Page 65 of Booked for the Holidays
I laugh, because it’s ridiculous. Because Beck is charming in the way younger siblings of heartbreakers always are:unbothered, bold, and just chaotic enough to make things interesting.
But when I glance across the table again, I nearly choke on my sip of wine.
Liam’s jaw is tight. His knuckles are white around his fork. His eyes—those dark, stormy, steady eyes—are locked on me with a look that could melt fresh snow.
Beck leans closer, stage-whispering in my ear. “He’s going to throw a dinner roll at me.”
I snort.
Liam doesn’t throw a dinner roll.
But he does lean forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, and says in a deceptively casual tone, “You always go for the ones who hide behind jokes?”
Beck grins. “Sheusedto.”
Liam’s eyes never leave mine. “That so?”
My cheeks heat, but I hold his gaze. “Beck’s just entertaining me.”
Liam lifts his glass. “Well, let me know when you’re ready to be done with the warm-up act.”
Beck clutches his chest. “Wounded.”
I smile into my wineglass. Because I can feel the fire now crackling between us, consuming all the space between right now and the night ahead.
I glance across the table again, and Liam’s still watching me.
Not just watching—claiming. Quietly, steadily, like he already knows how this ends and he’s just waiting for me to realize it, too.
And something about it—the tension, the hunger, the fact that I’m no longer the only one feeling all of it—sends a pulse of heat through me so sharp I have to shift in my seat.
Last year at this time, I was trying not to cry into my cocoa while Cassie kept the snacks and romcoms flowing.
Liam had crushed me.
Now?
He’s watching me like he wants to ruin me—in the best way.
And I’m enjoying it.
The control. The flirtation. The fact that I’m not the only one caught in this web anymore.
This is my revenge arc. My holiday rom-com power play. And the best part?
Liam has no idea I’m just getting started.
I tuck my hair behind my ear and lean toward Beck slightly—just enough to make Liam’s eye twitch—and whisper, “So what’s your stance on mistletoe?”
Across the table, Liam’s fork clinks against his plate like a warning bell.
And for the first time in a year, I feel like I’m the one in control.
TWENTY-ONE
LIAM
I’m barely holdingit together as I park the car in front of Juniper’s flat.
