Page 25 of Persuading Liam

It’s worked for a long time—at least reasonably so—but I can feel that sense of control slipping, feel the fear creeping back inand it has everything to do with how badly I want Marley. With how badly I want to be a good man for Marley.

I am not whole enough for her, and she has enough messes, enough impossible problems to fix at the newspaper. I couldn’t live with the thought of adding that.

Staring hard into my eyes I make myself a promise.I won’t kiss her again. No matter how badly I want to.

It’s only two weeks until the Aldridge’s return. Surely, I can survive fourteen more days.

“What are you doing here already?”Max asks when I breeze into Redpoint after my shower. He’s standing behind the counter screwing on a new tap handle. “You’re not on the schedule until this evening.”

“I thought of something on the Aspen project that I wanted to double-check.” The lie comes out of me so naturally, I almost believe it.

Max just nods in acceptance. “How was the climb? Elliot said you were risking some chossy holds and ascending too fast. Everything okay?”

Of course, Elliot told Max. I debate for a hot second about discussing my situation with Marley. If anyone in my life could relate to wanting someone they shouldn’t—it’s him. But I’m not sure it’s something I want to talk about when Elliot or Gus could hear me. “Just a little overstressed I think.” I offer, spearing my fingers through my hair. “The Aspen location, and other things…” I flick my gaze toward my apartment across the street.

Max seems to understand and lowers his voice. “If you need to talk, let me know.”

I swallow. Max has grown a lot from Gus’s guidance and his weekly therapy sessions. It’s such a shocking change that if someone had told me two years ago that he’d be this emotionally mature, I would have laughed in their face. But he really has turned into a man like my father—a lot like the man I’ve always wanted to be.

“I appreciate that,” I mutter, feeling like I’m further away from that man than I’ve ever been before. I walk towards my office, considering therapy for myself. I’ve thought of it before, but I’m worried instead of opening up, I’ll simply disintegrate and that just can’t be better.

I fall into my desk chair, open my laptop, and bury my feelings in work, like an adult.

17

MARLEY

“Shit,” I mutter to no one as I dash through the cold rain to work on Monday morning. The drops feel like ice pellets and as usual, I’m woefully unprepared.

Could I have gone back up to the apartment to grab a coat or an umbrella once I discovered it was raining? Yes. But did I want to risk running into Liam again? God, no.

You’d think receiving the best kiss you’ve ever been given would be a wonderful gift. And it probably would be if the giver wasn’t going out of his way to avoid you. Every time I think about that moment—and it’sa lot—my stomach rolls upwards with joy and immediately crashes the moment I remember we haven’t spoken a word since.

My last words were, ‘I think I’m going to take a nap.’ That’s it—end of the love story. And the longer it’s been since his lips owned mine, the more and more I worry about what I would say to him if I even had the chance. How do you even bring it up?

The biggest fear, I realize as I shove my key into the lock of Paintbrush Post, is that it was good for me and only me. Because the only reason I can figure that he’d avoid me flat out is that it was the worst kiss of his life and he’s too nice to tell me.

I sigh with relief when I stumble, soaking wet, into the building I’m starting to love. I know it sounds wild, what with half of it still in reno, but Mr. Schuster has let me make all the decisions and it’s nice to see my vision coming to life—even if I’m terrified the newspaper won’t fly.

I flip on the light in my office and smile at the space. It’s nearly finished except the ceiling is still open, waiting for electricity to be fully wired. That’s been the most challenging part—bringing the turn-of-the-century building up to the electrical needs of the digital age.

I’ve heard more than one colorful swear word from the very patient but clearly frustrated team of electricians.

Once that’s done, we can start installing the print equipment and wire the place for super-fast WI-FI. As of right now, we’re operating off a router that could probably attend middle school at this point.

I settle into my chair and fish my laptop out of my bag. I have a lot to get done before Finola gets here and since I’m not sure how much I’m going to have to babysit her, I want to make sure I make some progress on the website I’m designing to allow people to subscribe, run ads, and submit editorials.

I like the work, and as I sink into the nitty-gritty of ensuring codes are correctly injected and the wording tight, the few hours of quiet passes quickly.

Only the tinkle of the bell above the front door alerts me to Finola’s arrival and I take a deep breath and steady myself. My first impressions of the stunning young woman were less than kind and I remind myself that I need to give her a chance. Just because she wears Louboutin’s in Paintbrush Peak doesn’t mean she can’t be helpful.

I paste a friendly smile on my face and enter the foyer and find Finola completely wrapped in a Barbie-pink raincoat that definitely costs more than my car, sunglasses even though it’sgrey and raining, and heels that make my knees hurt just looking at them.

“Good morning, Finola,” I greet her, rushing to help her out of her raincoat before it leaves a puddle on the paper that protects the newly installed floors from the workmen. “How are you today?”

“Ugh, this weather,” she says, handing me the coat with her thumb and forefinger as if it disgusts her. “It’s hell on my hair.”

I hang the coat on the coat rack and eye her perfectly placed, not a bit frizzy hair and wonder what a good hair day looks like for her. It must be something to behold.

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