He raises a brow, then leads me to a narrow corridor tucked between two shelves of hardcovers. I barely notice the door tucked into the wall
–
– until Liam reaches for a spine labeled A Study in Scarlet, presses it like a button, and the whole shelf clicks open.
My mouth falls open.
He looks far too smug about it. “Told you to trust me.”
We step through, and suddenly I’m not in a bookstore anymore.
The staircase curves downward, lit by warm amber sconces. The moment we hit the bottom, the sound hits me – smooth jazz, low laughter, clinking glasses. And then the room opens up.
Velvet booths. Candlelight. The smell of truffle and wine and something sweeter I can’t quite name. There’s a small stage where a woman in satin red is crooning into an old–school mic. No one’s in a tux. No one’s trying too hard. Some people are dressed to the nines, others look like they just stepped off a Vogue editorial.
And no one even blinks at my dress.
I suddenly feel overdressed and underdressed at the same time.
Liam leans in, his hand slipping to the small of my back like it belongs there. “I know you think this dress is scandalous,” he murmurs, voice brushing against the shell of my car, “but trust me you’ll be one of the modest ones tonight.”
I glance around and yep. He’s not wrong.
–
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My brain short–circuits. “Is this a secret club or something?”
1208 Moerbers
He smirks. “Something like that. I’ve been coming here since my rookie year. Owner’s a friend.” A pause. “He likes you already, by the way. I showed him a picture.”
I whip around to face him. “You showed someone a picture of me?”
“I showed everyone a picture of you. The bartender’s under strict instructions to make your favourite drink before you even order.”
My stomach does a very uncool swoop. I pretend not to hear that last part. “Do you bring all your dates here?”
Liam tilts his head. “You think I’d waste this place on just anyone?”
—
His regular booth is tucked near the back – plush navy velvet with a low gold lamp. The table’s already set for two. My favourite cocktail is sitting pretty with a sprig of mint, and the waitress greets Liam like an old friend before disappearing again.
I slide into the booth.
He slides in beside me.
Not across. Beside.
Of course.
I glance around, still stunned. Candlelight flickers gently over dark velvet and gold accents, jazz humming in the background like a pulse Everything feels rich and warm and dreamlike -like I just stepped into Gatsby’s fever dream.
“I’m still not over this place,” I murmur. “It doesn’t even feel real.”
Liam turns to me, his arm draped along the back of the booth like he
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belongs here. Like we do. “Then look at me instead.”
I give him a side–eye. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
He smirks, unapologetic. “Every last second.”
God help me. I’m grinning. Hard.
I reach for the menu mostly to distract myself from the way his thumb is brushing lazy circles on my shoulder. Normally, I’d let Liam order
–
for us both the man has suspiciously good taste for someone who
—
can’t handle anything spicier than black pepper — but I figure I should at least glance at the options.
Big mistake.
My eyes catch a price and I go still.
I blink. Once. Twice. Then very calmly, I close the menu and place it
back down.
–
I glance at my glass the champagne already waiting at the table and I’m almost certain the liquid in it is worth more than Tessa’s rent.
–
Liam watches me like he’s waiting for it. He’s smiling again — all dimpled charm and quiet mischief, clearly enjoying every second of my mental meltdown.
“So,” I say, leaning in. “We’re eating air tonight, right?”
His smile widens. “Seasoned air. The chef’s specialty.”
“Oh, good. I was worried it might be too flavourful.”
Liam laughs, low and warm. “I told you – I got this.”
I roll my eyes but I’m already melting. I should be annoyed. But
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honestly? I’ve never felt more spoiled, more seen, or more absurdly, ridiculously taken care of
And the worst part?
I kind of love it.
LIAM
“Can’t I have something with shrimp?”
I think about it for a long moment, momentarily caught in the scent of her perfume as I lazily flip through the menu. “Can you?”
She thinks about it deeply before shrugging. “Sometimes. It depends.”
That earns a raised brow from me. I tug her impossibly closer, until her head rests on my chest and her voice hums through me when she speaks. Perfect. “Depends on what, exactly?”
