Page 133 of Debt of My Soul

An elongated, startling shadow moves off the front steps, and I yelp. The bag in my hand drops, and the crack of eggs on the pavement is drowned out by the roar in my ears.

A rough voice that goes straight to my chest and makes my head fuzzy booms, “See, now we have to go get more eggs.”

Chapter 51

Liam

Fleur is beautiful and currently frazzled. She’s stunned into silence, but she could be mute and paralyzed and still be the most gorgeous woman.

“Liam?”

Her voice. I close my eyes and inhale at the sound.

I’m a man obsessed.

After I returned to Ruin, I took my grandfather’s advice to wait and give Fleur some space. But after a couple weeks, I was done waiting.

I missed her presence. Her in my stupid old hat. Her in my truck with the window down, the wind flicking her signature braid over her shoulder. I’ve longed to hear her laughter or listen to her snarky comments. To see her face redden when she’s embarrassed or frustrated, highlighting her freckled nose and cheeks.

But nothing compares to those piercing gray eyes that seem to see right through me, down to my very soul. I was hooked the first time she glared at me through her jeep window while I passed her on my bike.

Having Fleur in my life was my salvation, and there is no life without her.

Yep. There was no more waiting. I was going to get my wife.

I had no idea how she would take me being here. I still have no clue, but I know she belongs with me.

Chapter 52

Fleur

Liam is here. At first, I fear I’m seeing things. That my mind has conjured him up from all the memories of him in the grocery store. Like it’s a cruel trick and this man is actually a creepy stranger that my brain has morphed into a blissfully unaware daydream.

“Liam?”

“Hi.”

Hi. One word and it takes my breath away. His voice is smooth and comforting. My body hums, immediately recognizing him as home.

He takes a few steps toward me, and the streetlight casting a bright light on the sidewalk illuminates him. He’s in his staple black jeans and a pullover sweatshirt, not nearly enough layers for the December Michigan weather.

His hair is pulled back in a bun, and I want to run my fingers through his freshly trimmed beard. He looks good. Too good …

Glancing down at my yoga pants and oversized puffy coat, I’m sure I look ridiculous.

Liam’s eyes rake over me, but it’s not disgust or anger I sense from him. It’s relief. He shivers.

“I’m sure this weather isn’t something you’re used to,” I say, bending down to pick up my bag of now cracked eggs.

A boot comes into my view, and I look up at him. His gaze snags on the cookies and cream ice cream in my bag.

“I’m not cold.”

Oh.

Liam reaches a hand down, and I take it, sparks tickling every point of touch. He’s right in front of me now and suddenly nothing else matters.

“H-how are you here?”

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