The Romance Plan - Lila Monroe Page 0,20

down the long, winding driveway, his headlights shining brightly in the dusky blue night. “I’ll give her that much.”

“She’s incredible,” I say, still feeling star-struck. “You know, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this business it’s that in real life authors are hardly ever how you expect them to be based on their books. But with Verity… It’s almost like she’s better? I mean, that house alone was worth the price of admission.”

“It’s… memorable,” Liam agrees. “What would you even call that decorating aesthetic, exactly?”

“The Playboy Mansion gets feminism?” I suggest, and Liam laughs. It’s a good laugh, deep and rumbly and relaxed. I glance over at him in surprise, wanting to hear it again, but Liam isn’t paying attention. He glances over his shoulder before changing lanes as we merge onto the highway. I take a moment to admire his profile, then look away.

We cruise east toward the city, the night sky pressing in all around us, and the smell of the ocean thick in the summer air. I can’t help but notice that even the silence feels easier than it did on the drive out here—comfortable, even. And when I connect my phone to the sound system and queue up the latest Taylor Swift, all Liam does is sigh.

We’re about an hour from home when the gas light goes on, so Liam pulls off the highway to fuel up at a small rural station—which, I realize delightedly, also has a walk-up ice cream window on one side. “Ooh!” I say, reaching for my wallet and opening the passenger side door. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Liam makes a face. “Seriously?” he asks.

“As a heart attack,” I assure him. “You know how I feel about ice cream.”

“Yes,” he says, and I’m not sure if I’m imagining that he looks at me just a second too long for it to be entirely platonic. “I suppose I do.”

I order two cones while Liam pumps gas, trying not to stare at him too openly across the parking lot. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to reveal the muscles in his forearms, his face half in shadow in the neon glow of the gas station marquee…

Down girl.

Just because we’ve spent the afternoon with Verity, it doesn’t mean this is about to turn into a steamy scene from one of her books, I remind myself sternly.

I head over to Liam. “I didn’t know what you like, so I got you Rocky Road. It’s the best of everything,” I tell him, holding out his cone.

He looks at it like it’s a live bomb.

“I told you, I don’t eat sugar.”

“Never?” I ask, my voice rising in disbelief. “Come on, it won’t kill you. Unless you’re diabetic,” I add quickly. “In which case, ignore my peer pressure.”

“I just like to stay healthy, that’s all.” Liam replied. My own cone is melting, so I take a big lick. He grabs his suddenly.

“What the hell.”

I grin. Small victories.

There’s a small picnic table nearby, so I go climb onto it. Liam joins me, sitting beside me on top. I’m happy to see, he’s making short work of the cone.

“See?” I ask, nudging his shoulder with mine. “Everything’s better with ice cream.”

Liam licks his cone, the flash of his tongue making my stomach flip. “All right,” he admits, “I suppose there are worse things in the world.”

“Worse things!” I tease. “Man, you were one of those kids who asked for a second helping of broccoli, weren’t you?”

“Green vegetables are a key part of a balanced diet,” Liam defends himself, but then he smiles. “Nah. You know what I always really liked? Those little clown sundaes, with the cone hats and the M&M eyes. My mom used to bring them home for me from work.”

Right away I think of the stories I’ve heard about his mother, and it must show in my expression, because Liam makes a face. “She was a waitress,” he says pointedly. “Whatever you might have heard.”

“I hadn’t heard anything,” I lie, concentrating on my ice cream instead of looking at him. I peel the paper wrapped off my cone, then glance over in his direction. “It must have been hard, though, growing up without your dad.”

Liam shrugs. “The Sterlings were always perfectly civil to me,” he says, in a voice that makes me think he’s given this answer a hundred times. “Presents on birthdays. Two weeks in New York every summer—museums, the zoo, Broadway shows… You name it.”

“Sure, but that’s not the same as growing up