Page 98 of False Confidence

“I’m pretty sure this has been the longest day of my entire life, and I’ve missed you like crazy,” she admitted, and Liam squeezed her tighter.

“I’ve missed you too. But you’re home now.” There was that word again. Home. “Come on. You can tell me all about your day over ravioli, and then I have a surprise for you.”

“What kind of surprise?”

“The kind that’s only a surprise if you don’t know what it is,” he said, grabbing her bag from the floor and swatting her on the ass before pulling her to the kitchen.

They ate at the table, and Jazz told Liam all about her conversations with Rose and her parents. Liam listened with rapt attention, his expression morphing from furious on Rose’s behalf, to shock at how things had ended with her parents.

“They told me they were proud of me,” Jazz said quietly, their plates clear and glasses drained. Liam reached across the table and grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on her palm. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it until they said it.”

“It’s about time. I’m happy for you, darling. Does that mean I’m allowed to say it now?” Liam asked, his eyes twinkling. “I’d really love to be allowed to praise my girlfriend every now and then.”

“Fine,” she relented. “But still no praise in bed.”

“I can handle that. And hey, no complaints about me calling you my girlfriend this time? It really has been a day.”

“While I’m still not thrilled with how you just decided for us, I am happy to be your girlfriend. Your partner,” she said, remembering how nice it had felt when he’d called her his partner at India and Bart’s wedding. Liam’s entire face lit up.

“Partners. I like that. We’re a team. And I promise not to make any more decisions without you. Unless you try to break up with me again in the name of self-sabotage. Or at all, actually. Rule number six: we are never ever breaking up. Like ever.”

“Deal. Write it on the board,” Jazz said, rolling her eyes and taking the hand he held out for her to shake. “But that goes both ways, baby. If you get sick of my chaos—too bad. You made the rule.”

“I could never get sick of your chaos. It’s my favorite. You are my favorite,” Liam promised, and Jazz weighed up the fastest way of crossing the table and pouncing on him. Crawling over the tabletop was a little extreme, but he’d probably like?—

“Don’t look at me like that,” Liam warned, pushing back from the table. “We still have your surprise. Go get into something comfy while I get set up.”

She grumbled, but did as she was told. This was Liam after all, so whatever he had in store, she was sure she was going to enjoy it. She changed into a pair of cycling shorts and one of Liam’s t-shirts—the Cézanne one, which was definitely her favorite of his ridiculously giant collection. At least she’d never struggle to find a Christmas present for him. She balled her work clothes up in the corner of the room.

“Can I come out yet?” she called through the door, stepping back into the living room when Liam confirmed she could.

She stopped just short of the table, her jaw dropping at the spread before her. “What is this?”

“This is me understanding why you have so much crafting stuff,” Liam replied, a little sheepishly. “Those little old ladies at the craft store are very persuasive. On a related note, we’re scheduled for a screen printing class in a couple of weeks.”

“They really do get to you.” She nodded in understanding. Liam had hundreds of dollars’ worth of stuff on the table—beads in every color, gold and silver charms, at least six trays of alphabet beads, a literal pile of elastic, string, and fastenings. “But why exactly did you go to the craft store and spend a small fortune?”

Liam pulled out a chair for her and she sat down. He rounded the table and sat opposite her, handing her a glass of red wine. “I know you probably have all this at your place—” She had no idea. She’d long since lost control of her stash. “—but I didn’t want to disturb Rose while she was settling in, and I just thought… Bracelets.” He gestured to the beads. “You said you’ve never finished a bracelet, so let’s change that. I’ll make one for you, you make one for me, and we can cross it off your list.”

If she didn’t already love him, that would’ve done it. It wasn’t about the bracelets, not really. He’d listened to her, he’d heard her, and he hadn’t given up on her.

Jazz reached across the table for a spool of clear elastic. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

It took them close to two hours. Two hours of cursing, chasing beads as they rolled across the hardwood, and wincing when the elastic snapped in their faces. Multiple. Times.

They had to shut Bray away in the guest room with a bunch of toys and the dancing fruit show he loved to watch on YouTube, just so he’d stop barking and distracting them. Jazz seriously considered giving up after the third time she dropped her bracelet and the beads fell off the string, but she pushed through.

She held the bracelet in her hand and stared at her, pride blooming in her chest. How could something so little mean so much? She’d chosen colors that made her think of Liam—warm and cozy and safe. Deep oranges, emerald green to match his eyes, warm dark browns, and gold. She’d kept it pretty simple, considering how fucking long it had taken to make, since she wanted the text to stand out. And even though it had been a complete nightmare to make, it was perfect.

“Close your eyes and put your hand out. We can look at the same time,” Liam said, doing just that. He’d been just as frustrated by the fiddly beads as she had—enough so that Jazz would actually consider doing this again. Riled up Liam was her favorite.

She closed her eyes and held out her palm, and they both sat in silence for a moment before she said, “How are we supposed to swap bracelets if neither of us can see?”

“Shit. I’m coming around.”

She hid the bracelet she’d made as he rounded the table and took a seat beside her. This close, it was easy to hand their bracelets over with their eyes closed. And Jazz was just happy to be closer to him. He dropped a bracelet on her waiting palm, and she did the same, butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“On the count of three,” he said, counting down.

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