Page 32 of Best Kind of Trouble
“Yes?” he says dryly, and there it is. That horrible, beautiful smile.
“Iknewyou’d be smiling at me like that,” I say, only realizing after the words come out that I must sound like a psychopath.
“Would you prefer it if I frowned?” He tugs me out of theway so a couple of people with sour-lemon expressions can pass us.
“I don’t think so. You’re a bit scary when you frown.”
“I take that as a compliment,” he says, then wheels me around so I’m facing the right direction. I feel like a doll again, being set onto a path.
“Of course you do,” I mutter sulkily.
Somehow his arm ends up woven through mine, and since I’m still unsteady on my feet, I don’t complain.
You’re not drunk. You’re just slightly tipsy. It’ll pass. Everything passes. Think about a river flowing along. The water?—
I stumble over a shriveled slice of pizza lying in the middle of the sidewalk.
“At least it wasn’t dogshit,” Liam reflects as we continue walking. “That happened to me on a date when I was a teenager. I was looking into her eyes, the way Hannah said I was supposed to, and I stepped into dogshit in the middle of the sidewalk and slid and fell right onto my ass. She fell with me.Intothe dogshit.”
I laugh in surprise. “Why are you telling me this?”
He shrugs, but I think I already know the answer. He’s trying to make me feel better about drinking myself silly on bad whiskey.
Warmth fills me, and I feel stronger. Though not more sober, if I’m being perfectly honest. I think I must have had three or four glasses of whiskey.
We walk in silence for another couple of minutes, passing a sad-looking Santa Claus, to whom I give a dollar, and a busker playing Christmas music. Then Liam surprises me by asking, “Do you like your father?”
“Excuse me?” I ask, shifting my head to look at him.
“Eyes forward, boss. Remember what happened to me on that date all those years ago. We learn from our mistakes.”
“Do we?” I ask with a bitter laugh.
You’d think I would have learned my lesson after Melly took my doll. But then Theresa and Jonah came along, proving I hadn’t.
“We do,” Liam says firmly, pausing on the sidewalk and meeting my gaze. “You’ve learned from them whether you realize it or not.”
“I don’t know if I agree with that,” I mumble, hugging myself against a sudden chill. “But to answer your question about my father…I don’t think he’s the kind of person people like.”
He gives me a knowing smile that makes me angry for reasons I couldn’t begin to guess at.
“I can tell what you’re thinking, and that’s not what I meant,” I say, exasperated. “He’s…impressive.” I wave a hand. “He’s got that recipe.”
He steers me to the edge of the sidewalk, close to the building storefront, so a group of people can pass us. I lean against the cool stone, and he leans right next to me, his big body blocking the wind.
“The recipe that never changes?” he says from several inches above my head. I wonder if I’d hear an echo if I leaned in and pressed my ear to his chest.
Looking up into his brown eyes, I say, “It’s a pretty good recipe. He’s made a lot of money using it.”
“Money’s not the only thing that matters.”
“It is to him.” I hesitate, remembering my father’s dinner invitation. “He wants to meet you.”
He smiles. “You’re already telling your parents about me?”
Startled, I nearly lose my balance, but I realize he’s just giving me a hard time. A Moroney family specialty, it seems. I guess it’s kind of nice that he feels he can adopt the same friendly, teasing dynamic that Hannah and I share.
“Yes. He wants you to come to dinner next Friday, but I’m going to make up some kind of excuse.”
