Chapter Ten
Paige
“Cancer,” I say. “It took them both within months of each other.”
“That's awful,” he says. “I'm so sorry.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
I fight back the wave of sorrow that threatens to overwhelm me. I can't help it. After all this time, I know I should be able to move on, but it remains an open wound.
Liam runs a hand over his face, the stylish stubble on his cheeks making a scratchy sound. He gives me a rueful smile.
“Jesus,” he says. “I'm sorry is such a trite thing to say, isn't it?”
A small smile touches my lips and I shrug. “What else are you going to say?” I reply. “It's the socially accepted norm.”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” he replies. “It just feels so shallow and meaningless though.”
He shrugs and looks away, staring through the windows to the land beyond. I take a sip of my coffee and sit back on the large, oversized, plush sofa. We're sitting across from each other in the sunken living room. There's a large fireplace to my right, and stairs that lead up from the living room and into the rest of the house on my left.
The floor plan is open and spacious, with lots of large, floor-to-ceiling windows that provide an amazing view of Port Safira, the Olympic Mountains, and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. And his house is tastefully decorated with art and photographs – many of them incredibly striking and beautiful. For a multi-billionaire though, it's all very restrained and understated. Which surprises me. It surprises me a lot, actually.
It's quiet up here. Tranquil. The house sits alone atop Sapphire Hill and although some in town have always said it seems lonely and isolated, now that I'm sitting up here, I can see the appeal. It's reflective, not lonely. I guess maybe, some people aren't wired to deal with solitude or an atmosphere that invites introspection. I'm not one of those people. I can easily picture myself being happy up here.
“What about your family?” I ask, trying to change the trajectory of the conversation.
“Well, I have three brothers,” he says and leans back on the couch. “Brayden, Aidan, and Colin. I'm the eldest of four.”
I laugh. “Your mother must have been beside herself.”
A wide grin crosses his face. “Yeah, you could say that,” he says. “We were little hellions. Though, to be honest, we weren't as bad as we could have been. A healthy respect and fear of our father and that thick leather belt he had in the closet kept us in line. Most of the time.”
“Oh, your father was a spanker, was he?”
Liam shrugs. “Not normally,” he says. “The threat of the belt was usually enough. But, I can remember a few times when I may have crossed the line too far and caught the business end of it.”
“Oh?” I ask. “And what did you do to cross the line?”
“Well, there was one time I took his prized car – a '65 T-bird – out for a spin and ran it into a telephone pole,” I said. “I was thirteen. That stunt earned me a good striping.”
I laugh out loud. “Yeah, I probably would have whooped you too.”
“Yeah, I deserved it,” Liam says, a wistful note in his voice and a veil of sadness in his eyes. “I make them sound like monsters, but they were good parents. The best, actually. They taught us the most important lessons in life – lessons that I'm incredibly grateful for as an adult.”
“Were?” I ask, knowing it's an insensitive question, but unable to stop myself.
He nods, the look of sadness in his eyes deepening. “Car accident about eight years ago,” he says. “Drunk driver crossed the median. Hit them head on. If there's one saving grace, it's that it was instant. They didn't feel a thing.”
“God, I'm so sorry,” I say, understanding his pain and relating to it.
He gives me a wry smirk. “There's that word again,” he says.
I laugh because he's right. Saying “sorry” when somebody passes away does seem pretty trite and meaningless.
I give him a small shrug. “I guess I'm still bound by those pesky socially accepted norms.”
He looks at me evenly over his cup of coffee as he takes a sip. It's like he's appraising me. Taking my measure. Ordinarily, I don't like it when people scrutinize me. I mean, I really don't like it. But, for some odd reason, it doesn't bother me that Liam is doing it. I don't feel like he's doing it to judge me or look down on me in any way. I get the feeling that he's more curious than anything.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
He nods. “Shoot.”
“What brought you out here?” I ask. “I mean, if it's not to conquer my town like the rest of the Captains of Industry in the real estate development world who've set up shop here.”
It's subtle but I see him tense up a bit at the question. His eyes narrow slightly, and I can see his jaw set. I'd obviously touched on an open wound he's carrying. For some reason, that only makes me more curious.
“If you don't feel comfortable talking about it, that's okay,” I say quickly. “I was just curious. You seem more like the big city, cosmopolitan type. Not the kind of guy who'd be happy settling in a sleepy, small town.”
Like a cloud moving past the face of the sun, his eyes brighten, and he smiles. It's a warm, genuine smile that makes his crystalline blue eyes sparkle.
“The big city, cosmopolitan type, huh?” he asks, clearly amused.
I shrug again. “Yeah, I mean, you're the owner of a multi-billion-dollar company –”
“One of four owners, actually,” he corrects me. “My father divided up the empire equally between my brothers and me.”
“Smart man,” I say.
“That he was,” he says, that wistful tone back in his voice. “Most brilliant man I've ever known.”
“Well, you're still obviously worth a mint,” I say. “And as much as I love my hometown, I don't see the appeal for somebody who's got to be used to the glitz and glam that comes with being so wealthy.”
He laughs softly and shakes his head. “Wow. Stereotype much, Ms. Samuels?”
I feel the heat flare in my cheeks. He's right, I'm stereotyping him. Of course, I've been making assumptions about him since the moment I found out he was living up here. And to be fair, although I still barely know the man, he is defying all stereotypes I have of the rich, but most importantly, the preconceived notions I have of people in his industry.
I'm mentally kicking myself for getting called out on something that I usually call out Skyler for. She's notorious for stereotyping people and it never fails to bother me. She's gotten better over the years because of my constant harping, but now that the shoe is on the other foot, I feel like an ass. Not to mention a hypocrite.
