Page 69 of Joy to Noel
“Short girl probs, dear Hammie,” I tell him as I climb down from the chair. I select some tan wedge sandals to add a few inches to my height tonight. I’ll make my lips slightly more accessible for Liam.
Liam better be taking us somewhere nice after I went to all this effort. If he drives us to the Deer River Bar, so help me.
After securing the straps of my sandals, I practice walking around the house. It’s been a while since I wore any sort of heel, and the last thing I want to do is trip while walking next to Liam. Although, if I trip, he would catch me, so that’s not such a loss after all. I just needto make sure he doesn’t catch me walking around inside with shoes on—Liam’s number one house no-no.
When I hear the sound of a car door, I bend down to remove my wedges and toss them over by the front door. My timing happens to coincide with Liam opening the door, and one of the sandals hits him in the shin.
“What? Why are you assaulting me with shoes? Is this because I wouldn’t say where we’re going?” he exclaims, looking at my sandals on the floor. The amused smile falls off his face when he looks up and sees me. His expression darkens as his eyes roam over me, and I’m shocked when he leaves his shoes on and crosses the room.
In the space of a breath, he strides over, possessively pulls me to him with a firm hand on my lower back, and claims my lips with his. My hands reflexively find the nape of his neck as he arches me backward.Who cares where we’re going tonight? Actually, do we evenneedto go anywhere? This kiss might be all the celebration I need for the day.
When Liam’s fingers start to thread through my hair, my senses snap back to attention, and I move my hands to his chest to push him away.
“No, sir. I spent precious time adding those curls to my hair for the night, so you’re not allowed to mess them up. At least, not until after the humidity ruins them,” I assert. With one hand, I give an exaggerated hair flip. “Please pause to appreciate the effort.”
Liam’s eyes drink me in as he says, “Trust me. I ammostappreciative.”
Now that I’m free of the spell his lips cast over me every time we kiss, I have the wherewithal to noticehisappearance. His sleeves are rolled, and the top button is undone on his black dress shirt—most likely due to the summer heat. Or he’s fully aware of the effect this look has on me, and he’s done it on purpose.
I suppose we’d be even, then.
“I was not accounting for that dress when I scheduled our dinner reservation, so we need to hurry if we’re going to make it on time now,” Liam says, tone still laced with attraction.
My cheeks heat, and I self-consciously smooth my hands down the skirt of my dress. Liam leans in to kiss my cheek and whispers, “You look stunning, in case my reaction didn’t make that clear.”
After I put my sandals on, Liam takes my hand and leads me out to his SUV. He opens the passenger door for me, then slides into the driver’s seat. It only takes a few minutes of driving to figure out that we are, indeed, leaving the town of Noel and heading in the direction of Bentonville. As we drive the thirty minutes to the “big” city, Liam asks more questions about Elizabeth’s email and my plans to capitalize on the potential momentum.
“So what are you going to do when you have more clients interested than you have open slots in your schedule? Work more hours to take on more clients or raise your prices to keep your schedule tighter?” Liam asks.
I snort. “I think you’re getting way ahead of things here. My booking calendar is not in any danger of filling up yet. I’m focusing on doing great work for the handful of clients I already have in the pipeline.”
“Well, that’s necessary, of course, but you have to keep the big picture in mind too. Plan for future growth,” Liam says. “You could always hire an assistant for a few hours a week to handle communications for you so you can focus on the proofreading work.”
His line of thinking has me sweating. I turn up the air conditioning.
“I don’t want to celebrate today’s success by freaking out over tomorrow’s problems. Let’s talk about you. Tell me something about College Liam,” I say. My suggestion is met with a frustrated groan. I poke him in the side as I toss him an easy question. “Who was your favorite professor and why?”
Liam starts drumming the steering wheel, a sure sign he’s thinking. Just like he said—he’s needed some help (i.e. very specific question prompts) to get him to share more personal information about himself. But hehasfollowed through and tried to be more open over the past few weeks.
It’s how I’ve learned that he was fiercely protective of Hana growing up, not wanting her to endure the same “other” feeling that he experienced. Despite the ten-year age gap between them, he took the role of protective older brother to extreme levels for the eight years they lived at home together. I pity the other kids in Hana’s grade.
I now know that his love for running started in middle school when he joined cross country and track. Although he still kept his teammatesat arm’s length, he found some level of camaraderie with the other runners. A team sport that’s largely based on individual performance seems to fit Liam’s personality pretty perfectly.
It required several very pointed questions on my part, but I found out that he hasn’t been back to London in about seven years—not since he started working for Holden. In the handful of years between college and starting at Holden, he only accompanied his parents and Hana on one annual visit forChuseok, a major holiday in Korea when families gather for a special meal, similar to American Thanksgiving.
Many teeth were pulled to get him to admit that he struggles feeling caught in the middle of the complicated family dynamics—traditional Korean familial roles clashing with independent American values. I’m honestly not sure he even recognized the reason he’s been avoiding visits until I pried the emotions out of him.
I’ve reciprocated with more farm life stories, outlandish tales of my former roommate, and more background about the nightmare of working for Chad. Liam also heard the short-story-long version of my history with Clara. How she was still just a copywriter when I arrived at WritInc, and she took me under her wing as the self-appointed sole welcoming committee member. How I latched on and refused to let her go until we were all-the-time best friends and not just work besties by the time she became the manager of the writing department. But Liam seemed to find particular amusement in the chronicles of High School Madison—like the time I discovered stolen answer keys to chemistry tests junior year and turned over the perpetrators to the teacher.
What can I say? Right and wrong matter—they’vealwaysmattered to me. Snitches get the moral high ground.
As we pull into a busy public parking lot in Bentonville, Liam is wrapping up his answer to my “who was your favorite college professor” question—his Entrepreneurship and Ideation professor who taught him the diverge/converge method of brainstorming. Such a Liam answer.
“Dr. Cox was a brilliant professor. So much of what he taught was useful and practical—I’ve implemented his strategies with justabout every company I’ve straightened out,” Liam says as he turns off the engine.
When I move my hand to the door handle, Liam reaches across and stops me. “Wait and let me get it,” he commands. I’m tempted to kiss him as he leans in so close to me, but I pretend to be annoyed instead.
He comes around and opens the door, holding a hand out to steady me as I step out of the SUV. I quip, “I could have opened my own door, you know.”
