I should've said no.
When Liam asked if I wanted to get ice cream, my mouth said "sure" before my brain could catch up. Probably because it felt easier than going back to the cafeteria, where Nick's arm would still be wrapped around Kaylee like a damn possession, and where I'd have to keep pretending I was fine.
So now we were here.
At Sweet Daze, the annoyingly aesthetic ice cream shop two blocks from school, with hanging plants, neon signs, and a chalkboard menu that listed flavors like "lavender honey" and "blueberry basil."
Liam was already at the counter, confidently ordering a double scoop of espresso fudge in a waffle cone like he came here every weekend. I lingered behind, arms crossed, trying not to look like this was the first time I'd ever hung out with him voluntarily.
"Your turn, hurricane," he said, stepping aside and looking at me like he expected me to be difficult.
"Don't call me that," I muttered, scanning the board.
"Come on, it suits you."
"Fine. Then I'm calling you 'walking cliché.'"
He grinned. "I'll allow it."
I ordered a single scoop of cookie dough in a cup—because cones are messy and I didn't trust myself not to embarrass myself today—and we paid, took our ice cream, and found a table near the window. The late afternoon sun streamed through the glass, casting golden patterns across the marble tabletops and making everything feel too soft, too pleasant.
This wasn't supposed to feel like this.
"You okay?" Liam asked after a minute, watching me more carefully than I liked.
I nodded, staring into my ice cream. "Yeah. Just… wasn't expecting this."
"What, the ice cream or me being tolerable?"
"Both," I said, then bit my lip before a smile could slip out.
He leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself. "You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you're spending an awful lot of time not running away."
"Give me a reason, and I will."
"Want me to start listing them alphabetically or emotionally?"
I gave him a flat look, but it didn't last long. Something about the way he said it—half-serious, half-challenging—made my heart flutter in that infuriating way it had no business doing. I shoved a spoonful of cookie dough into my mouth to shut it up.
"Look," Liam said, suddenly quieter, "I know I've been… confusing. Especially lately."
I froze, spoon midair.
"But I'm not playing games with you, Zara. Whatever you're thinking—that I'm just messing around, or doing this for attention, or because Beatrice told me to—I'm not."
That caught me off guard.
I stared at him, unsure what to say. "So what are you doing?"
He looked down at his cone, then back at me. "Trying to figure that out."
Silence settled between us, thick but not uncomfortable. Just heavy. Like there was something big sitting just outside the circle of our conversation.
I wasn't used to this side of him. The version of Liam who didn't lead with sarcasm or flirtation. The one who looked at me like I was worth listening to—even when I wasn't saying much at all.
"You know I don't trust people easily," I said finally.
"I know," he said. "You wear it like armor."
I blinked. "That was almost poetic."
"I'm full of surprises."
We fell quiet again, both eating slowly, the sounds of the shop soft in the background—clinking spoons, low music, a couple laughing at the counter. It was… nice. And that scared me more than anything.
I couldn't afford to like this. To like him.
Because liking Liam Hunter meant opening doors I'd nailed shut years ago. It meant being vulnerable. And I'd already learned the hard way that vulnerability was a loaded gun.
Still… I didn't hate being here.
And when I glanced up at him and caught him already looking at me—with this calm, unreadable expression—I realized I wasn't the only one surprised by it.
"Thanks," I said suddenly.
"For what?"
I shrugged. "The distraction."
Liam smiled. Not smug or teasing. Just real.
"Anytime."
And for the first time in a while, I let myself smile back.
We were quiet for maybe another two minutes, lost in the strange calm of the afternoon—until the door chimed behind me.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
The sound of giggles, high-pitched and poisonous, was unmistakable.
Beatrice.
And her minions, always lurking behind her like shadows, trailing after her like perfume and lies.
I stiffened immediately, my spoon pausing mid-air. Liam's eyes flicked up toward the door, and his entire posture changed—relaxed, but alert.
"Well, well," Beatrice's voice sang out as she approached our table. "If it isn't Zara. Eating ice cream like a real girl. Didn't know sarcasm had calories."
I didn't look up. Didn't flinch. I'd heard worse from her. I focused on my dessert.
Beatrice didn't like being ignored.
She stepped closer, the sharp tap of her heels echoing in the small shop. "Aw, are you on a date? Or did you just trick Liam into pity ice cream?"
That got my attention.
I looked up, slowly, locking eyes with her. Calm. Controlled. "You must be tired, Beatrice."
She blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
I tilted my head. "You spend so much time watching me. Must be exhausting."
One of her minions choked on a laugh she tried to swallow, and Beatrice shot her a glare before snapping back to me.
"Careful, Zara. I'd hate to see you get your hopes up. Liam's not exactly known for sticking around."
I opened my mouth to bite back—again—but before I could say a word, Liam stood.
Not in a rushed or defensive way, but with a quiet, dangerous calm. His cone was still in his hand, but his eyes were sharp.
"Back off, Beatrice," he said flatly.
The girls blinked.
Beatrice's lips curled, like she was pretending to be amused. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he said. "You want to be petty? Fine. But not here. Not with her."
"She's not—"
"She's not yours to insult," Liam cut in, voice steady. "You don't get to treat people like trash just because you're bored."
Beatrice went still.
Her minions exchanged nervous glances.
I… couldn't breathe.
Liam hadn't just stood up for me—he'd cut her off. In front of her minions. In public. Without hesitation.
Beatrice tried to recover, laughing coldly. "Wow. So the rumors are true. You're actually falling for her."
Wait! Rumors?
Liam didn't blink. "If I were, it wouldn't be any of your business."
The girls stared at him like he'd just spoken another language. Beatrice's face was frozen—her usual icy control cracking at the edges. She turned to me, venom in her stare.
"This isn't over," she hissed.
"It never is," I said coolly. "But I'm still here, aren't I?"
That landed. She glared one more time, then spun on her heel and stormed out. Her girls scrambled after her like nervous ducklings.
The bell above the door chimed again.
Silence fell around us.
I stared at Liam, stunned. "What… was that?"
He sat back down, licking a drip from his cone like nothing had happened. "That was me being decent."
"No," I said slowly, still processing. "That was you picking a side."
He looked at me—really looked—and said, "Maybe I already have."
And this time, I didn't have a comeback.
Because deep in the pit of my stomach, something had shifted. And for the first time, I couldn't tell if it scared me… or thrilled me.