I'm Not Charlotte Lucas(45)

My phone buzzed, and I gathered a deep breath, steeling myself against Andy’s smooth coercion tactics. But it wasn’t a text from Andy.

Liam: Are you home?

I sat up when the reality of my situation hit me. Liam Connell was waiting on my front porch, and I was not cute in this particular set of pajamas with the ultra-fuzzy socks and my hair in a ridiculously messy knot on top of my head. I really didn’t need his sympathy right now either. Why else would he be here?

Me: No thanks.

Liam: How is that a response? You’re either home or you’re not.

Me: I would prefer not to be.

Liam: But are you?

Liam: I can see the light on in your room.

Temptation filled me hard and fast. I wanted to run to the window and move aside the Diet Coke can and peer down at the handsome ex-college football player and bat my lashes at him. But in this fantasy situation, I was dressed in regular clothes and not a Mickey Mouse tee.

Me: Beep. Try again later.

Liam: Sorry, but that won’t work on me tonight.

What did he mean by that? I stared at the text, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out how best to respond, when a knock came from my window. I squealed, jumping in my seat, and my phone flew out of my hands. Liam’s head poked above the trellis, his gaze fixed on me and my fuzzy socks, yoga pants, and Mickey Mouse shirt.

Now I really had no choice but to refuse entrance to his face. Maybe if I shut the TV off first, there would be no light, and he wouldn’t see how horrible and puffy my face had grown from the crying. Yes, I will admit it, I’d shed a few angry tears after Andy left. I was glad things were over, but it was still hard to admit that another relationship hadn’t worked out.

Spinsterhood, here I come.

He lifted his arm and showed me a white Styrofoam to-go box, his eyebrows rising. The window was unlocked, as usual, but he clearly couldn’t open it with one hand on the trellis and the other holding a box of food.

Reluctantly, I pulled myself to my feet, my heart racing as I slid the window open.

“What are you doing here?” My voice was hardly above a whisper.

“I brought your tacos. You left them at the restaurant.”

My heart burst, beating furiously in my chest. He’d brought my tacos from Fresco’s? That was probably the most thoughtful thing any man had ever done for me. I took the box from him.

“Wow. Thank you.” That felt inordinately inadequate, but my mouth was not forming words easily. I was hardly forming coherent thoughts while this man hung outside my window. Literally.

He glanced past me. “Are you busy?”

“Are you asking me to invite you in?”

“I don’t mind hanging out with the clematis all night, but if you let me in, I might be a little more comfortable.”

I held his gaze. Did I want to invite him in? He was just being a kind friend, and my brain registered that, but my heart was not so logical. It seemed to speed up at the thought of spending the evening with Liam.

His eyes glittered against the dark night framing him from behind. “I don’t need to stay long, but I would really like to speak to you for a minute, if that’s okay with you.” His low voice, smooth and all liquid dark chocolate, just washed over me, and I melted into a puddle on the floor.

“Okay, fine. You can come in.” I grabbed the empty Diet Coke can from the windowsill and pushed the window up high, opening the space so Liam could climb inside.

He unfolded himself through the window and became very tall very suddenly. I took a step back, swallowing, as his dark-blue eyes seemed to penetrate me.

Liam flicked his gaze to the Styrofoam to-go box in my hand. “You might want to heat that up.”

Oh, right. There were tacos in my hands. My stomach rumbled, betraying my lack of dinner, and I escaped to the kitchenette, tossing the empty soda can into the recycling bin and pulling down a plate.

He followed me over, leaning against the sink and crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you watching?”

I faintly registered that I’d left the show running, and a blush stole up onto my cheeks. I didn’t mind sharing my love for the Matthew Macfadyen version of Pride and Prejudice. I mean, come on. What woman of the twenty-first century wasn’t in love with that movie? It took Austen’s lovely story and condensed it into a visually gratifying, time-manageable movie. But this? This BBC version of Pride and Prejudice was for the real fans. The ones who appreciated the accuracy and devotion to the details. Details that really could only be included in a six-hour version.

Now that Liam looked at the TV with confusion, I knew he was not a true Austenite. Not that I ever, in a million years, thought he would be. But would he think me strange for being one?

“Is it a period piece?” he asked.

“Yes, and if you call it Jane Eyre, you can climb back out that window right now.”

Liam grinned. “Ah. It must be Jane Austen, then.”

“Pride and Prejudice,” I supplied. “And yes, I will save you the trouble of wondering. I am a nerd.”

“Liking classic literature isn’t nerdy,” he said. “It’s cool.”

I laughed, sliding the taco dinner onto the plate and putting it in the microwave. “I’ll just pretend that’s true.”

When the plate of food was heated, I grabbed another Diet Coke from the fridge and took my dinner to the couch. “Do you want anything to drink?”