Always, in December(45)
They joined the perpetual queue of people, and both smiled at the rosy-cheeked redhead behind the counter, who looked like she belonged in some kind of Irish novel, as opposed to serving coffee to suits in Manhattan. She nodded when Liam ordered his cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso and some sort of fancy syrup or other, then turned her smile on Max. “Black Americano, please.” He smiled and her dimples winked out.
“You’re from England?” she asked as she rung up the order and took payment from Max. He nodded, and she beamed, her green eyes creasing. “That’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ve been saving up for ages to go. Is London amazing? I’ll bet it’s just amazing.”
“It’s amazing,” Max said, and when Liam snorted quietly beside him, presumed that his voice didn’t quite match his words. Seriously though, the number of people who assumed “England” meant “London.” And yeah, OK, he had lived in London for a bit, but that was really beside the point. Still, he worked up a smile for the cute barista. “Well, I hope you get to go one day.”
She grinned. “I’ll look you up if I do…?”
Liam turned his snort into a cough this time—an overly obvious one—as Max said, “Max.”
“Max. I’m Amy.” Another smile.
Coffee in hand, they stepped back out to where the first drops of rain were starting up. Though at least that was at the end of their lunchbreak rather than at the beginning. Liam shook his head. “You don’t even have to try, do you?”
Max “hmm’d” in an innocent way, and took a sip of his coffee.
“You know it’s only because of the sexy English accent, don’t you?”
Max shook his head in mock judgment. “Don’t be so obviously jealous, mate, it’s not an attractive quality.”
Liam held his coffee up. “Just making sure you don’t get too big-headed, that’s all. Figure it’s my job as your only friend out here.”
Max snorted, but when Liam said nothing more, found himself staring blankly at the pavement as they walked the last stretch to their office, caught in a what-if moment. What if he’d joked, flirted back with the pretty redhead, told her he’d take her out for a drink and give her all the tips for a holiday to London? It would’ve been so easy, something fun and light. A year ago—presuming it was in the “off-again” portion of his relationship with Erin—he would’ve done just that, but now he couldn’t even work up the energy to feel bothered one way or another.
“You OK?” Liam asked as they reached the slim brick building that was home to their office. It had been named a New York landmark in the early nineties, having been designed by some fancy architect back in the day, and now had come full circle, housing its own architecture firm.
They stepped through the glass doors to reception and Max took another sip of his coffee, then nodded, pulling himself out of pointless introspection. “Yeah. Just thinking about this meeting. Should be a laugh a minute, don’t you think?”
Liam didn’t get the chance to answer, because a woman in her late twenties, dark-haired, slim, and toned, wearing tightly fitting gym clothes that left nothing to the imagination, stood up from where she’d been flipping through an architectural magazine on one of the sofas in reception and walked directly over to them. Liam, quite literally, stopped in his tracks as she closed in on them, her dark eyes glinting. She was there to yell at him, Max decided. Perhaps she was pissed off because she’d come out of her way to see him, and he’d not been here. Max had always been able to tell just what she was thinking through those eyes, and she claimed the same about him. They’d become so good at reading each other’s minds growing up that their mother had on more than one occasion said that there must be something supernatural going on, and that maybe there was a way they were actually twins—something about an egg separating and remaining in her womb for the four years between them, though the idea had been sufficiently gross to him as a kid, thinking about his mother having eggs and a womb, that he’d tuned out the specifics whenever she went into that rambling theory. They looked nothing alike, though, despite the twin theory. While not short, per se, his sister was petite, and there had always been speculation over why she’d turned out as such, given both Max and their parents were all a bit taller than average. Given she was all dark hair and eyes to his lighter tones, you wouldn’t really be able to tell they were related at first glance.
She came to an abrupt stop in front of them, tilting her head up at Max in a way that made the angles in her face even more pronounced—all sharp cheekbones and pointy chin. She’d amped up the look recently by cutting her dark hair short, though Max was pretty sure that she’d done it in part to annoy their mother, who had immediately complained that it made her look boyish. But there was no way you could look at Chloe and think her boyish, whatever she did to her hair—if anything, it had made her looks even more striking. One quick glance at Liam told Max he was thinking along the same lines right now. The narrowed eyes came automatically to Max, and caused Liam to cough and quickly rearrange his expression.
Max could sympathize, to be fair. Chloe had this effect on men, something which had caused him to get into some difficult fights over the years, in order to defend her honor or punish heartbreak, as was the expectation of the big brother. This had culminated in a big argument where he told her to stop putting him in situations where he had to keep confronting people, and her telling him it was their honor that he should be worried about. A tacit agreement had then been reached where he looked the other way while she made it through streams of men, leaving a trail of heartbroken bodies in her wake when she declared that they just weren’t what she was looking for.