Page 77 of A Simple Reminder

“You’re blushing,” he says, his voice teasing and warm, as if he can read every single filthy thought running through my mind. “What are you thinking about?” His dark eyes dance with amusement, but there’s something else there too—a knowing gleam that tells me he’s well aware of the memory he’s just dragged to the surface. “Are you thinking about me?”

I shift in my seat, feigning nonchalance as I reach for another bite, but my face betrays me, heating even more under his perusal. “Just…enjoying the pancakes,” I murmur, but we both know exactly where my mind wandered. What we were enjoying yesterday.

“If you say so,” he says, plopping a strawberry into his mouth. That sweet, sweet mouth.Get it together.If I keep this up, I’ll be a full-blown addict in no time.

I clear my throat, trying to shake off the heat creeping up my neck, but it’s no use—every glance, every word from him has me unraveling faster than I care to admit.

“So tell me,” he says, leaning back with that infuriatingly knowing smile, “why did you drag me all the way to the other side of town for breakfast when there are plenty of great places closer to us?”

I let out a deep breath. This is not the conversation I wanted to start this morning. It’s a discussion we’ve had too many times, and the outcome is always the same. “You know why, Liam.”

His gaze sharpens, and the teasing fades into something darker, something more daring. “No one would see us. New York is a big city,” he murmurs, each word wrapping around me like a challenge. “And would it be that awful?”

My stomach twists. He knows exactly what he’s doing—pulling at the threads I’ve worked so hard to keep together.

“Yes,” I reply firmly, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve told you this before—I’m not risking my career more than I already am.”

Liam exhales sharply, his hand brushing over the back of his buzzed head in a gesture that feels more like habit than necessity. His jaw clenches as he leans back in his chair, fixing me with a look that’s equal parts frustration and restraint. “I’m not going to let anything happen to your career, Sophie. It’s just breakfast. We’re not having sex on the damn table.”

I cross my arms over my chest, my fingers gripping my elbows as if holding myself together. “That wouldn’t make a difference,” I snap, my voice rising slightly. “Sex on the table or breakfast, people would still assume I’m…” My words falter, my throat tightening as the weight of it presses down on me. I glance away, my fingers finding the ends of my hair, twisting them in an attempt to focus on anything but his piercing gaze. “You know exactly what they’d think,” I say.

He lets out a low sigh, his head tipping back as his eyes briefly close, as though he’s searching the ceiling for patience. When he looks at me again, his expression is harder, guarded. “That you’re sleeping with your boss?” His expression is harder now, as if the words are as bitter for him to say as they are for me to hear. “Isn’t that exactly what’s happening?”

I flinch, and he notices immediately. His expression shifts, softening as regret flickers across his face. Frustration burns in his eyes, but it’s not aimed at me. It’s the kind of frustration that wishes the world was different, that wishes, assumptions and whispers didn’t have the power to dismantle what we’ve built. I wish life was that simple, too. But it isn’t. Especially not for a woman.

His eyes narrow, but it’s not anger—it’s determination. “Let them assume what they want,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less firm. He leans closer, his presence impossible to ignore. “You’re here because you belong here—because you’re damn good at what you do. Anyone who can’t see that is blind.”

I shake my head slowly, looking down at the table, unable to meet his gaze. “But they won’t see that if I’m hooking up with you,” I murmur, my voice cracking under the weight of my fears. I force myself to lift my eyes to his, hoping he’ll understand. “They’ll just see someone using a relationship to get ahead, and I can’t accept that.”

The silence between us is deafening. He sits back, dragging a hand over his face and letting it rest over his mouth for a beat, as if holding back the words he’s dying to say. His leg bounces under the table—a rare crack in his composure—and it only deepens the knot in my chest.

He studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine for something I can’t seem to give him. “Is this a relationship?”

“A physical one,” I answer.

He looks away, leaning back in his chair as if creating distance will shield him. He reaches for his coffee, lifting the cup to his lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, his voice noncommittal, his eyes fixed somewhere past my shoulder. It’s not dismissive, but it’s far from the Liam I know—the one who always meets me head-on, never hesitating to say what he thinks.

Guilt twists in my chest, sharp and unforgiving, knotting tighter with every second that passes. I hate that I couldn’t just say yes—that I couldn’t give him more than this half-truth we keep feeding ourselves. Because that’s all it is, isn’t it? Work and sex. That’s what we agreed to. That’s what I keep telling myself, over and over, like a mantra to keep from breaking.

But now, as he sits there, silent and guarded, the walls I swore I wouldn’t let him build again slowly rising between us, I hate every part of it. I hate that I can’t reach across this table, take his hand, and tell him the truth—the truth I’ve been too afraid to face.

I wish I could throw all my caution to the wind and let it be something more. But I can’t. It’s not a real relationship. It can’t be.

“Anything else I can get for you two?” The waitress asks, her bright, cheerful voice cutting through the tension like a knife. Oblivious to the charged atmosphere hanging over the table.

Liam looks up at her, his polite smile so practiced it almost fools me. Almost. “No, we’re good, thanks. Could we get the bill?”

“Of course!” She bustles away, leaving us in the heavy, suffocating silence we’ve built between us.

When she returns, Liam doesn’t hesitate. He pulls out his wallet, slipping his card into the folder without so much as a glance at me.

He settles the bill quickly, his movements efficient, detached. When he finally looks at me again, there’s no warmth in his eyes, only a shadow of the man I’ve been trying so hard not to fall for. But deep down, I know I already have.

The cab ride back is suffocating, the air between us thick with all the things we’re not saying. I glance at him a few times, hoping he’ll say something, but his gaze is fixed out the window, his profile as unreadable as ever.

Just as I’m about to reach out, to break the tension with something he speaks, his voice low and edged with the frustration I know he’s been holding back. “Careful,” he says, his tone rough, the words a quiet reprimand. “Wouldn’t want you confusing those feelings you’re trying so hard to ignore.”

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