When Real Life Gets Ugly

My stomach was doing a frantic tango with my anxieties. Liam, bless his impossibly perfect heart, had just navigated the minefield of my ex, Mark, with the grace of a seasoned diplomat and the steely resolve of a bodyguard. He’d managed to steer me away from Mark’s oily charm and his thinly veiled accusations without a single misplaced word or awkward stumble. We were now safely ensconced in the dim, pulsing glow of "The Velvet Curtain," a bar so trendy it probably had its own postcode and a bouncer who looked like he’d wrestled bears for a living. Liam had suggested it, a place where we could blend in, or at least pretend to.

"You okay?" Liam asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated pleasantly in my chest. He slid a glass of water, condensation beading on its surface, towards me. It was a small gesture, but it was so *Liam*. Always anticipating, always caring.

I took a grateful sip, the cool liquid a balm to my frayed nerves. "Yeah. Just… that was intense. He’s still so… ugh. Thanks for that. Seriously. You’re a lifesaver. Again." I offered him a wobbly smile.