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But she wasn’t going anywhere. Not tonight. And maybe, just for a little while, she could let herself stop fighting. Let herself remember what it felt like to be wanted, not for what she could offer, or what she couldn’t give, but just for who she was.
She took a sip of brandy, letting the heat slide down her throat, then set the glass beside the tub and tested the water. It was perfect.
Sophie didn’t hesitate and sank into the warmth, letting it rise around her, softening all the places that had gone rigid with fear and doubt.
And for once, she didn’t push the feelings away.
* * *
Fresh from the tub,skin pink and warm, she was wrapped in him in another way. His clothes had always drowned her before, but now, she filled them out a little more—not enough to make them fit, but enough to notice. His sweatshirt hung loose on her frame, the sleeves swallowing her hands. His sweatpants pooled at her ankles, and his socks slipped with every step.
She emerged from the bathroom, relaxed from the hot bath and the last sip of brandy that had warmed her from the inside out. Her skin was still flushed from the heat, her damp hair clung to her neck. She kept her hands tucked inside the sleeves, fingers curled against the fabric, as if holding onto a piece of him.
For the first time in a long time, she was entirely at ease.
She made her way to his warm and inviting living room with its burgundy walls deep and rich, the large brick fireplace commanding attention. But it was the hearthstone that caught Sophie’s eye—the most beautiful tiles, intricate and colorful.
“Where did you get those tiles?”
“Turkey,” Liam said, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “I couldn’t tell you what town.”
“A meaningful trip?”
Liam huffed a laugh and shook his head. “It was awful.” He wiped a palm over the space between them, as if clearing the memory away. “Never again.”
“But you have the tiles.”
“They’re nice tiles.”
Sophie smirked. “Have you traveled a lot?”
“More than most, I’d say.” He took a sip of wine, considering. “Some of it was while I was in school. The rest was mostly for pleasure. I had an exhibition in Florence once—that was amazing, so I stayed longer. Learned a bit along the way, met other artists. But that’s done now. I’ve seen the other side of the world, and honestly? I wasn’t impressed.”
“So, your homebody side finally wore down the curious wanderer?”
“You could say that.”
A quiet moment stretched between them, the fire crackling softly. Then Sophie asked, “Did you ever marry anyone?”
Liam looked her square in the eye, his voice steady. “No.” He took a slow sip of wine, then set the glass down on the counter behind him. “How could I? I told you once that I wouldn’t ever marry any girl but you.”
Sophie grinned as the voice of a little boy saying those very words recalled in her memory. “Liam, we were seven when you said that.”
“You were seven. I was eight.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I remember the first time we met. It was at Derrynane Beach, I was with my parents and Keefe. I was looking for seashells, not paying any attention to the water, and you saved me from walking straight into a rock ten times bigger than me.”
“And you got mad because I got you all wet,” Liam reminded her, smirking.
“Until you told me to ‘shut up and stop whining because a little gratitude wouldn’t hurt for saving your life.’” Sophie grinned at the memory. “And then I saw the rocks and felt terrible. So, then, of course, you being Liam, you dragged me back to crash your family picnic.”
“We spent nearly every day together that summer,” Liam said, his voice softer now.
“And every summer after that,” Sophie added. “Summer was always my favorite time of year—not because of the weather, but because it meant coming to Ireland. Every year, for two whole months, I was here. It was my favorite place.” She hesitated, then admitted, “I never quite fit in back home.”
“But you did here.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I did. And then I met you. And this place meant something even more… So, what about you? I thought you would be traveling doing exhibitions and,” she waved her hands in circles trying to recall if she ever knew in the first place what it was that artists actually do other than paint, “whatever it is artists do.”
