Page 36 of The Summer I Destroyed You

“I’ve been documenting it,” he replies. “So I think you’re screwed.”

I laugh, surprised to discover we’ve already reached the bridge. The ride went weirdly fast.

“You can just drop me off at the store,” I tell him. “Thanks for the ride. I guess I owe you cookies or something.”

He gives me a crooked smile. “From what you’ve implied about your cooking ability, plus your thoughts on poisoning competitors, let’s just call it even.”

I open the truck door and carefully place one heel on the running board. Before I can even lower the other one, he’s come around to my side of the car and is wrapping his hands around my waist.

For a moment we are standing face-to-face, too close. My gaze meets his, and my breath holds. I don’t know precisely what I want to happen right now, but I know I want it to be something.

He sighs. It gusts against my forehead as he releases me.

“Thanks again,” I say, stepping away, needing distance. My pulse is racing, and I am not a pulse-racing kind of girl. I want to close my eyes and focus on the memory of that lush lower lip of his. I want to pull him down close enough to sink my teeth into it.

I move toward the store, but he keeps walking with me. “I think I can handle walking away on my own.”

“I’m looking at your floor, smart-ass.”

He’d be a lot more likable if he wasn’t right all the damn time.

I enter and he follows me inside, flipping on the lights and scanning the room with a growing frown. “How much are you paying Gary for this bullshit?” he asks.

“Putting in the floors?” I ask. “About six hundred total. Three hundred and fifty grand for the floors.”

“Total footage?”

“Twenty thousand square feet. And before you say anything, yes, I know he’s robbing me blind. But I’m on a deadline, and he’s the only one who said he could get it done.”

“He installed the subfloor wrong,” says Liam. “Which means you’re stuck with an uneven floor unless you tear all this shit out and start again.”

“I don’t have time to start again,” I growl. “The fixtures are arriving soon.”

He rubs a hand over his face, and his shoulders sag. “I’ll do it. Get your money back from Gary. If he gives you any shit, talk to me.”

“But…”

“Do you have a better option?” he asks.

Well, no. But working in a small space with Liam Doherty feels like a recipe for disaster.

I sigh heavily. “Do you have time to look at the plans? They’re back in the office.”

He nods. “Yeah, if we can do it over breakfast. Grab the plans, and we’ll go down to the diner.”

I stiffen.

Paul Bellamy could be there. He could call me “Emmy the Semi” or mention one of the other banner moments of my adolescence—the disastrous homecoming dance, the time they tripped me walking onstage to receive an award and my dress tore in half. They’re the assholes, yet I’m still the one who feels ashamed, as if I deserved everything they did.

“I hate the diner,” I tell him.

He raises a brow. “When was the last time you ate at the diner?”

“High school.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I thought as much. I’m sure it’s not your fancy New York City bullshit, but you’ll live. Come on.”

I’m not one to allow myself to be forced into anything by a man, but I find myself shrugging in agreement—perhaps because there’s something that feels safe about being by Liam’s side. I don’t think anyone would say a fucking word with him next to me. No one would call me some mean name from my childhood. No guy would say, “Smile, sweetheart,” and if they did, he’d make sure they never did it again.

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