Page 11 of Hooking Her Up

“You were a freshman,” he laughs, then grows serious. “And I wasn’t good enough for you.”

My fists clench. “Don’t ever say that. I’m not better than anyone.”

“You’re per—”

I shut him down quick. “Don’t say that, either. Do you know how exhausting it is to always have to meet impossible standards? When I say your life is amazing, I’m not being polite or patronizing. All I want is to have a little bakery, a cozy house. Maybe a garden, maybe some kids.” I stop out of embarrassment. “Instead, I’m getting shoved toward a mansion full of empty bedrooms, a kitchen I won’t have time to use, and a workaholic husband I don’t love.”

“Not on my watch,” he says. He must be joking, but his eyes are dead serious as he takes my hand. “I had it the opposite. Instead of high standards, I had no standards. My dad was sick from liver failure. He essentially drank himself to death. I loved him, because he did his best, but his best sucked. I don’t think he ever got over my mom dying when I was a baby.”

“I wished I could have been there for you,” I say. “Even just as a friend.”

“I could have never been your friend, not with the mess I was surrounded by. I would have died if you’d seen how I lived.”

“But you turned everything around,” I say. “You make me think anything’s possible.”

“Anything is possible, Kayla. Remember that.”

He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, then turns it to kiss my palm. The feel of his lips pressed against my skin sends fireworks through my bloodstream and I scoot closer to him on the bench.

“This is really nice,” I say, tilting my face toward the sunshine. “I don’t want to go back to that arctic office.”

“How much trouble will you be in if you don’t go back?” he asks.

“A lot,” I groan.

His grin is mischievous, infectious, lighting me on fire even more than his kisses. “Okay, but how much do you care?”

“Right now?” I ask.

He nods. “Right now.”

“Not even a little bit.”

The grin grows wider and he taps me on my nose. “That’s my girl. Now let me show you how the other half lives.”

Chapter 6

Liam

Despite her assuring me that she’s fine as I lead her to my favorite deli, I can see there’s still some tension in her shoulders. Outside on the sidewalk, I take her by the shoulders.

“You don’t have to put up a front with me. I’ve already seen you half covered in mud and pine needles, remember.”

Her shoulders loosen up and her eyes relax. “It’s just that I’m supposed to finish a pile of proofreading before my dad gets back from lunch.”

“What about your lunch?”

“Us interns usually have microwaved ramen at our desks.”

“So I guess this work is pivotal to the firm’s success?”

Her eyes almost roll out of her head. “I’m working on old tax statements to try to find discrepancies. It makes my bones hurt from boredom, which I never thought was possible.”

“So why is it so important that it gets done before your dad gets—oh.” I can see by her averted gaze that my hunch is correct. Her dad doesn’t want her around me.

“He’s a control freak with everyone,” she quickly says. “Me especially because I’m supposed to take over one day.” It’s clear she wants to change the subject and leans toward the deli entrance. “I’m starving and smelling that fresh bread is torture.”

I don’t want to torture her, so we go inside. She’s like a kid in a candy shop, inspecting the sourdough rolls, the tomato buns, and the crusty, mini baguettes before choosing. She cranes her neck to see into the kitchen and I ask Debbie, the owner and a regular at my shop since she refuses to upgrade her 1990s car, to give us a tour.

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