Page 72 of Our Radiant Embers

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.”

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