So that happened a roman.., p.6
So That Happened: A Romantic Comedy, page 6
Maybe I could hide in here all night. Curl up on the floor in a nest of towels, like a raccoon.
No. I need to take a page from all of my self-improvement books. I deserve to sleep on a bed tonight. Even if it’s a tiny bed, beside a man who’s way too gorgeous for his own good. Brené certainly wouldn’t be considering the raccoon life.
Liam left toothpaste on the sink. I’m not sure if this is out of kindness or because my breath is disgusting, but either way, I’m grateful. I rub some toothpaste over my teeth and then consider putting my jeans and wooly sweater back on. Ugh, what a day to wear jeans with zero stretch.
I spot Liam’s t-shirt atop the counter. It’s white and pristinely folded. It looks so soft. So clean.
It’s dark in the bedroom, anyhow. He won’t get a glimpse of my pale, stubbly legs.
I make another quick decision, fold my clothes, then pull his t-shirt over my head. It’s huge and comfortable and smells like heaven.
Good choice.
I slip back into the bedroom and slide into bed next to Liam. But there’s no way on earth I’ll be falling asleep tonight.
6
LIAM
What was I thinking? How could I have let that happen?
I throw my suitcase in the back of my vehicle with a little too much force, and slam the trunk shut. Breathe in deeply as I walk around the car to the driver’s seat, attempting to clear my head and calm my whirling mind. I have more important things to address right now than my intense stupidity.
Leaning my head against the headrest, I slip my phone out of my pocket and send a text.
Liam: On my way. Be there asap.
I wish I could go home to a hot shower and my perfectly plush bed. I never sleep properly when I’m traveling, and last night, I fought it off for hours. Just listening to the steady breathing of the woman beside me as I lay in the dark, forcing myself to keep my eyes open.
It didn’t work, of course. But what happened should never have happened.
I still can’t fathom exactly how it happened. Am I really that starved of physical contact?
As a general rule, I keep people at arm’s length. Physically, emotionally, every -ally you can imagine.
So why did I wake up with my arms wrapped tightly around Annie Jacobs this morning?
I give my head a firm shake. Shove away the memory of her face pressed against my chest, my hand on her warm lower back, curled in the material of my t-shirt on her body.
This was clearly just a blip, a one-time temporary break in the matrix or whatever you call it. Cuddling a stranger in my sleep may not be my proudest moment, but it’s not like I’ll ever see her again. In a week’s time, I’m sure this will all be forgotten.
With that comforting thought, I start the car and One Direction blares at top volume from the speakers. I almost jump out of my skin at the high-pitched, poppy sound, and I catch a smirk from the leather-jacketed dude securing his bags to the Harley Davidson parked next to my car.
Freaking Legs and her boy bands.
Despite everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours, the thought of her warms my chest. Of course I won’t go home first, I can’t wait to see her.
I turn off the radio and wind down all the windows so the car fills with the balmy early-spring Atlanta air, thick with the sweet scent of impending rain.
It’s good to be home.
As I drive toward the pay station, I dig in my suit pocket for my parking stub. My hand unexpectedly closes around something… sticky.
I retrieve the piece of candy, which I think is meant to be in the shape of a fried egg. A goopy orange blob in the middle of a gummy white circle. Leftover from yesterday’s candy shower, I assume.
I can’t help but smirk humorlessly as I look at it.
This morning was… awkward, to put it mildly. I wasn’t sure what to say or do. So, in typical Liam form, I reacted in what was probably the exact opposite way I should have: I packed up and slipped away while she was in the bathroom. She didn’t want to see me anyway, I told myself.
But then, of course, we had to get on the plane.
Which meant three more hours stuck next to Annie. I was rigid in my seat, all too aware of her sweet ocean scent and her warmth. Both of which were way too close for comfort.
The second the plane touched down in ATL, Annie gave Rosemary a hug, wished her luck with Walter, and then practically climbed over her to make her escape.
Proving that she can be early for things if she tries.
