Page 14 of Hate To Love You
What he finds is Teague crouched down next to the child.
“You lost, little guy?” he asks. The child, all snot and sniffles and puffy eyes, nods. “You here with Mommy?” The child nods again. “Mmm, y’know what? I bet she’s in the candy aisle picking you out something sweet. Should we check?” The child’s answer is wiping the entire length of his arm across his wet, dripping nose. Teague seems entirely unfazed as he accepts that for a yes, then takes the kid’s hand (snot and all) and walks off. “Mommy …?” Teague calls out. “Mommy, are you there? Hey, little buddy, want to help me out? We’ll find her quicker if you help me. Try calling out ‘mommy’ in your funniest voice. Can you do that? Do you know what a duck sounds like? Mommy-mommy, quack-quack!” Inexplicably, the little boy laughs through his tears as the two of them turn the corner.
Liam watched the whole exchange from the other end of the aisle, utterly mystified.
And oddly touched.
He’s never seen this side of Teague before.
“Ugh, remember who he is,” mutters Liam to himself. Of course Teague is on a mission to find the mother; he’s probably just hoping the woman is a total babe. And if she’s not, then he’ll enjoy the meager consolation prize of being proclaimed a hero for the day. Everyone will be talking about it. That sounds exactly in line with what should be expected from an egomaniac like Teague.
But Liam can’t help wondering if he’s got the whole thing wrong.
Does he really know Teague at all?
It’s a Saturday afternoon just an hour before his shift is over when Liam is approached once again by a confused-faced Teague. “I just don’t get it,” he complains as he turns the jar over and over, showing Liam. “What in the heck does this weird expiration date mean? Last time I checked, there aren’t fifteen months in a year.”
Teague is standing very close to Liam. Yes, Liam notices. His whole body notices. “You’re reading it wrong.”
“Is it a code or something? I saw a bottle of mayo—or maybe it was relish?—that had an expiration day of C1. What in the ever-living crap is ‘C1’? Why’s it have to be a riddle?”
Liam can even smell Teague’s vexingly appealing deodorant. Again. “It isn’t a riddle.”
“Then what is it?”
Liam points at the number fifteen. “This isn’t the month. It’s the day. The month is here,” he says, jabbing a finger at the seven. “Zero-seven, for July. So 1507 is July 15, with the year right next to it. The C1 on the other bottle you mentioned is likely hexadecimal, which converts to 193, if my math is right, whichprobably refers to the day of the year—the 193rd day—which is roughly the middle of July as well.”
Teague turns his face to Liam, astounded. “You’re smart.”
Liam gazes back at him.
Their faces are always too close. Is this another one of his clever social skills? Standing too close to someone? Making them feel like the only human being that exists on the whole planet?
“Why do they have to beat around the bush like that?” asks Teague, a touch quieter. “Isn’t it better for the customers to just … get the date without all the confusing math?”
Liam finds himself disarmed utterly by their close proximity. “I … I don’t know.”
“Why’s it so difficult to just …” Teague’s lips are parted as he thinks. Liam’s eyes drop to them, lost in the sonic landscape of Teague’s smooth, melodic voice. “… say whatever it is … clearly?”
Liam tries to repeat himself, yet those three simple words—I don’t know—seem utterly unable to come out. His throat chokes them right back down, not daring to free them.
“Isn’t everyone tired of …” Teague’s handsome face contorts. Is it growing even closer to Liam’s? “… playing games?”
It’s suddenly too much.
Liam takes a step back, heel kicking against something. “I said I don’t know,” he answers somewhat tersely. “I guess you’ll have to … to write them a fucking letter or something.” He slaps the jar back into Teague’s palm, startling him, then turns and leaves.
Liam pushes through the swinging doors, nearly crashes into a stack of boxes, trips over his own foot and barely avoids falling flat on his face—damn his nervous clumsiness—then manages at last to slip into the employee bathroom where it’s silent. He locks the door, sits on the cold, blank toilet seat, and stares emptily at the featureless wall across from him.
His heart drums frantically in his chest, out of control.
Isn’t everyone tired of … playing games?
Liam aggressively rubs his head, as if to dislodge Teague’s voice from his sticky brain. But even being freed from the voice, he’s still trapped with the image of Teague’s face so close to his own. Teague’s funny-shaped lips parted and plush. The intensity of his warm chocolate eyes. How the flush of Teague’s cheeks seemed to burn like furnaces the closer their faces grew.
What in the hell is happening?
Liam keeps the door locked long after he’s relieved himself and washed his hands and taps away on his phone to his only solace this summer.
