Page 26 of Booked for the Holidays
“That one’s going on my screensaver.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I finally manage to slide off his back and reach for his phone, but he pulls it up and away.
“You’re not keeping that. Give it to me!”
He grins wider, backing toward the door that leads to my apartment. “Not a chance. You’re going to want it later.”
The only reason I’d want it later is so I can print it out and draw devil horns on Liam’s head.
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” I leap, trying to snatch his phone.
Thankfully, the wide awning above us has kept this patch of sidewalk clear of snow, giving me enough traction to jump and lunge like a woman on a mission.
What follows is probably ridiculous to anyone walking by: me jumping and lunging, him dodging and blocking with his freehand while laughing like a smug, aggravating man who knows he’s got the upper hand.
“You haven’t even seen the photo. It’s really good.”
Finally, I catch his wrist and tackle him against the doorframe—hard enough that the glass inset rattles and we’re both breathless.
He grins down at me, our faces inches apart. “Careful, Firefly. You keep pinning me against walls, I might start getting ideas.”
My cheeks flame at his teasing, but my task isn’t complete, so I focus on twisting the phone from his grip and pull up the photo.
“Got it,” I say, triumphant yet winded.
“Give it back,” Liam says, tone low and smug behind me. “You’re going to regret it.”
I ignore him, thumb flying to the last image. And then, I freeze.
It’s devastating. Annoyingly perfect. The snow swirling gently around us, my cheeks flushed, arms looped around his neck as I press close. I’m smiling—genuinely smiling—like I’m lost in thought but loving every minute of the ride. And Liam’s grinning like I’ve always belonged there.
It’s warm. Romantic. Aesthetically ideal. Like the kind of picture people put on engagement announcements and Pinterest vision boards.
I love it…but I don’t want to.
Scowling, I hit delete. “Nope. Absolutely not.”
Liam just smirks, totally unbothered.
“What?” I narrow my eyes.
He shrugs, casually brushing snow from his coat. “It’s already backed up.”
My mouth drops. “You didn’t.”
“Synced to the cloud. And messaged to myself.” He shrugs, grinning. “That photo is a masterpiece. There was no way I was trusting your trigger-happy delete finger.”
“You are such a?—”
“Genius? Romantic? Devastatingly charming man?”
I shove the phone into his chest, trying to hide the fact that I’m flustered. And hating the fact that a simple photo is derailing all the progress I made moving past my feelings for Liam.
But it’s not just the photo. He still hasn’t said anything. No apology. No explanation. No declaration. Just maddeningly charming grins and a thousand mixed signals.
I don’t like being played with, especially not by someone who already burned me once. If he wants something from me, he’s going to have to use actual words. Otherwise, I’ll keep my heart right where it is. Safe behind the wall I built after he rejected me last Christmas.
