I clear my throat, not wanting to startle him. “Hi,” I say.
Liam whirls to face me. For a moment he looks irritated, then surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to check on you. See if you’re OK.”
“You keep asking me that,” he says shortly. “I’m fine.”
He’s not, clearly, but it’s pretty obvious he’s not about to open up to me about it. All at once I feel young and foolish—for reaching out to him when he’s clearly not interested, for being here at all. Part of me figured I could be some kind of support for him, but I should have known, he doesn’t need anything from me.
He’s made that perfectly clear.
“OK,” I reply quietly. “Well, I think I’ll call it a night then. I’ll see you at the office.”
Liam lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he says, before I can leave. “I just… I don’t know what to say to these people. He’s a total stranger to me.”
Liam’s voice is so quiet that at first I think I’ve misheard him, or possibly imagined it altogether. “Harry?” I ask.
Liam nods, leaning back against the railing. “This person that everyone is describing. This boss that everyone loved, this father who’d dress up in costumes and never missed a dance recital… I didn’t know him.” His shoulders slump. “And now… I never will.”
“That must be hard,” I tell him honestly. It’s hard to reconcile even for me, that the great man I knew and loved was also kind of a shitty dad to one of his kids. I can’t imagine how it feels for Liam himself.
“I didn’t have much of a relationship with my dad either,” I confess, moving across the terrace to stand beside him. “It was always just my mom and me.”
Liam glances at me sidelong. “And your romance-loving granny,” he reminds me.
“Exactly.” I smile. “And I would never say it doesn’t hurt—and nobody has ever made me come to a fancy party and listen to everyone talk about how wonderful he is. But I try to remind myself that him not being in my life? That was his loss. And it was Harry’s loss, too, not being there for you.”
Liam smiles at that, just faintly. “Maybe,” is all he says.
“It was,” I insist. “You’re not an entirely terrible person, you know.”
Now he smiles for real. “Gee, thanks.”
“Anytime!”
Neither one of us says anything for a moment. I hear the honk of taxis down below, the drums of a street musician, the faint sounds of the party drifting out from the library ballroom. The last dregs of summer sunlight have faded, Liam’s face cast half in shadow, but for some reason, I’m not ready for this night to be over just yet.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I hear myself ask.
“What, now?” Liam raises his eyebrows.
“Why not?” I ask, feeling suddenly bold and brassy as one of Verity’s heroines. “Do you really think anyone’s going to notice if we Irish goodbye this situation?” I lift my chin. “Personally, I think you’ve stuck it out long enough.”
Liam tilts his head to the side, a slow smile spreading across his handsome face as he considers it. For the first time since I met him, he looks almost… mischievous.
“Sure,” he says, picking up his jacket and motioning for me to go ahead of him. “Let’s bail.”
10
Eliza
It’s not like there’s exactly a shortage of things to do on a summer evening in New York City, and I mentally run through my options as Liam and I sneak back through marble halls of the library and out into the balmy night. I consider walk along the High Line or drinks at a speakeasy in the Village, but in the end, I take him to my secret favorite place to blow off steam: an old-fashioned bowling alley so far uptown it’s basically in Canada.
“Really?” Liam asks, looking around dubiously at the brightly colored 90s-era carpet and the neon orange sign above the snack bar. A Monday-night league in matching purple shirts crowds the lane beside us, good-naturedly insulting each other’s bowling skills and score-keeping abilities and sexual prowess. The bar offers two kinds of beer: Bud, and Bud Light. “This is where you come to have a good time?”
I raise my eyebrows as I lace up my bowling shoes. “I think what you meant to say is, ‘Thank you, Eliza, for rescuing me from a weird, dull night and bringing me to this extremely cool place that means a lot to you.”
Liam nods like, fair point. “You’re right,” he says, “I’m sorry. I just wouldn’t have pegged you for a late-night bowler, that’s all.”
“I grew up with my grandma, remember?” I remind him. “Bowling, bingo. The occasional Touched By an Angel marathon. I do it all.” I smile. “It’s a great way to blow off steam, actually.” I wiggle my ankles in his direction. “Hard to remember what you’re upset about when you’re wearing borrowed clown shoes.”
Liam smiles back. “I guess you’ve got a point.”
“I think you’ll find I usually do.”
We grab a couple of beers from the bar and I key our names into the ancient computers, and we settle in and bowl a couple of games. I have to say, I’m pleasantly surprised by a) the fact that he’s actually a pretty decent bowler and b) how easy it is to talk to him. The conversation wanders amiably, from my favorite places to eat in New York, to the different cities where Liam has worked in the last few years, to an author reading I recently attended that ended in a literal fistfight between two New York Times bestselling authors.
“Men, obviously,” I tell him, as my bright pink ball hits eight pins down at the end of the alley. I celebrate with a happy little victory dance. “Two literary wunderkinds! The toast of indie bookstores everywhere! Princes of Brooklyn Heights! Beating the crap out of each other, right next to the wine and cheese table.”
“Amateurs,” Liam says, shaking his head in amusement. “Verity Lange would never.”
“Very Lange would never!”
It’s Liam’s turn, and he grimaces as his ball swerves directly into the gutter. “So, give me the scoop,” he says, turning to face me. “Hypothetically, if I wanted to take myself on a self-guided tour of the Verity Lange universe. Which book should I start with?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” I say with a grin. “Handled by the Handyman.”
Right away, Liam shakes his head. “That’s not the title.”
“Oh, but it is,” I tell him, delighted. “And don’t let that fool you—that book is a full-on masterpiece. Those so-called literary wunderkinds wish they could write something so clever, so genre-busting, so full of heart.” I blush, realizing too late that I may have gotten a tiny bit carried away. “It’s my favorite one, clearly.”
“Clearly.” I’m expecting mockery, but Liam’s smile is just amused. “You really love her, huh?”
I nod. “I really do. She makes the world seem… magical. Like romance and true love could be waiting around the next corner. Everyone needs to believe in sparkle like that.”