Page 20 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

The exam room door closed behind me with a quiet click that felt like the end of a symphony.

Two hours of my life condensed into a blue book filled with molecular structures and reaction mechanisms, each answer flowing from my pencil with a confidence I hadn't dared hope for.

My hand ached from writing, my brain felt wrung out like a sponge, but underneath the exhaustion was a bubbling certainty that made me want to laugh.

I'd done it. More than done it – I'd absolutely crushed it.

The fresh air hit my face as I exited the science building, sharp and clean and tasting like victory.

I stood on the steps for a moment, letting the reality sink in.

No more sleepless nights staring at chemical equations.

No more panic attacks about losing my swimming scholarship.

No more feeling like a failure who couldn't hack it in the sciences.

"So?"

I turned to find Liam leaning against the brick wall, trying for casual but betraying his nerves in the way he kept shifting his weight. He'd changed since our morning walk – athletic shorts and a Pinewood Hockey t-shirt that suggested he'd been working out while I was conquering organic chemistry.

"Nailed it," I said, and then I was laughing, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep. "I mean, absolutely destroyed it. There was a synthesis problem that should have taken twenty minutes and I finished it in ten. I actually had time to double-check everything!"

His face transformed, pride and joy and something deeper flooding his expression. "Gemma, that's—"

I didn't let him finish. In an instant, I closed the gap between us and threw my arms around him, propriety and careful boundaries forgotten in the rush of accomplishment. He caught me effortlessly, one hand at my waist, the other sliding up my back as I hugged him tight against me.

"Thank you," I said into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of clean sweat and that cologne that had haunted my dreams. "I couldn't have done this without you."

"You could have," he murmured against my hair. "But I'm glad you didn't have to."

I pulled back just enough to see his face, becoming suddenly aware of our position – my body pressed against his, his hands spanning my waist, our faces inches apart. The celebration atmosphere shifted, charged with weeks of unspoken feelings and almosts.

"Liam," I started, not sure what I was going to say.

His thumb stroked along my ribs, the touch burning through my thin sweater. For a moment, neither of us moved, caught in the space between friendship and something more complicated.

Then he smiled, the tension breaking into something warmer but safer. "Come on, chemistry genius. Mia's waiting at the house with what she claims is a victory cake but looks suspiciously like a pancake stack with candles."

The mention of my sister broke the spell enough for me to step back, though his hands lingered on my waist before falling away. "She made me a cake?"

"Frank helped. Well, 'helped' might be generous. He mostly provided enthusiastic supervision while she did the actual work." He reached behind him, producing a small potted plant I hadn't noticed. "This is from me."

I accepted the succulent, its tiny purple flowers catching the afternoon light. "It's beautiful."

"It's called a Desert Rose. The florist said they're practically indestructible – they can survive neglect, extreme conditions, even chemistry students' study schedules.

" His smile turned softer. "Reminded me of someone I know.

Beautiful and resilient and impossible to kill no matter what life throws at her. "

Tears pricked my eyes. "That's either the sweetest or most backhanded compliment I've ever received."

"Definitely going for sweet," he assured me. "Though comparing you to a succulent might not be my smoothest move."

"I don't know," I said, cradling the little plant carefully. "It's pretty perfect. Practical and beautiful and thoughtful. Very you."

Something flashed in his eyes at that, but before he could respond, my phone exploded with texts. Karen, Mia, Frank, Henry – everyone wanted to know how it went. The real world rushed back in, reminding me that this moment was just a pause in the chaos of our lives.

"Ready to face your adoring public?" Liam asked, gesturing toward the parking lot.

"As ready as one can be for Frank's victory rituals," I said. "He's not going to make me wear a crown again, is he?"

"That was one time," Liam defended. "Besides, you looked cute in it."

"I looked like a demented prom queen."

"A cute demented prom queen," he corrected, then offered his arm with exaggerated formality. "Shall we? Your victory pancake cake awaits."

I tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead me toward his car.

The gesture felt natural now, weeks of careful distance eroded by shared crisis and quiet moments.

But underneath the comfort was an awareness that thrummed like a live wire – the conversation we'd been avoiding forever.

The hockey house was in full celebration mode when we arrived. Banners hung across the doorway reading "CHEMISTRY CHAMPION" in Frank's messy handwriting. Music poured from the speakers, and I could smell something sugary baking.

