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“Okay,” I say, wrapping my head around everything. “I guess I’ll take the spare bedroom, then. But I’ll keep some things in your room in case anyone comes over.”

“About that.” He flips a sandwich closed, then the other. “I don’t have a spare bedroom.”

“What?” This penthouse is huge. I’d toured it when it was empty, and I remember that being my foremost thought. I gape at Liam as he slides my sandwich toward me.

“I set up this place when I thought it’d be a bachelor pad. So I have a gym, an office, a billiards room, and the combo arcade room and bowling alley. But no spare bedroom.”

My mouth goes dry. I knew he had a game room—we’ve bowled here a handful of times, usually with his brothers. But Finn gets so competitive that I started declining the invites. I also knew that Liam had a billiards room, though I’ve never played here. I’ve managed to avoid playing pool with Liam since that party mishap when we were teenagers.

And I guess I assumed that my fit, hardworking friend also had a gym and an office in his penthouse.

But I hadn’t realized it was at the expense of a spare room.

I pick up my sandwich, then stop with it halfway to my mouth. Liam knew he didn’t have a spare room when he suggested I move in. He knew that we’d be sharing the same room, sharing the same bed. And he suggested it anyway.

Not suggested, I realize, because a leader doesn’t suggest. Liam all but ordered me into his bed.

Absently, I bite into my sandwich. The sharp cheese and creamy mayo always bring me the comfort of nostalgia, memories of being a kid with him.

But we aren’t kids anymore, giggling in adjacent sleeping bags. There won’t be multiple layers of stuffed nylon between us. We’ll be together beneath the sheets, with nothing to prevent our legs from accidentally touching.

I swallow my lump of sandwich and make a note to bring my baggiest pajamas.

* * *

By the time I’ve packed my suitcase and a handful of boxes, the late afternoon sky is turning dark. Adjusting to autumn’s early nights has always been part of life in Chicago, a simple fact that’s not worth stressing over. But this year, beneath the constant threat of Harrison’s messages, the looming dark has turned sinister.

Having Liam at my side helps. It’s like he’s keeping the night at bay as he carries my suitcase to his car. I could barely move the heavy thing, but Liam doesn’t even use its wheels. As he lifts it smoothly into his car, my mind flashes to an image of his muscles flexing beneath his clothes. I realize I’m biting my lip, same as I did when I first saw him shirtless after a cross-country meet sophomore year.

When I first realized we weren’t kids anymore.

And now, he’s more than a man. He’s a leader of men. He’s already arranged for Pete and some others to bring my boxes to the penthouse tomorrow morning while we’re at Mass.

For tonight, it’s just me and Liam.

He gives me privacy as I unpack my suitcase in his bedroom, the way he did while I was packing up at my house. Almost like he’s trying to avoid seeing my girly things.

Given that he’s only recently moved in himself, there’s plenty of room in his walk-in closet, and even an empty dresser for me. His clothes take up less than half the space, but instead of spreading them out, he’s clustered everything to one side.

It’s as if he was saving the space for someone else.

Not me, I remind myself, hanging up my fall and winter dresses. Liam was readying his apartment for his future wife, prepared to do his duty, as always. The thought of my best friend in an arranged marriage has always made me sad for him. But now, I’m able to help ensure his marriage will be a genuinely good match. It’s a comforting thought, even if there’s a strange tinge of regret to it.

We’re helping each other by being together for now, but in less than a year, we’ll be apart. And it already feels too soon.

When I’ve tucked away my empty suitcase, I pad out to the kitchen, where Liam’s chopping veggies for a stir-fry. Even though I’ve seen him cook countless times before, this time, it feels unusually domestic.

Orla taught all of her children to cook. But Liam, as the eldest, took to it the most. He prided himself on being able to prep food for his brothers after school. And even though the O’Sullivans are significantly wealthier now, I think it’s a source of normalcy for him. He’s about to inherit the weight of countless responsibilities. But when he’s cooking, he’s simply a man who’s skilled in the kitchen. And the fact that he’s prepping this particular meal for the two of us warms my heart. I am filled with appreciation, and I want to help.

As Liam transfers the broccoli florets into a bowl, I slip past him to search through his cupboards for rice. When I find it, I reach up, my focus on the simple task.

Then Liam’s beside me. As if we’re a couple walking side by side, he glides his arm behind my lower back, then rests his hand lightly on my hip before stretching to his full height. He’s a lean, muscular tower, and less than an inch away from me. My fingers tighten on the bag of rice, but otherwise, I’m frozen. All my awareness has narrowed to Liam. The heat of his hand on my hip, even through my shirt. The closeness of his body to mine, the way his tall presence overwhelms me.

With his free hand, he grabs the bottle of soy sauce from the shelf above the rice. Then he’s moving away, readying the skillet on the stove like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world, because it is. Or, it should be. But as my heart stutters back to life, my body does not feel ordinary. It’s like every cell inside me is vibrating. It almost feels like desire, but that can’t be it.

I shake my head to myself and pull the rice off the shelf. This is Liam. I can’t feel desire toward my best friend. I made a promise to myself, and the potential to ruin everything between us is too great.

Chapter 9