Page 78 of Best Kind of Trouble
My inner critic whispers,This is the problem with you, Briar. You walk around falling in love with coats and men who don’t want you…
“Go home,” Liam says, his voice gravelly.
“You’re mad at me.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I reach for his arm. He’s only in a long-sleeved shirt now, buthe’s warm beneath it, and my fingers curl around him. “It matters to me.”
Emotion flickers through his eyes, but then his jaw hardens. “Of course. Because you want everyone to like you.”
“I wantyouto like me.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment, my hand still wrapped around his forearm, as if he might slip away if I let him go. I have the urge to pull him closer. To wrap us both up in the coat as if it has the power to hide us from the world.
“I wouldn’t say liking you is the problem, Princess,” he finally says. “I like you just fine.”
“I have faith in you,” I say. “Please believe me.Please.”
He takes a step toward me, and my whole body reorients itself, tipping toward him. My breath freezes in my lungs. It’s the way he’s looking at me…
“I like hearing you say please,” he finally says, his voice thick with meaning.
“Please.”
His hand lifts to my face, his rough fingers tracing my jawline. For a moment, I’m sure he’s going to do it—he’s going to kiss me right here, out on the street where anyone can see us—but he lowers his hand. I see it ball at his side, and then he steps back.
My gaze tracks his Adam’s apple as it bobs in his throat. “You were making the best decision for the brewery. I get that. I shouldn’t have taken it personally.” He pauses. “Your father issued me my very own invitation to your family dinner tomorrow night.”
“He did?” I ask, feeling raw. Not surprised, though. My father has always preferred dealing with men.
“He did. I assume he got my information from your godfather. You know, I thought lawyers were supposed to keep things confidential, but notgood oldUncleJohn.”
“I’ll talk to my dad about the organic certification. You don’t have to come,” I say, full of nervous energy at the thought. I don’t like that Liam’s upset with me, but pity is so much worse than anger. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
He gives me a slow perusal, ending on my eyes. His voice hoarse, he says, “There are a lot of things I want but can’t have too.”
“I’m not going with you,” I insist. “I don’t want them to think?—”
“Oh, it wouldn’t cross their minds that you’d slum it with someone like me,” he says with a harsh laugh.
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I’m proud of how detached I sound, particularly since my heart is practically beating its way out of my chest. “They won’t take me seriously if…I won’t go over there with you.”
“That’s okay,” he says with a bemused smile. “I can make my own way. Maybe I’ll take my bicycle.”
I clench my jaw. “You do that.”
He turns to walk away, and I remember with a start that I’m still wearing his coat. He must be freezing in that shirt.
“Liam, your coat!”
He peers back at me, his lips quirked up. “Keep it. It looks better on you.” His lips inch up further. “In fact, wear it tomorrow night if you’d like. We’ll give them something to talk about.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LIAM
I’m not going to admit this to anyone, particularly not Dottie, but when I check the beer’s gravity in the morning, and it’s exactly where it needs to be, I decide there’s something to be said for singing and crystals and chasing luck like it’s a leprechaun.
