Page 26 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
“That’s not you,” I say without hesitation.
She glances at me, surprised. “No?”
“No,” I say again, firmer this time. “You’re stubborn, yeah, but you’re passionate. You care. You step into people’s messes and fix things like it’s your calling. You fight for other people’s happy endings even when yours is falling apart.”
Her expression softens, something unguarded flickering behind her eyes. “And that’s a good thing?”
I glance over and catch her gaze. “It’s agreatthing. Nick is an idiot.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then, more to the window than to me, she murmurs, “Funny. He always made me feel like I was too much. Like I took up too much space.”
I shake my head. “That’s not on you. That’s on him. People like that? They see someone bright and loud and full of color and it scares the hell out of them. So they try to dim that light, but it’s not meant to shrink. It’s meant to burn.”
She blinks fast, and I can see the shine in her eyes. Not quite tears, but close.
“Thanks, Liam,” she whispers. “That actually means a lot.”
The sign for the dry cleaner comes into view as the sun starts to dip low enough to streak gold across the dashboard. The neon “OPEN” flickers once, then goes dark.
“Shit,” I mutter, already throwing the truck into park. “Stay here.”
I hop out and jog to the front door, waving both arms like I’m trying to hail a lifeguard, not a dry cleaner. The guy inside—mid-fifties, thinning hair, wearing a crisp white shirt and the look of a man who’sdonefor the day—glances up, already turning the deadbolt.
“Wait! Please—don’t lock it yet!” I shout through the glass.
He pauses, eyebrows lifting in suspicion. I reach the door, breathless. “Look, I know you’re closing, but I’ve got a situation.”
He cracks the door an inch. “We’re done for the day, buddy.”
“I know, I know, but hear me out. There’s a wedding. There’s a dress. There’s… red wine.A lotof red wine.”
He grimaces. “Yikes.”
I jab my thumb toward the truck. “It’s in the back seat. The bride’s currently melting down, the bridesmaid’s probably in therapy now, and this—this—is our Hail Mary.”
He eyes me for a long second. “You’re not the groom, are you?”
“No. Just the emergency response team.”
He exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s weighing the life choices that led him to this exact moment.
“We’re closed.”
Shit. If we aren’t able to drop this dress off, who knows if it’ll get cleaned in three days? It’s a big stain. Plus, I don’t want Maya or Danielle to be stressing about this when they should be focusing on actually enjoying these next few days. I glance back at the truck, then lower my voice. “I’ll make it worth your while. Cash. Coffee. A handwritten thank-you card. A statue in your honor—whatever it takes. Please, man. If you save this dress, you save a wedding, and possibly prevent a bridesmaid from fleeing the country.”
He gives me a long, dry look. “A statue?”
“Bronze. Life-size. Maybe even with a cape.”
Then he sighs—long and theatrical—before swinging the door wide.
“Show me the damage.”
I nearly fist-pump. “You’re a hero. A legend. A lifesaver.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, grabbing his keys again. “Let’s go see what kind of disaster you’ve got in that back seat.”
He follows me back to the truck, grumbling under his breath.
