Page 102 of My Wife
The girls were wrong. He does not have a crush on me.
“We can try ASL.”
“Let’s speak first. I’m still learning.”
“Okay, it goes like this. If you want a woman to attend an event with you and wear a gown, you have to ask her, politely. Preferably with a little flair.”
“Flair?”
“I’m not talking about kissing the top of her hand and getting down on one knee.”
With bulging, animated eyes, as if seeing me for the first time, he says, “Oh.”
“Have you been evaluated by the team physician? I’m not making this into a joke, but did you take a puck to the head?”
His expression softens. “No, Jessica. I don’t want to scare you off. I realize the gown may have been too much too soon, given the witch bride attire in your old car’s trunk.”
I lean back in the cushy first-class seat, doing my best not to be alternately fascinated, distracted, and terrified since this is my first time flying. Liam said it’s no big deal. Yeah. Okay. Same as all these emotions I’m experiencing. No biggie. It’s just an ordinary Tuesday. Carry on, folks.
So, it turns out that he’s not as out of touch as I thought. “New rule. Let’s communicate. Use our words. Say all the things.”
The side of his top lip curls like he’s accepting this challenge. As if it’s a dare. “All the things.”
“Yes, all the things.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Liam. I am sure. Hearing you say all the things is far preferable to sitting in silence, wondering, pondering, speculating.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he murmurs.
But he doesn’t say all the things. Not for the remainder of the flight and not during the luxury SUV ride to the posh hotel. Not when we’re alone in the elevator or in the hallway when we reach the end and our respective doors, standing opposite each other.
I sigh.
“Can I come in?” He gestures to the door behind me.
“You want to come into my hotel room?”
“I’ve stayed here before. The view is spectacular. Looks like I’m on the street side. You get the mountains.”
“Yeah, sure.” I let him in and he strides right to the balcony.
I follow because he wasn’t kidding. The immense snowcapped peaks spilling into lush evergreen hills are breathtaking.
And the moment he lays eyes on those jagged mountains topped with snow, the bandage is ripped off. Liam Ellis does not stop speaking for the next thirty minutes as the sun sets and the stars blink little night lights in the sky. I hear about how he grew up in Brookking Sound, a small coastal town in Canada, playing hockey as a kid, and cycling through two teams before finding his way to Nebraska.
From nearby, paper lanterns glow and then one by one float upward. Liam’s arm slides over my shoulders, gripping me snugly to his side. I lean into him. Even though he’s practically made of marble, there’s a softness to this gesture.
Maybe actions and words speak in harmony.
As more and more lanterns float aloft, amounting to at least a few dozen, I say, “I wanted those at the wedding, but Sorsha said it would disturb the lizard gods since they’re nocturnal and all. Then, she added them to her website for a mere ninety-nine dollars a piece to release as an offering to the skinks. She sourced them from China for like ninety-nine cents each.”
“I’m so glad you were a jilted bride.”
“That’s not—” I start to say, but stop myself. “Yeah, me too.”
Liam says, “Back home, the town does this on New Year’s Eve. It’s been ages since I’ve gone.”
