Page 86 of Booked for the Holidays
But I don’t have to wonder long. Liam slows us to a stop in front of the old Wild Fern storefront. The one that’s under construction to become a wine bar.PourChoiceswine bar.
My mind catches on that thought like a hook.
PourChoices.
The late-night forum replies that always made me feel less alone. The soft nudges to trust myself. The wayPourChoicessomehow knew exactly what to say to make me braver. Like he knew me. All the tiny, hidden, hopeful parts.
I turn to him, breath puffing in the cold air.“Liam…”There are a hundred questions in that single syllable, but only one answer I’m really asking for.
His mouth tips slightly, like he’s been waiting for me to put it together.
“You’rePourChoices.” The words come out low, like saying them too loud might break the spell.
Something shifts in his expression—not guilt exactly, but something heavier. “Yeah.” His voice is rough, like it costs him to say it.
“You could’ve just told me.”
He gives a small, almost rueful smile. “I didn’t know how. After that night?—”
The words spark the memory before I can stop it. Christmas Eve. Sitting together on my bed, his body warm beside mine as he read through my business proposal. The way his gaze kept dropping to my mouth. That kiss—soft, then deep—until I whispered what I wanted next. How fast his warmth had vanished when he’d stood, fumbling for an excuse that wouldn’t wreck me. The dull ache in my tailbone where I’d landed on the rug, matching the sharper one in my chest.
He exhales, pulling me back to the present. “I thought I’d ruined everything. But I couldn’t stay away. So, I found a way to be near you, even if it meant hiding behind a stupid screen name.”
The key in my palm suddenly feels like more than brass and weight—it’s a map of all the quiet ways he’s been here. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow, tender, and impossibly intimate. My chest tightens at the simple contact.
I glance at him, the questions still unspoken, and he gives the barest shrug, eyes soft and earnest. “I wanted to be part of your world, even if I wasn’t sure you’d let me.”
“Even if it meant all the secrets?” I whisper, almost to myself, but sharp enough for him to hear.
He nods, letting a shiver of confession pass between us. “Every one of them. I fell for you somewhere along the way. And I had no idea how to handle that. So, I hid.”
I look at the little brass key in my palm, my brain still processing his confession.
It was him.
He’s been here all along. Not just next door, but inside every message, every push, every time I needed someone to sayyou can do this.
My eyes flick from the key to him and back.Liam is PourChoices.
This wine bar is his. His messages. His plan. All of it tied up in one small, shiny key.
“Go on,” he says, so gentle I almost melt right there on the sidewalk.
I slide the key into the lock and turn. It sticks for half a second, like it’s testing me, then clicks open.
Inside, the smell of Wild Fern is gone. No more soil and wet leaves or the faint whiff of overwatered mint.
It smells like fresh paint and oak and new beginnings. The pendant lights glow soft gold against deep green walls. Shelves line one side, already stocked with wine bottles that catch the light. The dark walnut bar gleams under soft brass fixtures. A mural stretches across the far wall—delicate vines curling and twisting up toward the ceiling like they’re alive.
But it’s the sign that steals my breath:Juniper & Grove.
My name. His name. Tied together so soft and certain it makes my heart knock against my ribs.
I run my fingers over the brass inlay of the letters to make sure they’re real. They’re warm under the soft lights. Warm like him, like the way he feels pressed up against my back in the morning. Steady and solid and so impossibly here.
I turn to face him. He’s leaning back against the bar, watching me like he’s bracing for the part where I run. Or cry. Maybe both.
“So you’re staying.” It slips out like a secret I’ve been afraid to hope for.
