Page 99 of Veiled in Brick

“Y’know, it wasn’t my turn to keep track of him,” my mother replied, walking just past Liam to yell around the corner and into the living room, “Chris!” There was a murmuring of my father’s voice from the opposite end of the kitchen. She turned on her heel, muttering, “Be right back,” and strolled past me and Liam, then Luke and Claire, and walked down the hallway to the left of the island that led to a dining area and their master suite.

“Both your parents are named Chris?” Liam asked curiously.

I chuckled. “Yup. Guess I never mentioned it—Chris and Christine. Want me to show you around?”

Liam exhaled softly. “Lead the way.”

I slowly walked Liam through the property. Showed him all six bedrooms including where my mother had slated for him to sleep for the night. Ambled with him in the backyard, the view of the lake reflecting the orange-tinged sky as we stepped along. Introduced him to my father who, in typical Chris fashion, greeted him with a stiff smile, evaluated Liam with narrowed eyes beneath his glasses, and gave him a curt handshake.

My father was far shorter than Liam—about five-foot-nine to Liam’s six-foot-three. A man who enjoyed the great indoors, my father was pale, blonde like the rest of us, slimly built, and enjoyed a good pair of khakis. He was, to say the least, nowhere near intimidating. However, Liam practically took a step backward underneath my father’s scrutinizing gaze, and I saw what I could only describe as the fear of God in his chocolate eyes.

I snorted as my dad walked away from us, his narrow shoulders bobbing along as he bounced on the pads of his feet back to the house.

“Does, ah—does your dad not like you being around men?” Liam asked gently, focusing on my father leaving us and rapidly returning to the house.

I shot him an inquisitive glance. “You know I haven’t brought men home.”

We strolled through the grass, headway for the kitchen to join the others, and Liam shrugged.

“Yeah, I know.” He held up his index and middle finger, pointing them both at his eyes as he noted, “He’s just got this look.”

“Yeah,” I stretched out the word, “that’s just how he is.”

“Just how he is?”

“It takes my dad a bit to open up; I wouldn’t take it personally. He comes across as a grump to about…ninety-eight percent of people until you get to know him better,” I noted, and Liam hummed as if the thought were intriguing to him. I asked, “What?”

“So, you take after both of your parents, then,” he muttered with a smile.

I shoved his shoulder, and he laughed as I returned, “Oh come on, I don’t do that!”

“Oh, yes, you do,” Liam replied.

“You’re telling me that I was like that when we first met?” I challenged. “We were friends within, like, two seconds flat.”

Liam tapped on his chest. “I’m the two percent,” he said with a broad grin.

I rolled my eyes as hard as I could manage, though I knew that there was some truth to his words.

There was still no significant word from James. He had texted, of course, to alert us to the non-news that there were hours upon hours of footage depicting a near-still image of my front door. I tried not to let that thought diminish any relief that I had obtained in the past few hours. It was difficult to do so—but not impossible, for the world that I had slipped away to was one that set my mind at a blissful ease.

We ate pasta in the dining room. My mother opened a bottle of red wine. We made idle chit-chat about our jobs. Luke and Claire told their most riveting tale from behind the bar which, thankfully, had nothing to do with the slap incident. I mentioned Brenda’s forgetfulness when it came to, well, anything, to which my mother replied, “That does happen after you have kids. Thanks, by the way.” Liam had gained enough confidence by the end of our meal to briefly mention his last construction job, stated that people tend to speed by on the highway as you work, and quipped that it makes you fear for your life as he took a rather large sip of wine. Chris—my mother, Chris—asked if he’s always worked in construction, Liam mentioned his school curriculum, and my father actually smiled when Liam said that his major is in elementary education.

The hours passed. I helped my mother with the dishes. She quietly whispered in my ear, asking, “So, the blonde boy is important, yes?” I shot her a glare that told her not to pry, and she muttered something along the lines of, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

We all inevitably wandered to our own beds—Luke and Claire bunking together and Liam and me separately, and though I was laying under plush blankets that would have kept me plenty warm by the end of the night, I lacked the comfort that my childhood bedroom typically provided. I had spent nearly an hour tossing and turning, unable to sleep as I itched for a supplemental source of warmth. Nothing would do, though, because the problem wasn’t that I was cold. It was that I was yearning for a body—a very specific body…and once I came to that conclusion, it didn’t take me long to get up from my bed and walk into the room that just so happened to share a wall with mine.

I opened the door and before I could even see him, I heard that he was already snoring softly. I walked on the pads of my feet so as not to wake him, eyeing him as he snoozed. The room was cold, the fan above cranking away at a rapid pace, and the ivory quilt on the bed was pulled all the way up to his shoulders. He laid on his left side, his mouth open, quiet breaths wisping through his lips, and he looked so comfortable that I almost considered leaving altogether. Almost.

I lifted the blanket with care, climbed in, and buried my head in his chest. The hair there scratched my cheeks, I smiled at the sensation, and I trailed a hand over his waist and to his back. The intoxicating smell of him along with the comfort of his presence, a comfortable bed, the quiet ambiance of a running fan, and my tired eyes was a combination that proved to have an effect on me that was so satisfying, it was dizzying. I nuzzled into him once, squeezed my grip on his back briefly, and as I relaxed my arm, his slow breath hitched. His entire body flinched as he came to, and I chuckled gently.

Liam hummed, wrapping an arm around me, and he let out a happy sigh. His fingers grazed along my back, brushing underneath my top, and I stretched into his touch.

He muttered in my ear, “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

The husky way that he said it made a slow heat settle between my thighs, and I couldn’t help but laugh softly in return. As enticing as the insinuation behind his words was, it wasn’t what I was intending to do in the least.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

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