“I told you we had some.” Nate grinned at Nancy. It was his charming smile, the one he used to disarm people, the one that made them feel comfortable. I swear he never noticed how effective it was. Sometimes I didn’t think he realized he was doing it.
“No way.” Nancy waggled a finger. “You’ve already helped so much. We couldn’t take your beer, as well. It would add more abuse to your injuries, or whatever the expression is.”
“Insult to injury.” I caught Nate’s look. I often did that. Corrected people, even when it was irrelevant. Such a bad habit. I plastered my own smile on my face and mouthed, “Sorry,” at Nate. I waved the bottle of wine around in midair. “I brought this. Hope you like chardonnay.”
“Absolutely love it.” Nancy took the bottle from me and set it on the table. “That’s so sweet of you. And thanks for lending us your hubby.” Nancy pointed at Nate. “He’s a hero, you know. Helped us carry the heavy things inside and even fixed the leaky toilet upstairs.” She laughed again. It was a warm laugh, nervous perhaps, but kind and genuine. I had a feeling I’d like her husband, too, if he had a personality similar to hers. She clicked her tongue. “It would have taken Liam six months to get around to it. But Nate? He rolled up his sleeves and voilà.”
When Sarah hummed the Bob the Builder tune, I poked her in the ribs, and she huffed as if I’d deflated her like a balloon.
The front door opened. “I’m back,” a man called out. “Who needs a drink?”
A shiver shot down my spine. That voice. That unmistakable voice. Deep and silky. Sexy. You never forget a voice like that. Not when the memory of words spoken, even after all this time, still made my knees buckle. I tried not to gasp, and bit my tongue as images flashed into my mind, the ones I tried hard not to think of when I was in bed with Nate. Arms and legs entwined. Gasping, groaning, sweaty backs and my cries of, “Fuck me, Liam. Harder. Harder.”
It’s not something I’d ever said to Nate. He probably would have blushed.
The footsteps were coming down the hallway, had almost reached the kitchen.
And there was nowhere for me to go.
No escape.
No place to hide.
IT WAS NEW YEAR’S EVE, and I’d decided if the last few minutes were anything to go by, nineteen ninety-two was going to be absolute crap.
My boyfriend of eight months, Dwayne Mazerolle, had just—literally just—dumped me. Standing in the middle of Rowley’s Irish Pub with a group of his friends, he’d pulled me to one side.
“...so...tell you...going...buy land.” His voice boomed in my ear, making me wince. I couldn’t make out what he’d said because EMF’s “Unbelievable” blared from the loudspeakers. Turned out the song was quite fitting.
“What?” I shouted back. “Why are you buying land?”
“Thai-land,” he yelled. “I’m going to Thailand.” He held up two thumbs, swaying a little, not to the music, but because of the many vodka and Cokes. “On a trip.”
“Thailand?” I felt my face scrunch up into a puzzled look. “When?”
Dwayne pulled me to one side of the bar and away from the speaker where it was marginally quieter. “Day after tomorrow,” he said, taking a sudden interest in his size eleven feet.
“Eh? You’re kidding!” I wondered if he was going to start making fun of my expression, tell me it was all a joke. If it was, I didn’t get it.
He lit up a Benson & Hedges and blew the smoke out of his nostrils, kind of like a cartoon bull. “It’s a spiritual trip,” he said. “You know, to reconnect with nature. I need to find myself.”
“Find yourself?” He was twenty-three, worked as a mechanic at a local garage, lived with his parents. Where, exactly, had he lost himself?
“We’ll start seeing each other again when I’m back.” He dragged deeply on his cigarette, the orangey glow lighting up his face. I’d always hated the smoky taste when he kissed me, even after he’d munched his way through half a packet of mints.
“When will you be back?” I tried to keep the whine out of my voice.
“I don’t know, babe.” He blew out a steady stream of smoke, then pulled me closer. “When I feel at one with Mother Nature. Or when I run out of cash.”
“But when did you decide?” I shouted as the music switched to R.E.M.’s “Shiny Happy People,” telling us to throw our love around. Oh, yeah? The only thing I wanted to throw was a slap in Dwayne’s direction.
He shrugged. “I booked it last month. I—”
“Last month?” This time there was definite whining, and I cringed.
“See.” Dwayne shook his head, and I realized he must have confused my self-directed contempt for emotional upset related to his imminent departure. “This is why I didn’t bring it up. I knew you wouldn’t understand.” And then he actually pursed his lips.
God, I hated it when he sulked. Come to think of it, over the past few weeks I’d hated pretty much everything he’d done. A few days ago I’d told him I was ill so I didn’t have to endure The Last Boy Scout. I’d watched Fried Green Tomatoes alone that night instead. The week before I’d said my period had come early because I wasn’t in the mood. Again. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in the mood. But all that aside, dumping me on New Year’s Eve was a shitty move by any standards.
“You know what, Dwayne? Have a great trip and a happy bloody 1992.”
I pushed past him, fully intent on retrieving my coat from the back of the bar so I could go home, curl up in bed and ignore the rest of the world’s celebrations. But the bar’s resident DJ Joe had other plans. The music stopped.
“Okay, everybody,” he said into his mike. “Grab your partner—or whoever you’d like to have as your partner tonight—and get ready. Only a few more seconds. Gird your loins, people, because... Here. We. Go!”
Everybody chanted, “Ten...”
As I pushed past a few more sweaty bodies I felt a hand on my arm.
“Nine...”
I was ready to turn around and tell my now ex-boyfriend to let me go. But when I heard a man’s voice in my ear, it wasn’t Dwayne’s.
“It’s bad luck to start the New Year without a kiss.”
“...eight...seven...”
Oh, come on. Did I have a Lonely Hearts Loser sign stuck to my back? Nice voice, though.
“...six...five...four...”
I turned around. Eyes, those eyes. Gray. Clear. Mesmerizing. I couldn’t help but stare.
“...three...two...”
“I’m Liam,” he said. His face moved closer. He put his index finger underneath my chin.
“...one.”
“And I’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”
I didn’t recall hearing the shouts of, “Happy New Year.”
All I could remember were his arms sliding around my waist, mine around his neck, and the multicolored fireworks going off in my head when our lips touched.
HE STOOD IN