The Light Over London(33)

Grabbing a little cream from the fridge, she removed the cast-iron lid and poured in a dash, stirring the broth that had formed in the bottom of the pot. Then she tested the flavor, added a touch of salt, and stirred again.

She looked up. Liam was watching her, the corners of his lips tilted slightly, glass of wine in his hand.

“You love cooking, don’t you?” he asked.

“Why do you say that?”

“You look peaceful.”

Those three words startled her in their accuracy. She did feel at peace when she cooked, all of her worries falling away. She tucked his observation away, wanting to unpack it later, when he’d gone.

“For a long time I didn’t cook much. My career back in London was too busy, with too many late nights. But I realized about a year and a half ago that I missed it.”

“You cook just for yourself?” he asked.

She nodded. “I cook exactly what I want, every night. There’s no one to tell me that they’d rather have takeaway or a dish is too spicy for them.”

“It’s one of the best parts of being single,” he said. “Along with not having to fight about whose family to visit at Christmas.”

“Or waking up freezing because your partner’s stolen the entire duvet. Dinner’s ready. Shall we eat?” she asked.

She maneuvered the chicken out of the pot and carved the meat. Then, into shallow pasta bowls, she spooned vegetables before layering the chicken on top, followed by a healthy ladleful of creamy broth. Her hand hesitated over her kitchen scissors to cut sprigs of thyme from the pot she’d carried inside earlier, wondering if Liam would think she was showing off. So what if she was? It was what she’d do for herself. She cut the herb and popped two sprigs each on top of the dishes as garnish.

Liam placed a glass of wine by her right hand as she sat down. When he picked up his knife and fork, she dropped her gaze to her own bowl, but she couldn’t help sneaking a peek out of the corner of her eye.

“This is incredible,” he said after chewing for a long, thoughtful moment.

“Thank you,” she said with a sigh of relief. “It’s probably a bit too rustic for a dinner party, but I enjoy it. How are you finding Barlow?”

“It’s a beautiful town. Reminds me of Oxford a little bit.”

He’d read history at Oxford. She knew because Nicole had done some light stalking and sent her a dossier via text. It had saved Cara fighting with herself about whether she should Google him or not.

“We don’t have a river to punt on, which is a shame,” she said.

“At least that way you get fewer drunk students falling in the water.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” she said, remembering Nicole’s end-of-exams stunt in the pond.

“How did you end up in Barlow?” he asked.

She laughed. “There’s a long and short story.”

He tore off a chunk of bread to soak up the creamy, thyme-flavored broth. “Tell me the long one. We have a whole dinner ahead of us.”

“Well, I was a student here from 2004 to 2007.”

“What did you read?”

“Art history,” she said.

“Too bad. I was hoping you could give me all the gossip about my colleagues in the history department.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I briefly flirted with the idea of academia after graduation, but my ex talked me out of it.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yes, well, there are a lot of things that were a shame in that marriage.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. That was a personal question—deeply personal. One she might’ve expected on a date.

“Simon turned out not to be the person I thought he was,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Simple. Unembellished.

“Thank you.”

She waited as he tore off another chunk of bread, swirling it in the broth. Finally he said, “I had a fiancée before I moved to the U.S.”

“You did?”

He chuckled. “You sound shocked.”

“I just—”

“I’m teasing,” he said. “Vivian was also a lecturer at Exeter.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

A sadness settled into the crease between his brows. “All of the worst clichés.”

“Cheating?” she asked, a little ashamed at how much she wanted to know. There was comfort sitting in front of a person who knew what it was like to have their hopes raised up, up, up and then dashed indiscriminately by a partner they thought they knew.

“With my best friend. I even walked in on them. It was the whole Hollywood movie trifecta.”

“Oh, Liam,” she said.

“It was the first time I’d been in a fight since I was in school. I nearly broke my hand when I punched Tom. Nearly broke his jaw too.”

“He deserved it,” she said, more fiercely than she would’ve expected.

He grinned. “He bloody well did. And thank you.”

She tilted her head. “What did you do?”

“I’d been offered the position at Reed in Oregon for the following academic year but was in negotiations, trying to figure out whether Vivian would be able to come with me. I emailed the head of the department immediately and told her I would gladly accept. Without a partner.”