Page 64 of Falling for Love

“So, what did you do today?” I asked, trying to shift things to safety so I didn’t keep staring at him and blowing my cover.

“Oh, the usual. Worked with the rescues, fixed some fencing, pretended I wasn’t fantasizing about you.”

“What a life,” I teased, not realizing he’d come up behind me.

When I spun around, he was so close. His eyes fastened on mine.

“But I couldn’t get you out of my head.” Liam’s voice was gruff and low, filled with something I hadn’t expected.

“Really?” My heart pounded in my chest. “That had to be annoying.”

His lips turned up at the corners. “Not in the slightest.”

I chuckled nervously, afraid that we’d kiss. That we wouldn’t kiss.

Hayden poked his head out of his room, drawn by the sound of our laughter.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his eyes lighting up when he saw Liam.

Liam took a step back and grinned at my son.

The tension between us still sizzling through the air.

“Your mom almost wiped out trying to kiss me,” Liam said, earning a gasp and a mortified look from me.

“Liam!” I protested, but Hayden was already giggling.

“Mom, you’re so clumsy,” he said, shaking his head. “I believe it.”

“Thanks for the support, Bud,” I said dryly, though I couldn’t help but smile.

Hayden returned to the other room, and I pretended to give Liam a dirty look.

“Do you have something in your eye?” he teased.

“Very funny.”

“It’s true, though. Right?” he asked, taking a step closer.

“Is what true?”

“You wanted to kiss me.”

“Your lips are soft.” I turned back to the stove and dumped the pasta into the water. “But that doesn’t mean I’m trying to kiss them at every turn.”

Liam stood by the counter, watching me grab the pot of spaghetti with a smirk that made me raise an eyebrow.

“What?” I asked, stirring the pasta as a few minutes passed.

The room felt electrified, and I knew it had nothing to do with the spaghetti.

“Nothing,” he said, clearly lying, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “I’m just impressed. You really have this spaghetti thing down to an art.”

I snorted, draining the pasta.

“It’s boiling water and pasta. Not exactly a Michelin-star experience.” I stirred olive oil into the pasta.

“Oh, come on,” he said, stepping closer and pretending to inspect the noodles. “This is some top-tier work. The water-to-pasta ratio? Perfect. Not too al dente, not too mushy. You’ve got skills, Evie.”

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