It’s been an extremely confusing twenty-four hours, and I’d quite like to move past it all.
I just hope that, by tomorrow, the night we spent together will be a blip in her memory too. And I’ll chalk up the strange emotions she triggered in me as being due to overtiredness and a lack of fresh oxygen. And maybe the workings of a meddling senior.
Never to be thought about again. Like it never happened.
I look at the candy one last time. Then, I pop the sweet in my mouth and chew it until it’s gone.
I let myself into Lana Mae’s house and I’m greeted by… silence.
“Hello?” I call as I step inside. I slip off my shoes and place them next to the suitcase that stands alone in the middle of the entryway.
Harry Styles, the giant orange tabby cat, appears in the kitchen doorway. I had to bribe Legs with twenty bucks not to call the damn thing “Liam.” Which, apparently, is another band member’s name.
The cat rubs his side against my legs and purrs noisily. By the time he walks away, a fluffy ball of ginger remains attached to my pant leg.
“Hello, Harry.” I sigh, brushing it off.
“Give Harry a hug!”
The voice comes from the top of the stairs, and I look up to see Legs, her face twisted in a scowl that Lana Mae claims makes her look like me.
The nerve.
“I brought donuts,” I say, ignoring the fact that I clearly won’t be getting a hug myself, and proferring the box of fresh Krispy Kremes that I brought to get back in Legs’s good books.
Legs continues scowling. She doesn’t back down easily—something I love about her. My initial offer for her to not name the cat Liam was five bucks, and she talked me up to twenty before snatching the bill and saying her second choice had been Niall all along. Liam was only her fourth favorite One Directioner, it turns out. In third place was Louis, and Zayn came in last for being “a deserter.”
Lesson learned.
“Allegra, please get dressed. Mommy’s gotta go soon.” My sister appears next to Legs, tripping slightly as she attempts to simultaneously put on an earring and usher her daughter back to her bedroom.
“Uncle Liam has to hug Harry Styles first,” Legs insists, crossing her arms over her narrow little chest. Which is currently drowning in an oversized, slightly disturbing pajama top with a picture of Justin Bieber—or “Justin Beaver,” as Legs calls him—plastered on the front.
I need to have words with Lana Mae about appropriate nightwear for children.
Lana Mae catches my gaze and looks over her daughter’s head at me pleadingly. “Birthday present, she wanted it. Don’t start with me, the child has Bieber Fever. And for goodness sakes, hug the cat, Liam. I don’t have time for an argument this morning, I’m already late.”
“Fine,” I grumble. “But you owe me big time.”
Then, I steel my favorite person in the world with a look. This child inherited her excellent negotiation skills from somewhere, and they sure didn’t come from her sweet, giving mother or her deadbeat father.
“If I hug Harry,” I say slowly. “Will you get dressed and also forgive me for missing your party?”
“Only get dressed,” she counters.
“What if I told you I brought you a present?”
A flicker of interest lights in those big, brown eyes. All of us Donovans have the same dark eyes—it’s a family trademark. Her mouth sets in a line. “It’s not the donuts, is it? Because you bring donuts, like, every week.”
“It’s on top of the donuts. And you’ll like it, I promise.”
“Stop encouraging her,” Lana Mae says, then turns to her daughter. “Allegra Liana Donovan, for the fifteenth time this morning, will you please go to your room and get dressed.”
Lana Mae points with finality in the direction of Legs’s bedroom, then makes her way down the stairs, shrugging on her jacket as she goes. Legs ignores her mother, keeping her eyes on me. She pulls on one dirty-blond pigtail, considering.
“Okay,” she says finally. “I’ll forgive you, Uncle Liam.”
“Hallelujah,” Lana Mae mutters under her breath.
As promised, I pick up the cat as Legs watches me carefully. I clutch Harry to my chest for a split second—trying not to get clawed in the face for my trouble—and, satisfied, Legs disappears to her room.
Lana shakes her head. “I swear, that child will be the death of me. Anyway, good morning.” She lightly pats my arm as she walks by. “How were your fifteen hours at the airport?”