"GEMMA!" Mia appeared in the doorway, flour in her hair and frosting on her nose. "You passed! I mean, of course you passed. I never doubted. Except for this morning when you tried to convince me that electrons were a government conspiracy, but I figured that was just stress."

"I did not—" I started, but she was already dragging me inside.

The kitchen looked like a bakery had exploded. Every surface was covered in mixing bowls, measuring cups, and what appeared to be three different attempts at frosting. In the center of the chaos sat a lopsided stack of pancakes with candles stuck haphazardly throughout.

"It's perfect," I said, meaning it completely.

"Frank wanted to make it chemistry-themed," Mia explained. "But I vetoed his idea to shape it like a benzene ring. Some things are sacred."

"Benzene rings are sacred!" Frank protested from where he was attempting to clean frosting off the ceiling. "They're the basis of organic chemistry!"

"They're also terrible pancake shapes," Karen interjected, entering with a bottle of champagne. "Victory bubbles for the conquering hero!"

"It's 2 PM," I pointed out.

"Time is a social construct," she countered, already popping the cork. "Besides, you just defeated the organic chemistry final boss. Day drinking is practically required."

The afternoon dissolved into the kind of easy celebration I'd never allowed myself before. We ate pancake cake straight from the platter, everyone sharing their favorite "Gemma stress moments" from the past weeks. Apparently, I'd been more entertainingly anxious than I'd realized.

"Remember when you tried to explain hybridization using swim strokes?" Henry contributed. "And somehow convinced yourself that butterfly was actually an sp3 orbital?"

"Or when you made us all quiz you during movie night," Frank added. "Poor Mia just wanted to watch her rom-com, but no, we had to name functional groups every time the main character said his signature line."

"You were all very patient," I admitted, warmth spreading through me from more than just the champagne.

"We were invested in your success," Henry said simply. "That's what friends do."

Friends . The word settled around me like a comfortable sweater. When had these people become so essential? When had celebrating in a messy kitchen become preferable to suffering alone?

I spotted Liam across the room, a gentle smile at his lips.

He’d been quieter than usual, letting others lead the celebration while he watched—but his presence never wavered: he refilled my glass before I even noticed it was empty, chuckled at Frank’s terrible chemistry puns, and steadied me when Karen’s enthusiasm nearly knocked me over.

When our eyes met across the crowded room, I realized he’d been looking out for me all evening.

A warm gratitude bloomed in my chest—one that had nothing to do with the champagne.

As the afternoon wore on and the champagne bottle emptied, people began dispersing. Henry left for a study group, Frank for his shift at the campus bookstore. Karen dragged Mia shopping for "grocery shopping," which sounded ominous.

And then it was just Liam and me in the destroyed kitchen, the celebration detritus surrounding us like evidence of joy.

"I should help clean," I said, not moving from my spot on the counter.

"It can wait," he said, moving closer. "How do you feel? Really?"

I considered the question. For weeks, I'd carried the weight of that failed exam like a stone in my chest. It had colored everything – my confidence, my future plans, my sense of self. Now, with it lifted, I felt... light. Unmoored but free.

"Like I can breathe again," I admitted. "Like maybe I'm actually capable of the dreams I've been chasing."

"You were always capable," he said seriously. "The exam was just a formality."

"You have to say that. You're biased." The words came out teasing, but his expression remained serious.

"I am biased," he agreed, moving to stand between my knees where I sat on the counter. "Completely, hopelessly biased in favor of Gemma Spears."

My breath caught at his proximity, at the intent in his eyes. "Liam..."

The weight of unspoken words hung between us, weeks of careful boundaries and almosts finally coming to a head. I could see it in his eyes – the same certainty I felt, the same recognition that we'd moved far beyond friendship without either of us quite acknowledging it.

Instead of speaking, I reached for him, my hands settling on either side of his face. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing briefly before opening to meet mine.

When he kissed me, there was none of the desperation or performance of our earlier moments. This was soft certainty—his fingers twisting in my hair as the other hand curved around my waist. I melted into him, drawing him close until we were as one.

When we finally pulled back, our foreheads rested together, the ruined kitchen hushed around us except for our ragged breaths.

“So,” I whispered, not yet ready to name what had just shifted between us.

He smiled, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “Mia’s birthday is in four days. Want to start planning?”

I laughed softly. “Right. Of course—cake, candles, maybe those silly hats?”

“Perfect,” he agreed, stepping back.