Changing Roles

“Shelby?”

My eyes snapped to Douglas’s, embarrassment warming my face.

“Did you want to call him back and tell him where they are?”

“No.”

My phone buzzed with a text, which I ignored.

“You better look at that,” he stated with a sarcastic edge to his voice. “After pickle-gate, the mayonnaise may have disappeared as well.”

“Liam doesn’t like mayo on his sandwiches. He likes Miracle Whip.”

Douglas’s eyebrows rose, and I flushed even more. I grabbed my phone and read his text about driving me home. Huffing in frustration, I typed a reply and, finally using my brain, turned off the phone.

“Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?” I questioned with a bright smile.

A short while later, Douglas laid down his fork, wiped his mouth, and took a long sip of his wine. His eyes were kind as he gazed at me. “It’s okay, Shelby. You don’t have to try so hard.”

“I’m sorry?”

He shook his head. “My inane cousin, in his own unique way, has managed to be with us all evening.” He grimaced. “Do you know you’ve talked about him in every conversation we’ve had tonight?”

“I—”

“Even without his calls and texts, he was here. I think we both know why.” He paused. “‘You care about him. A lot.”

“Of course I do. He’s a good friend.”

“You both use that phrase so easily.”

“It’s true.”

“Is that all he is to you?”

“Yes,” I said, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Shelby,” he prompted gently. I looked up, and he smiled at me. “It’s okay. It really is.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to date yet,” I admitted. “I’m sorry, Douglas.”

He chuckled. “I think there is more to it than that. But until you’re ready to admit it, we’ll leave it there.” Reaching across the table, he clasped my hand. “Now, how about we finish dinner and have a nice evening as friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yes. I like you, Shelby. You’re smart and funny, and frankly, I think you’re perfect for someone—I’m not the, ah, right Wright, though. But I would love to have you as my friend.”

The right Wright? Did he think Liam was the right Wright? He couldn’t mean that. It was a crazy thought. Liam was my boss. We were friends. Close ones—yes. But still, only friends.

I took a deep breath and relaxed. “I’d like that, Douglas. Very much.”

“Excellent.”

I picked up my glass of wine and took a welcome sip. He was a lovely man, but he was right. He wasn’t for me. Handsome, kind, intelligent, and artistic—he loved the visual aspect of the world around him. His enthusiasm for it reminded me of my friend Caroline’s same feelings and reactions on the vast subject.

I smiled at him over my glass, the first genuine one of the evening.

“Douglas, I have a friend who’s coming to visit. She’s a photographer. The two of you have so much in common.”

He grinned as he winked at me. “Is she pretty?”

“Gorgeous.”

“Do tell.”I walked into the house, confused as to why lights were blazing all over the place. Even upstairs. I teased Liam all the time about his thrifty ways, and he hated lights left on in empty rooms. It was as if he had a sixth sense about them and constantly followed me around, flicking them off, grumbling about wasting money.

Why on earth was there a light on in every room? Had there been an emergency of some sort?

Everything looked fine and in place as I went from room to room, turning off lights. In the kitchen, I tried not to laugh. Liam had indeed looked everywhere for pickles except the most logical, it seemed. Cupboard doors were open, items scattered on the countertops, a half-eaten bag of crisps, as he called them, left discarded as if he’d become distracted by something else.

Finally, I went to the den, expecting to find Liam dozing on the sofa.

He was asleep—or more aptly, passed out—at his desk, his head resting on his chest, his snores filling the room. I stood at the door, watching him. He was cradling something in his arms, and I edged closer to see what it was. Spying the bottle of whiskey, I wondered how much he’d drunk and why he was holding the bottle that way. Bending over, I picked up the glass lying on the rug and set it on the desk. I stood beside him, stroking his hair, grinning as he roused slowly, bending his head into my touch. His voice was thick but so happy-sounding when he realized I was back home with him. I had no idea where else he’d thought I would go, but it was nice to know it pleased him.

I was horrified to see how empty the bottle was. I had never known Liam to drink that much. It took all my strength to hoist him from the chair. I was barely able to keep him upright on the stairs; he kept mumbling about home and his heart, slouching into my side, burying his face in my neck and nuzzling me with his lips. Despite the fact that he was drunk and mostly out of it, I still felt the small shockwaves every time his mouth met my skin. Each time I admonished him, he would snigger and apologize, only to do it again a few seconds later. The sound of his inebriated giggle made me want to laugh, it was so…adorable.