8. Liam

8

LIAM

“ W hen are we going to meet Marley?” Gus asks when I get to work that afternoon. She’s behind the bar, sorting beer into the cooler with an efficiency I don’t quite understand.

I feel my face crinkle in confusion. “What do you mean? How should I know?”

She lifts a shoulder, “I don’t know, I kind of thought you’d introduce us to your roomie.”

“Gus, we’re not a couple. I’m not going to bring her over here like she’s my girlfriend. If she comes in on her own, I’ll introduce you.” I don’t mention that I spent the entire morning making sure she feels okay because Gus will see something in it that isn’t there. Marley is sick. I want her to feel better—end of story.

She puts up her hands. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop bugging you about her. I’m just so curious. She’s the one restarting the Paintbrush Post, right?”

I must give her a questioning look because she answers easily.

“Briar told me last night when we went out for drinks that she met her the day she got into town. She mentioned that she’s really pretty and cool.”

“Then Briar should date her,” I answer, not letting on that my mind went right back to those tiny shorts and tank top and colorful pancake batter.

“Oh my God, Liam, you are impossible,” she sighs, shaking her head.

“I like it that way,” I tell her and head back to the office to meet with my brothers.

“There he is,” Elliot announces. “For once I’m not the last one here.”

“I had to run to the store this morning, sorry I’m late.”

“One minute is not late,” Max points out.

“Yes it is,” Elliot argues back. “If it were me, you’d consider it late.”

“No,” Max grinds out, “if you were a minute late, I’d call that a miracle.”

“And here I am on time,” Elliot grins. “Must kill you both.”

I settle into the chair next to Elliot in Max’s office and pull out my laptop with the intent to change the subject. “I have a line on a building in Aspen that has almost everything we need. We’d have to do a redesign but wouldn’t have to start from scratch.”

I pull up the images and the floorplan and send it to their devices.

“Ooh, love the footprint,” Elliot says, zooming in on the images on his design tablet.

“And the ceilings,” Max offers. “Are they original?”

“Nineteen-nineteen,” I answer.

“Cool.”

“The electrical will need to be completely gutted and the plumbing needs a lot of work to handle the brewhouse, but I think it would save us in the long run to start with a building that’s already there. And here’s the best part.” I send them the schematic of the second floor. “If we pull down the two outside walls, we could build a patio.”

“Love it,” Elliot nods, already sketching a design into his tablet. “This will set us apart from everyone else in Aspen. It will be just the edge we need to attract a crowd.”

“Price?” Max asks.

I rattle off the price. “I think I can get them to come down a bit, but any property close to the main street is going to be high.”

“Put in a bid for ten thousand less, but go for it if they don’t budge,” Max offers. “Thoughts, Elliot?”

“I think it’s a slam dunk. I’m in.”

“Perfect. I’ll contact the realtor this afternoon and put in a bid. Let’s get this train rolling.”

I pause just outside the apartment door and try to get my head together before I go in. All day long I fought the temptation to run across the street to check on Marley or text her to see if she needed anything. Despite my best efforts to think of anything else, the thought of her heated skin beneath my fingers this morning kept getting through.

Even though I’m trying my hardest to believe that I’m worried because I’m a decent human, I can’t help the tingle at the base of my spine that tells me otherwise.

“Oh well,” I sigh quietly into the empty hallway and open the door. “Hey,” I greet Marley, who is essentially exactly where she was when I last left her, only now surrounded by a sea of used dishes, Kleenex boxes, and a happily rumbling Steven curled up on her lap. I can guess by the sounds coming from her laptop that she’s watching a particularly sappy romance movie.

“Hey,” she answers back in a still-stuffy voice, with a smile that gives my stomach a kick. “Sorry about the mess, I’ll…”

I shake my head, hating that she felt she had to say that, even more that the mess does bother me on a level that’s hard to explain. I’ll make it right after she goes to bed. “It’s no big deal,” I lie. “How are you feeling?”

“Meh,” she answers honestly. “A little better, I guess. My fever is gone, so that’s a win.”

I cross the living room and press my hand to her forehead for proof. I catch her looking up at me, lips parted and when my heart skips a beat, I pull my hand away. My fingertips tingle where we connected and it’s not because she’s feverish, but I don’t want to think about the alternative.

“Well, Doctor?” She asks, watching me with an expression I can’t place.

“Normal,” I answer, moving away as quickly as possible. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“Depends on what you consider dinner,” she answers, holding up an empty cup of ramen noodles stuffed with empty packages of saltine crackers.

“No one would call that dinner,” I answer. “Let me get changed and I’ll make you some real food. How’s that sound?”

“Depends,” she answers dryly, “Will it just be leaves and twigs? I’ve seen what you eat for breakfast.”

I bite back a chuckle. “I’m almost out of twigs, I’ll make some grilled chicken and pasta instead.”

Her eyes flare with hunger, “Oh my God, that sounds amazing . Are you real? I’ve had a lot of cold medicine today so if you’re a hallucination, please tell me now.”

I chuckle, completely drawn in by her, even in her over-large, prodigiously stained sweatshirt. Even with her hair in a bun that’s been slept on so many times strands stick out in all directions like a porcupine. Even with her nose red and her eyes puffy and a mess all around her.

And that? That’s concerning as fuck.