Page 27 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
Maya’s already climbed into the back seat to hover over the dress like it’s a wounded animal. The gown’s spread out delicately across the seat, that violent splash of burgundy still blooming across the bodice.
Maya looks up as we approach, her eyes wide with hope and barely restrained panic.
“This is Maya,” I say. “She’s the one running point on this rescue mission.”
The dry cleaner, whose name tag reads “ALVIN,” peers in and lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That’s not a splash, that’s a massacre.”
Maya winces. “It was malbec.”
He nods, as if this makes it worse. “Of course it was.”
She moves back to let him examine it closer, wringing her hands. “Can it be fixed?”
Alvin runs his fingers above the fabric without touching it, his eyes narrowing. After a long moment, he stands and exhales.
“It’s gonna be tough. That’s delicate fabric, and with red wine…” He trails off.
Maya bites her lip. “But not impossible?”
He scratches the back of his head. “Not impossible, but I’m gonna need time. You’re lucky you caught me when you did.”
I whip out my wallet. “Whatever it costs, we’ll cover it.”
Alvin waves me off. “Put that away, Moneybags. I didn’t come back out here for a bribe. I came out because I’ve been married thirty-two years. I know what this kind of panic feels like. Especially when it’s someone you care about.”
I glance at Maya. She’s staring at him with barely contained adoration.
“I’ll do what I can,” Alvin says, lifting the dress gently. “No promises, but if I can pull this off, it’ll be ready by tomorrow morning.”
“You’re amazing,” Maya breathes.
“I know,” he says, turning toward the shop. “But I expect that statue to have heroic cheekbones.”
As he disappears inside with the dress, Maya and I stand there in the parking lot, both of us a little stunned. The fluorescent streetlights above buzz faintly. There’s a soft breeze. The tension that’s been clinging to her shoulders all day finally seems to ease.
“I can’t believe he’s doing it,” she murmurs.
“He’s a sucker for a good cause,” I say. “And maybe a little flattery.”
She turns to me, her voice quieter. “You didn’t have to do any of this, Liam. You just showed up. No hesitation.”
I shrug, suddenly shy under her gaze. “You sounded like you needed backup.”
“I did,” she says. “And I think—” Her voice catches slightly. “I think I’m not used to people showing up for me like that. Not without expecting something in return.”
I reach for her hand without thinking, and when our fingers touch, it’s like something locks into place—subtle, warm, steady.
“I’m not people,” I say softly.
She blinks at me, eyes a little glossy. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “No. You’re not. I think… I think you see me in a way Nick never did.”
That lands square in the center of my chest and stays there, solid and warm and real.
“I always have,” I admit.
She squeezes my hand, just once, before stepping away to get back into the truck.
My heart is hammering, my fingers tingling from her touch.
