Page 68 of The Design of Goodbye
“I braked,” he explained, putting his backpack and helmet on. “My front tire hit the curb.”
If I wasn’t so cold, I would’ve shivered. “This is exactly why I don’t bike. That sounds terrifying.”
“It wasn’t that bad. I’m okay.”
He didn’t sound or look it. He was still overcome with shivers, arms wrapped around himself in a useless attempt to get warm.
“That Wesco’s pretty far from Gary’s,” I said. “Isn’t there one a few blocks from the auto shop?”
“I don’t go to that one,” he snapped. He hadn’t meant his tone. I could see it in the apology written across his face before he had time to mutter, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “What were you going to get there?”
“Food.” He stood his bike up. “Do you want me to walk you home?”
“No,” I said, glancing around the familiar surroundings. I wanted him to so we could keep talking, but he was freezing, and I didn’t want him taking a detour before he could warm up. “I walk in this area all the time.”
“You sure?” He got on his bike but kept one foot on the ground.
I nodded. “Are you going home now?”
He shook his head. “Gas station’s still the plan.”
“But you’re covered in mud. You’re going to get sick.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, sounding more confident than I felt. “They have a bathroom. I’ll clean up there.”
This whole situation seemed strange and definitely not right. “If you’re not going home, then you’re coming to my house.”
He gaped at me like I’d attempted some difficult math problem and gotten it right. “It’s one in the morning.”
“Exactly. You shouldn’t be biking all the way to the gas station freezing and looking like that.” I pointed to his dirty clothes and face. “And youreallyneed a shower. I have one of those.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I don’t think you realize how much mud is on you.”
A few moments of contemplative silence passed before he asked, “What about your dad?”
“We’ll be quiet, but he’d understand,” I said honestly. “And in case you forgot, I have food. Chili.”
“The chili your dad was cooking earlier?”
I hummed in agreement. “There’s homemade bread, too.” I was surprised when he hopped off his bike. “You’re coming?”
“Did you really think I was going to pass on your dad’s chili for some Wesco chicken tenders?”
chapter twenty-five
I was heating chili on the stove when Liam walked into the kitchen. He was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, and his hair was still damp fromhis shower.
Sweatpants weredefinitelygrowing on me.
“You smell like lilacs,” I said when he stood next to me.
“That would be your fault. It was the only scent to choose from, which I found impressive, considering how many bottles of product you have.”
“It’s my favorite scent.”
