I'm Not Charlotte Lucas(26)
“Hello?”
“You have my phone!” I shouted into the receiver.
“Apparently I do.”
The low, melted-dark-chocolate voice hit my ear drums, and I swallowed a gasp. “Liam?”
“Yeah, sorry. I put your phone in my pocket last night and forgot to give it back. I’ve also got tissues and Chapstick in here, and—ouch. Okay, there’s tweezers too. Sharp ones. Why did you need tweezers at a charity ball?”
My face heated. He was a man; he didn’t get the need to be prepared for anything. “Sorry. Listen, can I come and get it? I’ve got that thing tonight, and I really need my phone.”
“Sure. I’m home. I can just text you my address . . . on second thought, let me give it to you now. Or would you rather I brought your phone to you?”
“No, it’s fine. Just give me a half hour to tame my mane, and I’ll be right over.”
He was silent for a beat before agreeing. He gave me his address, and I wrote it on a sticky pad next to the phone that no one really used anymore, thanking him before hanging up. The clock was not my friend at present, and I really needed to get a move on.
But panic sped things along nicely, and I was ready—hair softly waved, mascara on, simple blue dress with sandals—before hopping in my car and speeding toward Liam’s house.
He didn’t live too far from me, but that wasn’t a huge surprise. Our town, while growing, was on the smaller side. Sure, I didn’t know everyone, but it wasn’t a huge city you could get lost in.
I passed streets of houses built at the turn of the twentieth century and pulled in front of a pale-green house with a wrap-around porch and a light on behind the closed drapes. It was idyllic, with a hanging pot of vines near the front door and a porch swing nestled in front of the large, square window.
I checked the address on the sticky note against the number on the house. This was Liam’s house? I’d rather expected it to belong to a sweet young family or a retired elderly couple, not an uber-rich nonprofit president and his teenage brother.
I parked my reliable Corolla on the street and unbuckled my seatbelt when a motion on the porch caught my eye. Liam’s door swung open, and a woman stepped out. Her long, glossy curls reached her waist, and she paused, leaning against the door jam.
The black dress she wore could be nothing other than a date outfit, but Liam had told me he would be home all night. Maybe I had the wrong door.
Another shadow darkened the doorway, and Liam stepped into the light. He glanced at the street, and I slunk down in my seat before he noticed me watching them like the latest episode of The Bachelor.
But wait, Liam had mentioned earlier at Vera’s that he didn’t have anything going on today until later, right? I was looking at later, and she was leaning up for a kiss in much the same way I had last night. It looked like I’d caught the end of their date, not the beginning.
Revolting. I ducked my head. I couldn’t bear to watch Liam’s good-night kiss.
I waited a good few minutes before peeking over my dashboard again just in time to watch the woman walk down to the sidewalk and slip into her little Mercedes-Benz.
Did everyone Liam dated come from money?
I checked the time on the clock and waited seven solid minutes before I felt comfortable approaching the door. I avoided making eye contact with the video doorbell and knocked.
When it swung open, my breath caught. Liam stood bathed in the light from inside the house as the sun steadily declined behind me. He wore heathered joggers, a Trojans T-shirt, and a smile that could melt snow. If we had snow in the wine country. Wow, he’d changed out of his date clothes quickly, but this look suited him well. Why, oh why did I have such a reaction to a man in joggers? I needed to pull myself together.
“Do you have it?” I asked, inanely. Of course he had my phone. What an idiotic question.
His knowing smile indicated that his mind followed the same line of thinking mine had. “You want to come in?”
Yes. “I really should get going.”
He glanced at his watch. “You have time.”
“Mr. Connell, have you been reading my texts?” My lips pinched, hip slacking to the side.
“Just the one that came in right after we talked. I didn’t even know about the phone until you called it, or I would have brought it to Vera’s earlier.” He opened the door wider, and I stepped under his arm into a warmly decorated home with oak floors—probably original to this super old house if I had my guess—and tasteful furniture.
He crossed the floor, his socks muffling his steps, and he picked up a Ziploc bag holding my belongings. It felt oddly sterile, like I’d just been released from an overnight stint in jail and the guard was returning my possessions.
I sat on the sofa in his sitting room, the TV tuned into reruns of an old comedy show about a group of coworkers in an office. I’d seen every episode multiple times and forced myself to look away so I wouldn’t get sucked in.
“I’m surprised you didn’t notice the phone before,” I said, pulling it from the bag and scrolling down the list of notifications. “It looks like it’s been blowing up all day.”
“It was pure luck, actually. The vibration wasn’t that loud, but I was standing right next to the door my tux was hanging from when you called.”
“Fate?” I asked, grinning up at Liam before triaging my notifications. There was something kind of comforting—even if it was initially a little disappointing—about seeing Liam with Front Porch Barbie. Now that I knew he was seeing someone else, I could feel comfortable around him. No pressure.