“You're right,” I say. “That's not fair of me. I apologize.”
He laughs and tips me a wink. “I'm only having some fun at your expense,” he says. “Nothing to apologize for.”
I take a sip of coffee, hoping to wash down the foot I'd just stuck in my mouth. I have to say though, he's a lot easier going and laid back than I would have ever thought. And he's definitely not nearly as high and mighty or full of himself as some of the other developers Mayor Goodrich has paraded through town.
There's something about Liam Anderson that's just – different.
“To be fair, I don't think Port Safira is going to be a sleepy little town for very much longer. Not with all the construction I see going on,” he says. “I doubt it's going to be the next big cosmopolitan hot-spot some people running around here probably think it's going to be.”
“Yeah, like our Mayor,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Thinks he's ushering our town into the future. He's proclaiming to everybody who'll listen that Port Safira will soon rival Seattle.”
“Ambitious,” Liam says and chuckles. “Also, not very realistic.”
“Try telling him that.”
He looks at me again and smiles. “I'm getting the impression you're not too fond of the mayor.”
“Yeah, that's putting it lightly.”
“Why is that?”
I open my mouth and start speaking – and can't seem to stop. I tell him all about Brian Goodrich, going all the way back to high school, giving him the full oral history of the man who became the town mayor. I spare no detail or misdeed, telling him my personal feelings about what a piece of garbage he is. And from that, flows a whole mess of other things I never intended to speak about. Going to UCLA, my life plan, and of course, how I had to abandon it when my folks got sick.
And through it all, Liam just sips his coffee and listens. I can tell he's taking in my every word and isn't just spacing out while pretending to listen to me. He actually seems interested and attentive. When I finish my tale, Liam puts his coffee mug on the table and gives me a gentle smile.
“I can see why you're not the mayor's biggest fan,” he says.
“He's the worst,” I say. “He really is.”
“Sounds like it,” he replies. “Also sounds like he's raking in quite a bit of cash from these developers.”
“The man just won't leave me alone,” I say. “He's in my shop like every other day, pressuring me to sell.”
“Tell me this,” he says. “If he wasn't pressing you so hard, would you even entertain the notion of selling?”
“I really don't know,” I admit. “My friend thinks I'm being so stubborn because it's him doing the pushing. She might be right. I don't know. I know selling the shop would be the smart thing to do, but I can't bring myself to do it.”
“Because the shop was opened by your parents,” he says. “And you feel like, if you sell, you'll be selling out something that was precious to them.”
A needle of pain pierces my heart as I nod. “Yeah, probably.”
“Obviously, we barely know each other and I'm an outsider,” he says, “but if I'm playing armchair psychologist, just from our conversation today, I get the feeling that you're so vehemently opposed to selling your shop and what's going on in town because there's something inside of you that feels like it's erasing your parents. That to see all this change, or even worse, to be a part of it, is wiping out what they accomplished and stood for. Does that sound about right?”
My thoughts and emotions are such a jumbled mess, I can't begin to know if what he’s saying is right or not. But, the one thing that strikes me is that there is a ring of truth to his words. I've had similar thoughts, but I've never really been able to put them as succinctly as Liam just had.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
“I don't want to make this too personal or touch a nerve that's obviously still raw. But, have you ever thought that maybe that nerve is still raw because you are holding on too tightly?” he asks. “I mean, you cling to the bookstore because, like you said, it's their legacy. But, by not moving forward with your life and doing what you want to do, you're not letting yourself heal. You're not letting yourself finish grieving. It's like you're in a perpetual state of mourning. Maybe, letting go of the shop or not fighting the changes in town so hard, would be good for you. Maybe, you'd finally be able to heal.”
It's a startling insight and one I had never really considered before. At least, not quite in that way. I look at him and feel the maelstrom of thoughts and emotions within me growing even stronger.
“Tell me this,” he continues. “What would your parents want for you? Would they want you to hold on to a shop that doesn't make you happy? Would they want you to cling to their dream? Or would they want you to chase your own dreams?
My eyes sting and I feel a fat tear rolling down my cheek. “I honestly don't even know what my dream is anymore. I barely even know myself anymore.”
Liam looks at me and I can tell he understands the pain I'm in. Understands my suffering. I can tell that he's been where I am.
“I'm sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean to –”
“No, it's fine,” I say. “It's not you.”
Silence descends between us again as I take a few moments to gather myself. He offers me a napkin that I use to wipe the tears away from my eyes. When I'm confident they've stopped, I look back up at him. A rueful laugh bubbles up and out of me, and I shake my head.
“Wow, this got really heavy really fast,” I say.
He smiles. “I guess I've never been one for small talk.”
“Obviously.”
“Listen, why don't you stay for lunch?” he asks. “I can have Janice –”
I shake my head quickly. “I actually need to get back to the shop,” I say. “I've probably been gone too long anyway.”
“Rain check then.”
I give him a long look and then smile. “Rain check,” I say and get to my feet. “Thank you for the coffee, Liam. It may not look like it right now, but I had a wonderful time.”
“Thank you for the conversation,” he replies. “I had a nice time as well.”
I turn and head out of the house, walking to my car parked in the circular driveway. My head is spinning like it hasn't spun in a long, long time. And for the first time in seemingly forever, it's not spinning because of stress or worry about the shop. My mind is filled with other thoughts – many of them about Liam Anderson.
A smile crosses my face as I get into my car and start the engine. I look up to see him standing in one of the windows, looking down at me. At that moment, I would give anything to know what's going through his mind. To know if it is spinning as hard as mine is.
Everything is confusing and bizarre, but as I drive out through the front gate, I laugh to myself, feeling lighter and happier than I have in some time.