Page 46 of The Design of Goodbye
chapter eighteen
Saturday morning, my dad paced the kitchen as he agonized over what to make Liam for dinner. He worried whether Liam liked tomatoes, if he was allergic to shellfish, and if he preferred basil or mint in his salad. I wasn’t sure what my dad thought Liam and I talked about, but it wasn’t our herb preferences. I was relieved when he finally settled on a meal—feta cranberry salad, apple cheddar burgers with crisped onions, sweet potato fries, and pecan pie bars.
After my dad left for The Fresh Market, I bundled myself up in my warmest coat and waited outside for Liam. Winter was my favorite time of year, so I took any opportunity I had to sit outside.
As I waited for Liam, I flipped through one of my mom’s sketchbooks. My mom hadn’t been an organized person, so I’d spent the last week looking through every drawer, cabinet, and storage bin for all her sketchbooks. Now, over thirty sketchbooks overflowed a corner in the sewing room, waiting for me to choose the four sketches for my collection. As I flipped through the pages, I marked her favorites. She had a lot, so while this narrowing-down thing wasn’t going as smoothly as I’d hoped, I was determined. The process would be long and tedious, but it would be worth it.
I was so absorbed in my deliberation, I didn’t notice Liam arrive until I heard a gruff, “Hey.”
Cheeks red and lips chapped from the cold, he was holding a Buzz cup and standing next to his bike, which had a very flat tire.
“What happened?” I walked over to him. “Did you bike over something?”
“I don’t think so.”
I gestured for him to follow me into my garage. There, he set down his stuff, took his gloves off, and inspected the flat.
“Do you want to try and fix it?” I asked. “My dad has lots of weird tools in here.”
“That’s okay.” He stood. “The tire’s shredded. I need a new one.”
“What are you going to do?”
He took his helmet off and ran his fingers through his hair, making him look disheveled.
I kind of liked it. Okay, I liked it a lot.
Resigned, he said, “I’ll deal with it later.”
I wasn’t sure when later would be, but I didn’t ask because he was obviously stressed. He grabbed his stuff, followed me into my house, and set his coffee on my dining room table.
Then I was staring...
He was taking off his jacket, exposing a frayed red hoodie and worn black jeans. His outfit was simple, but he looked so good. Especially with the disheveled hair and still-red cheeks and—
“Madison?”
I froze like I’d been caught sneaking cookies. Had he noticed I’d beenstaring?
“The coffee’s for you,” he said.
“Me?” I glanced at the coffee. “Why’d you get me coffee?”
“To make you feel better.”
Those five words threaded through my veins, my bones, my broken heart, and pieced me back together.
“It does. Thank you.” I grabbed the coffee, letting the aroma of pumpkin spice surround me. “I can’t believe you bike one-handed.”
“It’s not hard. Well,” he added, “it’s normally not. Unless you count a few minutes ago, when I got a flat tire and almost fell on my face.” He pointed to my coffee. “It’s a miracle I didn’t drop that.”
I hugged the coffee to my chest. “That’s exactly why biking is the most dangerous recreational activity ever invented.”
“Says who?” he asked.
“Saysme.”
He leaned against my table and crossed his legs at his ankles. “More dangerous than kayaking?”
