Page 70 of Joy to Noel
Stepping a little closer, Liam threads his fingers through mine. “First of all, myhalmeoniraised me to honor and respect women, and my mother raised me to be a gentleman. But if that wasn’t reason enough, do you see that group of guys over there?” he asks, motioning his head to the side. There are several men locking their cars and walking our direction. Liam continues, “There’s no way I was going to let you open your own car door and give any of them a reason to think they could have a chance to charm you away from me.”
While gentleman Liam makes my heart warm, his possessive power move makes my blood heat to a boiling point. In lieu of openly fanning myself, I jest, “I don’t think you have any competition to be worried about.”
Liam cocks his head to one side. “Did you look at yourself in the mirror tonight? I absolutely have competition, and I absolutely will do whatever it takes to win. There’s no way I’m letting you go,” he says, skimming a strand of my hair between his finger and thumb.
“Well, the plethora of guys I dated in Kansas City would seem to disprove your competition claim,” I say.
His eyes spark. “Are you trying to make me jealous talking about the other guys you’ve dated? Because it’s working. I hate the idea of any guy but me being on the receiving end of that electric kiss.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m telling you—you have nothing to worry about. No guy ever lasted longer than a couple of dates before making excuses to never see me again.” I make the statement with a hefty dose of nonchalant dismissal in my tone, but the reality stings. “You sure you’re not scared away by me too?”
Liam’s eyes spark with a different emotion now. Rage that he’s not attempting to conceal. He takes my face in his hands, and his toneis hard when he says, “Madison, any guy who was intimidated by you was a boy who could never possibly deserve you. Don’t you ever think about dimming that fiery spirit just because some weak excuse for a man couldn’t keep up with you.”
His eyes are locked on mine, watching my expression to make sure I accept what he’s saying. To make sure I believe it.
Liam makes me think I could believe it.
When I give a slight nod, he leans down and kisses me slowly, with restraint appropriate for our public setting. I fist his shirt in both hands and pull him closer, deepening the kiss, greedily demanding more. Liam obliges, pressing my back against the car—this time, I don’t stop him when he buries his fingers in my hair.
“Mads?” a familiar voice says. Breaking away from Liam’s lips, I turn to the side and see Becky’s extremely delighted smile. She says, “Fancy seeing you here.”
I’m not sure if her “you” was meant in the singular or plural sense. Limits of the English language. However, I have zero hesitations when I respond, “Hey, Becky! So, FYI, Liam and I are dating now. Feel free to alert the masses!”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my brain flinches that I just encouraged the exact kind of small-town, intrusive gossip that Liam hates so much. I glance up at him to gauge his reaction. His arm is leaning against the car above my head, his body still angled toward me in a possessive posture.
But his lips are smiling—a full smile that makes its way to his eyes. He doesn’t break eye contact with me as he says to Becky, “Be sure to make it clear that I was the lucky one to snag Madison’s attention.”
When I turn back to Becky, her grin is somehow broader. “I’m so glad today was the deadline for me to return that dress I bought at the boutique here. It waslovelyrunning into you,” she says, a twinkle in her eyes. “I really and truly love this for you two.”
After telling Becky goodbye, Liam takes my hand and leads me to an Italian restaurant known for its mozzarella bar. Our conversation is light over dinner, and we’re not at all surprised to receive matching “congratulations” text messages from Syd and Davis (although Syd’stext to me included a long string of “why didn’t you tell me, how could you keep this a secret, you’re dead to me” additions).
As we leave the restaurant, Liam says, “Before we head home, we have one more stop to make. We’re going to that store that puts out Christmas decorations seven months in advance. We need a Christmas tree for the living room.”
I pull his hand to a stop. “What? Why?”
He turns to face me. “I’m tired of Hamlet always hiding out in your room. He barely pays attention to me anymore—he’s too obsessed with your Christmas tree.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “How do you know he’s not just obsessed with me?”
Liam loops an arm around my waist. “Fair point. He wouldn’t be the only one. But I guess we’ll have to put it to the test with a Christmas tree on neutral ground.”
Laughing, I say, “Fine, but we’re not going to go buy a new tree from the store. We’ll go back to my favorite thrift store.” I glance at the time on my watch. “They close in fifteen minutes, but I’ll sweet talk Bob into letting us have a quick look around the storage room.”
“Ooo, I’ll finally get to see the Queen of Thrifting in action,” Liam says, rubbing his hands together.
Two hours later, a thrifted five-foot tree stands tall in our living room. Christmas music blares as we string multicolor lights and hang ornaments. Hamlet micro-manages our decorating, attempting to climb the branches when we hang something in the wrong spot. When the final ornament is placed, we stand back to survey our work.
“Not bad,” Liam observes. “Five stars, I’d say.”
“Hold on,” I add. I lie down and scootch under the tree so I can look up through the center. A second later, Liam is beside me, our temples touching. Hamlet sneaks in between us, lying down and sprawling on his back.
I lace my fingers through Liam’s and murmur, “Five stars, for sure.”
Chapter twenty-nine
Liam
July
