“Hi,” I whisper.
Before I can launch into an apology about showing up early, he takes the grocery bags from my hand and saunters barefoot down the hall, disappearing around the corner.
“Okay then.” I blow out a breath and step into his house with a stuttering heartbeat.
What I find inside is a little depressing—a practically empty house that smells like fresh paint and new flooring. There’s a U-shaped staircase to the right, and a boxy formal room to the left, shrouded in darkness.
I’d worry Liam wasn’t planning on staying if not for the fact that he opened a recording studio in Dallas.
Wandering down the hall, I take in a small living room with a gray sectional and a large TV hanging above a black marble fireplace.
Between the living area and the kitchen is a sliding glass door leading out to a surprisingly large patio with a grill. Two decorative wood-paneled walls on either side offer privacy from the neighbors.
I turn to Liam as he rifles through the grocery bags in a sleek kitchen with glass-front black cabinets.
“You eat lunch?” he asks.
“You know I came here to help you, right?”
He throws me a dark look that has my spine snapping up at attention.
“Possibly forgot to eat,” I admit.
Liam opens the double doors of his fridge. His house may be empty, but he doesn’t shy away from stocking up on good food. Fresh fruits, vegetables, protein shakes, and neat stacks of meat line the shelves.
I smile at the single row of Coca Cola to counter his healthy options.
Did I know Liam could cook?It’s not something I expected from a man who’s spent half his life traveling the world, stealing hearts on stage.
“Cheeseburger sound good?” He pulls out ground beef and a block of cheese.
My mouth waters. “God, that sounds amazing.”
He nods at the plant I’m still holding. “What’s that for?”
“Oh, I…got you this. Um, for the new house. Well, not so new anymore.”
His movements slow as his thick brows push together.
Shit. Hedoeshate it. I’d stood in the garden area of the store for fifteen minutes trying to decide where the line was between us. If he’d assume I was trying to force things on him like all the crazed fans Hail used to tell me about.
“It’s okay if you don’t want it.” I start to walk it to the front door, prepared to leave it on the porch where I won’t forget to put it in my car later.
“Anastasia.” The firm tone of his voice has my body locking up. My pulse quickens, thudding in my ears.
I don’t notice that he’s moved behind me until he murmurs for me to turn around. I keep my head down to avoid the intensity of his gaze, but then he touches a palm to my cheek, and my eyes flick to his in surprise.
“Breathe,” he murmurs.
I fill my lungs, drawing in his masculine, spicy scent.
His fingers drift to my chin, callused from nearly a lifetime of playing guitar. I don’t mind the roughness one bit. In fact, I lean into it.
“I want it. But don’t get upset with me when it dies under my care," he says.
“It’s just a plant, Liam."
His dark eyes glint with something fierce. “Not to me.”
