And something shifted. It was subtle, like the first crack of light under a door. Nora turned on her stool to face him fully. The towel fell from her shoulder. Her hand, still trembling, reached out and rested on his forearm.
She was behind the bar, but she wasn’t working. She was sitting on a stool, a towel draped over her shoulder, staring at a crack in the wall as if it held the secrets to the universe. Her name was Nora, and Liam had known her for exactly three years, two months, and four days—not that he was counting. She was his best friend’s younger sister, the one with the wild curly hair and the laugh that sounded like wind chimes in a storm. The one he’d been politely, painfully in love with since the first time she’d stolen a fry off his plate and said, “You’re not going to eat that, are you?”
Nora looked at him then, really looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. “Just… sit with me?”
“You don’t have to try harder,” Liam said quietly. “You don’t have to be anything other than what you are.”
“Why are you really here, Liam?” she asked. Not accusatory. Just… curious. Tired. Hopeful.
