The market was already alive by the time they arrived—a rush of color and sound spilling into the cobbled streets. Stalls brimmed with fresh fruit, herbs tied in bundles, fish laid out on crushed ice, the air thick with the scent of grilled meat and sweet bread.
Mia stepped out of the car, her dress catching the breeze and brushing against her legs. Her eyes darted everywhere—children chasing each other through the crowd, a woman laughing as she haggled over a basket of eggs, sunlight glinting off jars of honey lined in neat rows.
She hadn't realized she was smiling until Liam caught her.
"You like it," he said quietly, watching her instead of the market.
Mia tore her gaze away, her lips twitching before she forced them flat. "It's... charming," she admitted. Then, quickly, as though to fix her slip, "I just didn't expect you to be comfortable here."
Liam's lips curved, slow, knowing. "Why not?"
"Because men like you don't belong in markets," she replied, her voice cool and steady even as her eyes flickered back to the stalls with the longing she couldn't quite hide. "You belong in glass towers, corner offices... boardrooms where people would kill for a seat."
He leaned closer, his voice dipping low enough for only her to hear. "Sweetheart, I belong wherever you are."
Mia's breath caught—but her face gave nothing away. She only arched a brow, the faintest smile tugging at the edge of her mouth. "Flattery doesn't suit you, Alcaraz."
Before he could answer, a woman bustled up to them, the owner of a little bakery stand. She took one look at Liam's hand hovering protectively near Mia's back, at the way he bent slightly to hear her better over the crowd, and her face lit with recognition.
"You two," the woman said warmly, clapping her flour-dusted hands together. "What a beautiful couple. You look perfect together."
Mia stiffened, her cheeks warming despite herself. "We're not—"
But Liam only smiled, that devastating, effortless smile. "Thank you." His gaze never left Mia's, his voice rough as silk. "I think so too."
Her stomach dropped, heat rising unbidden. But she recovered fast, her eyes narrowing. "You're impossible," she hissed under her breath once the woman bustled away.
"I am just being honest," he corrected smoothly, stepping close enough that the crowd seemed to fade. His arm brushed hers, deliberate, his gaze burning with something raw.
Mia's pulse slammed in her chest, but her face remained composed. Her lips parted, but instead of retreating, she leaned in, her tone crisp, flippant. "I don't waste my imagination on things that don't matter."
Liam's smirk lingered, but the muscle in his jaw ticked. He could see through her—but for once, she wasn't going to let him win.
They sat down later in a tiny café tucked between two old stone buildings. Wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, wrapping the place in a quiet kind of comfort. The food was simple—eggs cooked soft, crisp bacon, buttered toast, and a small pot of honey on the side—but it was perfect. Mia ate with quiet focus, savoring each bite as morning light spilled through the windows, painting everything in soft gold.
Liam, though, barely touched his plate. He was too busy watching her.
"You're staring," she muttered, finally meeting his gaze with cool indifference.
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. "I've been starving for years, Mia. Let me look."
Her chest tightened, but outwardly, she was steel. She lifted her glass of water, sipping with deliberate calm before replying, "You've always been greedy. Some things never change."
His smirk deepened. "And you've always been a liar." His voice dropped lower, his knee brushing hers under the table, deliberate. "You're not as unaffected as you pretend. Tell me I'm wrong."
Her fork set down with a soft clink. She met his gaze squarely, her expression smooth, her voice sharp as glass. "You're wrong."
Inside, her pulse raced, her body betraying her every time his knee nudged closer—but she held her ground, refusing to flinch, refusing to let him see the storm she was hiding.
Mia shook her head, half-exasperated, half-amused as she eyed the grocery bags piled in the backseat. "I still can't believe you bought so many ingredients when we're leaving later this afternoon."
Liam only smirked, his hands steady on the wheel, eyes flicking toward her before returning to the road. "Don't worry. I hired a caretaker for the lake house. Nothing will go to waste. Besides"—his voice dropped into something almost boyish, disarming—"I couldn't wait to cook for you."
Mia's lips parted, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone, but before she could respond, he ruined it—just like always.
"But," he continued, his grin widening, "if I had it my way, we'd stay here for more than a few days. Just you and me. As friends, if that's all you'll give me. Or maybe..." He glanced at her, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "More than friends. Friends with benefits, perhaps. No strings attached."
Heat rushed to her cheeks so fast it irritated her. She hated how easily he could ignite that fire inside her with just a handful of words.
"You're insufferable," she muttered, shifting in her seat to hide her flush. But her sharp tongue betrayed her, teasing back before she could stop herself. "We can't be friends again, Liam. But... maybe no strings attached would do."
