Page 26 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
I was halfway through flagging a billing error when a scent cut through my focus.
Coffee.
It was faint, but distinct. Which meant Liam was up.
I paused, checked the clock, then moved toward the door. I didn’t need to say anything. But I had planned to run a few errands and figured I could offer to pick something up for him. Practical, friendly, normal.
He was in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug. My mouth went dry.
Barefoot. Hair damp. Wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts. Lean frame, not bulky. His arms had that kind of definition that says you burn more calories than you store. Efficient.
"Hey," I said, keeping my tone light. "I’m heading out later, thought I’d see if you needed anything."
He looked up. One brow ticked up. "And risk you picking up dried basil?"
I blinked, then laughed. "You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?"
He set the mug on the counter. "Hey, I learned a lot about you during our first fight."
Our first fight?
"Fight? That wasn’t a fight." I crossed my arms. "You must not have any siblings."
"I do," he said, reaching for the coffee pot again. "One. A sister."
He chuckled to himself, clearly revisiting some internal reel of knock-down, drag-out family arguments. "You’re right. That wasn’t a fight."
He gave a slight shrug. "I stand corrected. I learned a lot about you during our disagreement."
"I like to think of it as a difference of opinion," I said.
"Do you always get the last word?"
"Absolutely."
He handed me a clean mug without asking if I wanted one. My hand brushed his as I took it. Warm.
"Seriously, though," I said, pouring coffee. "Do you need anything?"
He hesitated, then scratched the back of his neck. "I noticed you were running low on almond milk. I was going to pick some up."
I gripped my mug a bit tighter.
“I could just finish the other milk,” I offered, already wincing at how unconvincing it came out.
He didn’t miss a beat. "Claire, you clearly enjoy the almond milk."
I stirred the coffee slowly, avoiding eye contact.
He noticed?
Was that a goalie thing? Constant observation? Pattern recognition? Maybe you just can’t turn that kind of focus off.
"Don’t worry," he added. "I already looked up recipes that use the other three."
I glanced at him over the rim of my mug.
He wasn’t smiling exactly. But his eyes said he was pleased with himself.
