“Yeah, like our Mayor,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Thinks he's ushering our town into the future. He's proclaiming to everybody who'll listen that Port Safira will soon rival Seattle.”
“Ambitious,” Liam says and chuckles. “Also, not very realistic.”
“Try telling him that.”
He looks at me again and smiles. “I'm getting the impression you're not too fond of the mayor.”
“Yeah, that's putting it lightly.”
“Why is that?”
I open my mouth and start speaking – and can't seem to stop. I tell him all about Brian Goodrich, going all the way back to high school, giving him the full oral history of the man who became the town mayor. I spare no detail or misdeed, telling him my personal feelings about what a piece of garbage he is. And from that, flows a whole mess of other things I never intended to speak about. Going to UCLA, my life plan, and of course, how I had to abandon it when my folks got sick.
And through it all, Liam just sips his coffee and listens. I can tell he's taking in my every word and isn't just spacing out while pretending to listen to me. He actually seems interested and attentive. When I finish my tale, Liam puts his coffee mug on the table and gives me a gentle smile.
“I can see why you're not the mayor's biggest fan,” he says.
“He's the worst,” I say. “He really is.”
“Sounds like it,” he replies. “Also sounds like he's raking in quite a bit of cash from these developers.”
“The man just won't leave me alone,” I say. “He's in my shop like every other day, pressuring me to sell.”
“Tell me this,” he says. “If he wasn't pressing you so hard, would you even entertain the notion of selling?”
“I really don't know,” I admit. “My friend thinks I'm being so stubborn because it's him doing the pushing. She might be right. I don't know. I know selling the shop would be the smart thing to do, but I can't bring myself to do it.”
“Because the shop was opened by your parents,” he says. “And you feel like, if you sell, you'll be selling out something that was precious to them.”
A needle of pain pierces my heart as I nod. “Yeah, probably.”
“Obviously, we barely know each other and I'm an outsider,” he says, “but if I'm playing armchair psychologist, just from our conversation today, I get the feeling that you're so vehemently opposed to selling your shop and what's going on in town because there's something inside of you that feels like it's erasing your parents. That to see all this change, or even worse, to be a part of it, is wiping out what they accomplished and stood for. Does that sound about right?”
My thoughts and emotions are such a jumbled mess, I can't begin to know if what he’s saying is right or not. But, the one thing that strikes me is that there is a ring of truth to his words. I've had similar thoughts, but I've never really been able to put them as succinctly as Liam just had.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
“I don't want to make this too personal or touch a nerve that's obviously still raw. But, have you ever thought that maybe that nerve is still raw because you are holding on too tightly?” he asks. “I mean, you cling to the bookstore because, like you said, it's their legacy. But, by not moving forward with your life and doing what you want to do, you're not letting yourself heal. You're not letting yourself finish grieving. It's like you're in a perpetual state of mourning. Maybe, letting go of the shop or not fighting the changes in town so hard, would be good for you. Maybe, you'd finally be able to heal.”
It's a startling insight and one I had never really considered before. At least, not quite in that way. I look at him and feel the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions within me growing even stronger.
“Tell me this,” he continues. “What would your parents want for you? Would they want you to hold on to a shop that doesn't make you happy? Would they want you to cling to their dream? Or would they want you to chase your own dreams?
My eyes sting and I feel a fat tear rolling down my cheek. “I honestly don't even know what my dream is anymore. I barely even know myself anymore.”
Liam looks at me and I can tell he understands the pain I'm in. Understands my suffering. I can tell that he's been where I am.
“I'm sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean to –”
“No, it's fine,” I say. “It's not you.”
Silence descends between us again as I take a few moments to gather myself. He offers me a napkin that I use to wipe the tears away from my eyes. When I'm confident they've stopped, I look back up at him. A rueful laugh bubbles up and out of me, and I shake my head.
“Wow, this got really heavy really fast,” I say.
He smiles. “I guess I've never been one for small talk.”
“Obviously.”
“Listen, why don't you stay for lunch?” he asks. “I can have Janice –”
I shake my head quickly. “I actually need to get back to the shop,” I say. “I've probably been gone too long anyway.”
“Rain check then.”
I give him a long look and then smile. “Rain check,” I say and get to my feet. “Thank you for the coffee, Liam. It may not look like it right now, but I had a wonderful time.”
“Thank you for the conversation,” he replies. “I had a nice time as well.”
I turn and head out of the house, walking to my car parked in the circular driveway. My head is spinning like it hasn't spun in a long, long time. And for the first time in seemingly forever, it's not spinning because of stress or worry about the shop. My mind is filled with other thoughts – many of them about Liam Anderson.
A smile crosses my face as I get into my car and start the engine. I look up to see him standing in one of the windows, looking down at me. At that moment, I would give anything to know what's going through his mind. To know if it is spinning as hard as mine is.
Everything is confusing and bizarre, but as I drive out through the front gate, I laugh to myself, feeling lighter and happier than I have in some time.
Chapter Eleven
Liam
I climb out of my private helicopter and head for the elevator that will take me down into the ADE offices on the floors below. I have to meet with Ted and a client to finalize a few plans before we begin demolition and break ground on the new multi-use building, but I find that I really don't want to be in Seattle today.
“Suck it up,” I mutter to myself as I swipe the pad with my key card and step into the elevator. “You've got work to do.”
On the ride down, an image of Paige Samuels pops into my mind. It's been a few days since she came over for coffee and every day since then, I've had to physically fight the urge to go down into town to see her again. I'm not in the place for starting a new relationship. I've told myself that about a thousand times – and that's just today.
But I'd be lying to myself if I said I wasn't intrigued by Paige. She's gorgeous, yes, but there's something more to her. Something deeper. Something different. She's intelligent. Fiery. Passionate. She's so unlike anybody I've ever been with before –especially Brittany.
In the days since she'd come over, I found myself thinking about her. Thinking about her a lot. There's something about that woman that compels me. I feel drawn to her. The conversation flowed so easily between us the other day and it honestly didn’t take long before I felt comfortable enough to open up – if only a tiny bit.
Speaking of my childhood or the passing of my parents isn't something I normally do. Especially not with strangers. But, something about Paige made me feel comfortable enough to share that with her. I can't explain it. I don't understand it. Yet, I can't say that it feels bad or wrong. In fact, it's the total opposite of that.