The effect was instant. His jaw tightened, and his fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whitened. A low grunt escaped him, half amusement, half frustration, as though her words alone conjured every image he'd tried—and failed—to bury.
"Well, you got me there." His voice was hoarse now, almost reverent. "You really have changed."
Her gaze softened for a heartbeat before she tore it away, staring out the window at the blur of trees. "People change because of some people," she murmured, her voice quiet, almost fragile. "But there's still a little of the old Mia left, maybe. One thing's for sure, though—I'll never let anyone hurt me again."
The words hit him like a blade cloaked in velvet. Liam swallowed hard, his chest tightening. For a moment, he let silence hang between them, heavy and aching.
"Mia..." His tone was low, earnest now, stripped of the cocky veneer. "I know apologizing won't undo anything. I can't rewrite the past. God, I wish I could. But it already happened. And still—" he drew in a breath, his knuckles easing on the wheel—"I hope you'll give me a chance to be closer to you again."
Her laugh was soft, bitter, and it stabbed him. "Closer? What for, Liam? To remind me how different our worlds are?" She shook her head, folding her arms over her chest like armor. "No, thanks. You're one of our most valuable clients. I need to draw a line here, because it would be... inappropriate to have an affair with a client."
He chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "No one would ever know, Mia. We'd make sure of it. Besides..." His lips curved into that infuriating, dangerous smile. "We agreed—no feelings involved, right?"
She whipped her head toward him, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. "Do you honestly think I'd let you touch me again, Liam?"
His response came without hesitation, deep and confident, a promise that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
"Yes," he said simply, conviction lacing every syllable. His eyes flicked briefly from the road to her face, dark and steady. "You will."
Before she could fire back, his voice dropped lower, rougher—like a vow. "And I'll do more than touch you, Mia. That's for sure." His lips curved, dangerous and slow. "Kissing you again... would be the best part."
Her breath caught, sharp and unsteady, though she masked it with a scoff. Heat flared through her like wildfire, and she hated him for it—for the way a single sentence could unravel every wall she'd built.
"You're delusional," she snapped, turning her gaze back to the window, willing the cool glass to calm the storm inside her. But her reflection betrayed her—the faint flush painting her cheeks, the way her lips parted as if remembering his mouth.
Liam chuckled low in his chest, the sound infuriatingly self-assured. His hand flexed tighter on the wheel, and though his posture was calm, his jaw was tense, his thoughts clearly straying far from the road ahead.
Mia pressed her arms tighter across her chest, trying to ground herself, trying to remind herself that she was stronger now. But her pulse betrayed her, racing in rhythm with every word he'd left hanging in the air between them.
Mia froze in the doorway, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Liam—the Liam Alcaraz—was in his kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair falling slightly over his brow as he worked a knife across the cutting board. Vegetables sizzled in the pan, and the aroma of garlic and oil filled the small space.
It was ridiculous. Infuriating, really. Even here, in the plainest setting, with an apron hanging crookedly around his waist, he looked devastatingly good. Handsome wasn't enough of a word for him. Attractive didn't even scratch the surface. Unfair, that was the word. Unfair that a man could look like that and still know it.
Her lips betrayed her, curving into a small, unbidden smile. Maybe even if he wore a sack, he'd still manage to look infuriatingly magnetic.
Without looking up, Liam's voice slid through the air, smooth and amused. "If you keep staring at me like that, I might start to believe you're having second thoughts about my offer." He glanced at her then, eyes glinting with mischief. "Which, by the way, still stands."
Mia's stomach dropped, but she recovered quickly, frowning to mask the sudden warmth in her cheeks. "Don't be so sure of yourself, Liam. I'm not eighteen anymore. I've seen men try to flirt with me using the exact same looks you're giving me right now." She crossed her arms, lifting her chin. "None of them ever passed my standards."
His grin widened, dimples carving deep into his cheeks. The sight made her pulse stutter, and she hated—hated—that after all these years, those stupid dimples still had the power to steal her breath.
"Good thing I never aimed to pass your standards," he replied softly, his tone carrying a weight that made her heart skip. "I'd rather ruin them."
Mia's throat tightened. She forced a scoff, desperate to regain control of the moment. "Is there anything you want me to do?" she asked quickly, changing the subject, though her voice wasn't as steady as she wanted.
Liam set the knife down and leaned a hip against the counter, arms folding across his chest, eyes fixed on her like she was far more interesting than anything he was cooking. "Yeah," he said at last, his voice dropping lower. "Stay right there. Keep watching me. It makes the food taste better."
Her cheeks flamed. She rolled her eyes, but inside, her pulse betrayed her—racing, unsteady, hopelessly tangled in the spell of his presence.