an alarm but to sunlight filtering through the curtains of my room. When I wandered downstairs, I found Liam already out on the terrace. Bundled up in a jacket, he was sipping from a cup of coffee.

"Please tell me that's not instant," I said by way of a greeting.

He tipped his head back, eyes sleepy and smile the colour of the morning sky. "It's not instant."

"Did you just lie to me?"

"Only following instructions."

"Since when?"

He opened his mouth, then paused for a grin that lit his eyes. "Yeah, that's a fair question."

I like you way too much.

No. This getaway was meant to be light and easy, and I would bloody make it so. Reality couldn't touch us here.

"I'll make myself a proper coffee," I told Liam, turning to head back into the kitchen. "Shout if you want something that doesn't taste like hiking boots soaked in dishwater."

A small huff of laughter followed me inside. "You should have been a poet."

"Behold!" I flicked on the coffee machine and raised my voice so it carried back to him. "Your coffee is a murky abyss! Truly, a brew of shadows and misery, filtered through the socks of a hateful sprite."

"Sure, yeah." Liam had risen to lean against the doorframe, watching me with eyes crinkled up at the corners. "Each sip is a test of fortitude—my very own hero's journey."

"I get the sense you're not taking this very seriously."

"I'm treating it with all the seriousness it deserves. That just happens to be very little." He dipped his head for a small sip, then grimaced. "Although this really is quite bad, I'll give you that."

"Say please, and I'll make you a better one."

It pinged a distant echo of a different day, the two of us in my office, how he'd pushed my buttons until I'd wanted to damn near strangle him.

‘How do you not choke on all that arrogance?'

‘I'd rather see you choke on my dick.'

‘You didn't say please.'

"Please," Liam said, dark and low. Our gazes caught, time measured by the ticking clock above the fridge, by the wind rustling in the bushes outside.

But he didn't want to be my secret.

I smiled. "Coming right up. As soon as you pour that"—I nodded at his cup—"down the drain."

"Deal." He passed me on the way to the sink.

I turned to put away the instant coffee that Christian must have bought while staying here with friends some weeks ago. From the same cupboard, I grabbed two cups that I warmed with hot water from the coffee machine. When I glanced over, Liam was watching me again.

"Something on my face?"

"It's a nice one." He moved on without any trace of embarrassment. "Wondering how you turned into such a coffee snob, though."

Cassandra had asked me the same once, but I hadn't given her an honest response at the time. Maybe now, I would have.

"Final year of school." I didn't look at Liam, busied myself with getting milk and coffee beans from the fridge, sealed up tight. "Exams and all, right? So the pressure was on. And then Cassandra developed an eating disorder."

Liam inhaled audibly but otherwise stayed quiet.

"It took a while before I noticed, and then even longer to convince her she needed to talk to someone." Shadows lingered on the edge of my vision. I blinked them away and shook a portion of beans into the grinder. "Around that time, I got into the habit of making my own coffee—something to ground me, you know? I went down to the kitchen a few times a day and had them teach me how to use the machine, how to get the milk foam just right. I guess it was one thing that I felt I could control. Like an anchor maybe, or some kind of ritual for myself. So that I could be steady for her."

I activated the grinder, and for ten seconds, no other sounds existed. Then silence.

"I'm sorry about Cassandra." Liam's voice was quiet. "She's fine now?"

"Yeah." I flicked him a brief smile. "Her fitness obsession only just qualifies as healthy, though. On the bright side, it keeps me motivated to work out."

"I've noticed." Humour shone in Liam's tone before he grew serious again. "You know yourself quite well, don't you? I mean, that's not the kind of answer I expected when I asked about your barista aspirations."

The question caught me by surprise. I tamped down the ground coffee to give myself a moment to consider my response. "Maybe, yeah. I think I had to, in a way. Like, with what you call my golden cage—I know what I'm doing and why. If I didn't, I'd probably go mad."

"You really don't see any other way?" Liam asked gently.

I focused on twisting the portafilter into place. "No."

Even though I'd kept my voice even, it felt like the drop of an anvil. This was meant to be a sunny, airy day, wasn't it? Well done, me.