“Unremarkable,” I lie, following her to the kitchen and setting the box of Krispy Kremes on the island. “How was yesterday?”
Lana Mae moves around the kitchen quickly, opening and closing cupboards, spritzing the plants on the windowsill, brushing crumbs into the sink. It’s a tiny duplex with a postage stamp of a yard out back, but Lana’s done wonders to make the place cozy and homey.
“The visit or the party?” she asks.
“Let’s start with the visit.”
My sister shrugs as she pours coffee into a travel mug. “Allegra hated it, as usual. We went to a ridiculously fancy restaurant and she wanted french fries for her birthday treat. But of course, there were no french fries on the menu. On the plus side, though, I only cried once, and it was in the bathroom, where no one could see me.”
“I don’t know why you keep putting yourself through that.”
“They’re her grandparents, Liam.”
“That’s technically only fifty percent correct,” I grunt as I take my annoyance out on a donut, ripping it clean in half before putting a piece in my mouth. It’s still warm, the sugar coating perfectly melted.
“The party was good, though,” Lana adds.
“Wish I’d been there.”
“Me too. I would’ve loved to see you get your face painted like a unicorn.”
She laughs at my horrified expression, then reaches into a drawer and pulls out a pink binder. “Okay, my Uber will be here in five minutes. Everything you need should be in here.” She flips through the pages. “Phone numbers, flight information, schedules. Instructions for the washer and dryer. Contact info for Allegra’s doctor, the address of my hotel—”
“Why would I need your hotel’s address?”
“What if you need to call me?”
“I’d use this handy gadget called a phone.”
Lana purses her lips. “Well, what if the house burns down?”
“It would still be the twenty-first century. Phones would still exist.”
“But what if—”
“Lana,” I cut her off, keeping my voice gentle. I reach out and pat her hand. “We’re gonna be fine. You go and enjoy your course. Learn something, for once.”
A small smile crosses Lana’s lips and she swats my arm. “How is it that a person of so few words always knows just what to say to make me feel better?”
My lips tilt. If only she knew all of the wrong things I said last night.
“I’m dressed!” Allegra materializes from nowhere. The girl moves soundlessly, her footsteps light as a fairy’s.
I can’t help but smile. She always insists on picking out her own clothes, and today, she’s chosen a floaty white summer dress over a striped pink and purple long-sleeve top, yellow tights, and blue sparkly rainboots.
I’m immediately reminded of Annie and her crazy get-up yesterday. Which leads me to think about Annie in my t-shirt, and…
Seriously, Liam! What is wrong with you? It’s like I’ve never interacted with an attractive human female before. It’s ridiculous.
“Granddad bought me an iPhone for my birthday,” Legs announces.
“An iPhone?” I cock an eyebrow at Lana Mae. “For an eight-year-old?”
My sister rolls her eyes and sets a mug of black coffee in front of me. “That’s our father for you. Upstage everyone else with an entirely age-inappropriate, outrageously expensive present.”
“What did you get me, Uncle Liam?” Legs wraps her arms around my middle, her little face all soft and hopeful. It’s an interesting thing about kids—they’re so blissfully expectant in their ignorance to the world’s problems.
“Not an iPhone, that’s for sure,” I grumble as I reach into my jacket pocket. In my mind, the kiddie-safe phone she had before—where she could text all of four people and had no internet access—had been perfect and would stay perfect until she was at least eighteen.
I retrieve a thick, white envelope and throw it down on the island. “Happy birthday, kid.”
Allegra glances at the envelope with a skeptical look. “That better not be twenty dollars, Uncle Liam.”
“It’s better than money.”
“Better than money,” she repeats thoughtfully, carefully ripping the back. I watch her the whole time, strangely nervous.
I take a sip of my coffee as she reads.
Then another. And a third.
“AGHHHHHHHHHH!”
There it is.
Even though I’m half-expecting it, the scream makes me choke on a mouthful of coffee and Lana Mae swear in a squeaky, high-pitched yelp.
