The Coldest Summer✓

Seven

"No, I'm not. But maybe you can stop being too obtuse about stuff," I utter without regret.

"Meaning? I'm not sure if I'm obtuse, by any means, Ms. Jones. In fact, I constantly hear that I'm too harsh."

No, he's not.

"No, I hardly find you harsh. You're rather too blatant, and it makes me wonder if it's how you behave with everyone or it's just me who has got into the bad side of you," I add, and his stomach tightens again; he's laughing.

I laugh along, quietly.

"I prefer keeping my comments to myself, most of the time, as far as someone's character is concerned," he says gently, a hint of melancholy accompanying his voice.

My heart shrinks in comprehension of something deep within him that may be his own demon.

"But that doesn't seem to be the case at the moment," I prompt, feeling like I'm conversing with an old man from an old English era.

Could it be that I'm talking like one of those old ladies right now?

"Maybe you push my limits," Liam remarks mirthfully, and I could feel my stunned eyebrow lifting up.

"Do I?" I tag.

"We shall see about that," he mutters warningly. Wait, what? "Stay firm," he instructs.

I hold him tighter as I realize I've been too comfortable. "Do you enjoy riding horses?" I attempt to prolong the conversation and I'm glad it works.

"I'd say I love them more than driving a Ferrari," he answers, and there's humor in his tone of voice—strange and exciting.

He can make jokes, too.

"You're classic." I laugh heartily.

Honestly, I'm having a blast. I might as well trap us here with a feign of sprained back, so that we don't go back to the house.

Yuck! Now stop being pathetic, girl. Okay, that's true. I shut it, only to realize . . . Wait, this is not the way. Or is it?

"Where are you taking me?" I ask stoutly. I'm not worried, just surprised to see us passing through a different route.

"Home," Liam answers curtly, and I hold my tongue. "What were you expecting? That I'm kidnapping you?"

"It would be your loss, because I'm as broke as a pauper." I smile at the scenario of me being kidnapped for money.

Laughing, Liam remarks, "You really have trust issues, don't you?" I go silent, utterly silent, and so does my subconscious who loves yapping. "I apologize if—"

"There's nothing bad in mistrusting," I utter, interrupting him. "What's the point of trusting if the probability of it being a lie is higher? It's like believing you're happy when you're not."

"Are you unhappy?" Liam queries, and my heart cringes.

"I'm empty," I think out loud, not intending to say.

Silence is replaced by a strong breeze.

"Is this your first?" Liam asks, my remark forsaken.

"What?" I frown, bemused.

"Being on a horse."

"Yeah, it's my first."

"No wonder," he mutters.

"Meaning?" I tighten my grip, feeling a little bereft for an unknown reason.

"You seem excited, and scared as well," says Liam, and he's right. "However, you should trust both the horse and the rider, if you want to enjoy it more."