I let the coffee flow into the first cup and reached for the milk, combined it with a smile. "Cappuccino? Or are you sticking with your no sugar, dash of milk default?"

For a slow, aching second, Liam simply looked at me. Then he smiled back. "Wow me with your best cappuccino."

"As you wish," I said, cheesy as you please, and he groaned.

"I am not Buttercup."

"But your wish is my command."

He drew a breath as if to speak, then stopped and shook his head with a rueful grin. "Too easy. Way too easy."

A laugh opened up my chest, creating space that had been missing just a minute ago. "You have standards—I admire that in a person."

"There are a lot of things to admire about me," he said, his tone so smarmy it tickled another laugh out of me.

"Such as?"

"My big…" His pause was entirely for effect. "Collection of solo socks. No idea how they all keep losing their partners."

"They're strong, independent socks that need no other sock to feel good about themselves," I supplied.

It would have been unforgivably clichéd to liken Liam's laugh to the sun bursting through the clouds. So I didn't, but I still couldn't resist embellishing his cappuccino with a milk-foam heart. He caught it, a wistful smile playing on his lips, but said nothing.

I grabbed a jacket before we took our cups out to the terrace and sat, morning light spilling over us. The conversation meandered like the rest of the day, flowing from what period in history we'd visit for a few hours, to mountains versus beaches, to what we'd be if we could be anything.

Later, once the day began heating up, we braved the chilly breeze and took to the water. It was still cold, and we didn't last more than ten minutes before we admitted defeat and hurried back to our towels. If my gaze lingered on Liam's chest, on the subtle bumps of his abs and the dusting of hair that disappeared into his trunks…Well, he was looking his fill, too. Wasn't even subtle about it, and when I arched an eyebrow at him, he shrugged.

"What? A little window shopping has never hurt anyone."

I grinned. "Baby—when it comes to you, any price tag is decorative."

"Ah." His smile held a touch of sadness. "But I don't think it's my wallet that would pay the price."

And that, right there, was the problem, wasn't it? I could offer too little and wanted too much, and he had lines he wouldn't cross. Not even for me.

I thought about laughing it off. It would have felt cheap, though, even cowardly. So I ducked my head and focused on towelling off my chest and arms, the sea breeze stealing all warmth from my body. "If, you know—if things were different..."

"But they're not," Liam said simply.

I glanced at the glint of sunlight on his collarbone and away again. A sharp ache constricted my chest. "No. They're not."

We were quiet while we dried off, then wrapped the towels around ourselves and returned to the house that was just a short walk away, across a paved pedestrian path. It wasn't a strained kind of silence, just thoughtful with a tinge of melancholy. Or perhaps that was just me.

Had I ever wanted something truly for myself? Not to impress anyone, not so someone else would be proud of me or feel better—no, simply because I wanted it.

I wanted Liam.

But on his terms. I didn't want to be the thing he regretted a year from now, a lousy decision he'd made way back when.

I had nothing to offer him.

We split up to shower some warmth back into our bodies, and then Liam insisted on driving into town to get dinner ingredients.

"For cooking?" I asked, my incredulousness dramatically enhanced.

"Did you plan for us to starve?"

Now that was a stretch. The housekeeper had stocked the kitchen with basics like milk, bread, jam, cereal, and eggs—even I could use a toaster and a frying pan, no matter how much Liam might contest my claim. Come to think of it, did I really need a pan? It all came down to control, didn't it?

"Like you're a human barbecue?" Liam asked when I shared the thought.

"Yes." I grinned. "Do you like your steak raw, medium, or well done?"

He studied me with a blend of amusement and consideration. "You really think you can do that?"

"You tell me."

Roasting a steak to perfection would require a far more subtle touch than lighting a fire or even a candle—too much and we'd be eating charcoal, too little and it might still be mooing. Maybe that was why I hadn't really heard of anyone using their fire magic that way. Or perhaps most people would consider it a waste of magic on something where perfectly acceptable tools existed?

Liam assessed me for another moment before he smiled quite suddenly. "Let's get salmon. And some crackers as a plan B."

"Oh ye of little faith," I said sadly.

"Oh ye of little culinary skill," he countered.

Touché.

I nodded. "Crackers it is."