“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!” Legs yells, leaping up and down before flinging her arms around me. “I always knew I loved you best, Uncle Liam!”
“What is—” Lana Mae comes up behind Legs and peers at the gift. Her face creases in a frown. “Oh Liam, you didn’t… How on earth did you even get those?”
I shrug.
She narrows her eyes.
I shrug again, with conviction this time. My sister doesn’t need to know that I paid someone to wait in line for Justin Bieber concert tickets, does she?
And yes, I know I’m a hypocrite for criticizing Legs’s pajamas and her phone, and then buying the child concert tickets. But I couldn’t help myself. The look on her face makes it worth it.
“Mama, I’m going to see Justin Beaver!” Legs squeals.
“Yes you are, baby. Uncle Liam spoils you.” Lana Mae plucks the tickets from her daughter’s hand and looks at them. “Three? You planning on coming?”
I nearly spit out my coffee. “No. I figured she could bring a friend. Or you could invite Mindy.”
“Not Mindy,” Legs says.
Mindy is our brother Luke’s fiancée, and she’s still in the “testing” stage with Allegra.
Legs tends to treat new people with suspicion at the best of times, which I relate to endlessly. Growing up, my older brother and younger sister were effortlessly social, outgoing and popular, seeking out and finding attention wherever they went. I, on the other hand, preferred to be alone. My mother (also a social butterfly) used to joke that I was her “wary little black sheep.”
I always chose—and still choose—the people I surround myself with carefully. Don’t let many get too close.
So Legs and I have a natural understanding.
“That’s ‘Auntie Mindy’ to you, sweetheart,” Lana Mae corrects.
“Fine, not Auntie Mindy. I want Uncle Liam to come.”
I shake my head no. I’ll get the tickets, but I draw the line at actually going to see one of these hormonal, baby-faced, boy-band singers.
“You should see the look on your face, Liam.” Lana Mae laughs, then turns to Legs. “We’ll talk about who we can bring later, okay?” She shoots me an innocent glance. “Maybe Uncle Liam and Uncle Luke can flip a coin for the honors.”
“Or you can stay home, Mama, and Uncle Liam and Uncle Luke can both take me,” Legs says with an eyelash flutter—which has a cuteness factor that could rival a baby bunny rabbit.
Damn kid’s got us all wrapped around her little finger.
“Deal,” Lana Mae says. “As long as they promise to wear ‘Belieber’ t-shirts to the show.”
Allegra gives her mother a gravely serious look. “What else would they wear?” She then turns on her heel and makes for the stairs. “I’m going to call Uncle Luke and tell him. Bye, Mommy!”
“You don’t want to give your mother a hug?” Lana Mae raises her eyebrows and clasps her hands to her chest in mock horror. “It’s only the first time I’ve left for more than a day since you were born.”
Legs sighs deeply. “Okay, okay.”
But when her little arms wind around Lana’s neck, Legs clutches her tight, hands fisting in her mom’s sweater. Legs might act tough, but she’s soft-serve ice cream beneath that hard candy shell.
“I’ll miss you more than you can imagine, sweetie.” Lana Mae pulls back from the embrace and nuzzles her daughter’s hair. “You going to be good for Uncle Liam?”
“Yesssss,” Legs says with a conspiratorial eye roll in my direction.
“Course she is,” I say, but confident as I sound, something clenches in my stomach. I love Legs to death, and I’ve spent endless hours with her, but it’s hard not to be nervous. I’ve never carried the responsibility of parenting a child before. What if I screw this up?
I remind myself sternly that I can do this. I have to do this. Lana Mae’s counting on me, and Legs is, too. I’ll do my best to be a great parent to her while Lana Mae is out of town.
After a long, lengthy, tearful goodbye (on Lana Mae’s part. I definitely didn’t tear up. Not at all), the door shuts and it’s just me and Legs.
“So…” I say slowly, turning to Legs. Her expression is so down-trodden, I almost call Lana Mae to come back. “Ready for me to kick your butt at mini-golf?”
