Page 69 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
“This way,” he said, nodding down the block.
He steered me off the main street, toward a narrow, shadowed alley.
“Liam,” I said slowly. “Where are you taking me?”
He let out a low laugh. “To my butcher.”
“This looks sketchy. You know, the movie scene where everyone yells at the woman not to go.”
“Claire, we’ve been living together for three weeks,” he said, throwing me a look over his shoulder. “If I wanted to pass you off to someone nefarious, I could’ve done it way more easily.”
Living together? Interesting choice of words.
And then, just as I opened my mouth to argue, his fingers wrapped around mine.
“Come on,” he said, drawing me toward the light at the far end of the alley.
The shop was narrow, with glass cases running the length of one wall and hooks gleaming under bright lights. A wave of savory scent hit me, rich, earthy, and nothing like the grocery store back home.
“Morning, Liam,” the butcher called from behind the counter, already reaching for a wrapped cut. “Here for the usual?”
“Not today, Frank,” Liam said, glancing at me before leaning an elbow on the counter. “I’m broadening someone’s horizons. Tonight I am making osso buco.”
Liam edged closer to me, pointing out the thick-cut veal shanks, marbled just enough. “See the bone? That’s where the flavor comes from.”
I squinted. “I thought the flavor came from magic and hours of cooking.”
“That too,” and before I could move, Liam slid a pair of gloves from the counter and held one open. “Here. Try.”
It took me a second to realize he meant for me to put my hand in. I did, and he guided my fingers—carefully, gently—so I could feel the grain of the meat through the thin material.
“Not too firm, not too soft,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that the butcher pretended not to hear. “Perfect.”
I nodded, pulling my hand back before I forgot to breathe. “Right. Perfect.”
He just smiled, turning back to the butcher. “We’ll take two.”
The butcher’s eyes crinkled. “Ah, nothing says romance like osso bucco on a Sunday.”
Not helping Frank.
“Thanks, Frank,” Liam cut in, taking the package. His voice was easy, but I caught the faint curve of a smile as he turned toward the door.
The bell over the butcher’s door gave a last jingle as we stepped out. The air felt sharper than when we walked in.
Without a word, Liam leaned in and tugged my scarf higher, looping it once around my neck. His fingers brushed my jaw.
“Next stop,” he said, already glancing down the block. “We need bread. Can’t have osso buco without it.”
I fell into step beside him, the scarf warm against my skin, aware of the lingering warmth where his hand had been a moment ago.
The elevator doors slid shut, the quiet settling between us.
“Mind if we eat earlier tonight?” Liam asked, pressing the button for our floor. “I’ve got to head out after. Some of the guys are going to the children’s hospital.”
So… we’re still doing dinner.
“Sure,” I said. “Just tell me what time and I can help set the table.”
