Page 45 of How to Write a Rom-Com

I don’t know much about the fight that is in front of her, but I’ll feel better once she’s on this side of the ocean and I can fight it with her.

A firm knock on the door catches my attention, followed by Blue’s deep bark. As I approach, I can hear Liam’s muffled voice as he speaks to Blue. “It was me, buddy. I knocked. It’s okay.”

I chuckle when I open the door, Blue’s ears are perked up and his tail wags manically. I need to get a dog.

“Hey,” I say, and Blue comes rushing in, the nails on his paws click-clacking on the wood floor. He makes himself right at home, sniffing the perimeter of the foyer and dashing straight into the kitchen.

“He’s looking for Mella. She feeds him. Usually cold cuts,” Liam explains, stepping into the house. He’s carrying two reusable grocery bags that are stuffed to the brim. His hair is wet and scraggly. He is in some variation of a Liz’s T-shirt and sweat shorts. I inhale the scent that follows him into the house—he still smells like the woods but mixed with fresh, minty soap. It makes my stomach flip, the scent of him.

“I didn’t know what you had, so I just brought what was in my fridge,” he says, gesturing to the bags.

“Well, I have some eggs, wine, and some of the cake you brought me. Not sure there’s a meal in there though,” I reply with a laugh. I follow him into the kitchen. “Is it weird being here without Al and Mella?”

“Not really,” Liam answers, emptying his groceries onto the counter. “They’ve been spending less time here in recent years. I actually think they’ll move to Florida full-time, which is where they are now. Blue will certainly miss them though, and all the treats.” He looks down at the dog and shrugs.

I nod with a smile. “Do you need help with anything?” I ask, knowing that I really wouldn’t be much help.

“How are your knife skills?” he asks, raising a brow.

“Depends on how much blood you like in your food,” I answer. Liam makes a face.

“Never mind then,” he says. He goes over to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white wine. “I think we deserve a little bit of wine, don’t you?”

“Today is definitely the day for it,” I agree, accepting the bottle from him. I grab two glasses from the cabinet and pour one for each of us. I sit down on one of the barstools and Blue wraps his body around the legs of the chair, settling in.

I watch as Liam dices tomatoes, onions, and garlic, tossing them into a pan with oil. The fragrance of those ingredients sautéing together is rivaled only by the scent of the chef himself. Liam looks up every so often and smiles at me watching him.

The result is a bowl of pasta with zucchini and a light tomato sauce. He plates them fancily, swirling the pasta with a spoon so it sits perfectly in the middle of the plate. He sprinkles cheese over the top and joins me at the bar.

“You’re welcome to ditch the restaurant and become my personal chef anytime,” I say, taking a bite. The pasta is heavenly. It’s light and fresh, with exactly the right amount of bite. I love it when pasta is just al dente enough that a few pieces stick together. I moan in pleasure as I eat.

“And you’re welcome to make that sound anytime you eat my food,” Liam replies, a smug smile on his face.

How far we’ve come from our conversations that consisted of my awkward babbling and his cranky grunts. I used to think I could never get a read on Liam, then I thought the only read I could get was that of a proud small-town boy, too terrified to see that not every out-of-towner was there to steal his home or look down on him. Now, though… now we’re at this happy medium. We’ve formed our own kind of friendship.

“What are you thinking about?” Liam asks, turning his stool to face me. Our knees knock together under the counter.

I let myself smile a bit. “About how just a few short weeks ago, you weren’t my biggest fan,” I say smugly.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he says, placing his fork down.

“Um, yes, it is. You wereskeptical, to say the least.”

“Only a little bit,” he says seriously.Maybe he would be more so if he knew how much I was lying to him, the voice in the back of my head says. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way. And I’m sorry for today. I know I pushed you a little bit.”

“You meancardiovascularly?” I joke.

“Ha! No, I mean I pushed your buttons a little. It wasn’t my place, and I’m sorry.” He folds his hands on the counter and turns to face me.

I sigh. “You did, but I understand. You’re a bit like my aunt in that way actually,” I explain, lifting the side of my mouth.

“Am I?”

I nod. “She’s always pushing me to see the best in things, especially life outside of the city. I didn’t mention this earlier, but I actually have dyslexia.” Liam’s brows furrow. “School was always kind of hard for me. But now I read for a living, which is rather ironic.” Liam smiles softly.

“And pretty impressive,” Liam interjects. I smile shyly.

“My parents pushed me really hard, and Josie never agreed with how…disciplinedthey were when it came to school. They always thought, and they mademebelieve, that if I got this great job and lived in the city and proved that I could work just as hard or harder than everyone else, then I would be happy and successful.”

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