“It’s hard to imagine anyone bullying you.”
“I wasn’t always built like this.” I flexed the arm under her hand. “And sadly, foster kids have always been easy targets.” Not just in our lifetime, but pretty much forever.
“I’m sorry.” She moved closer, wrapping me in an envelope of calm compassion and the delicious scent of her fruity shampoo.
“Thanks.”
“Do you remember your parents?”
“No, I was too young. You?”
“Gran and Grandpa told me about them, so I feel like I remember them.”
“You’re lucky.”
“I am,” Ashley said before picking up a dragon fruit. “What the hell is this?”
It was exactly the distraction we needed. After having some fun making fun of exotic fruits, we finished our shopping in the dairy aisle, then got in line to pay.
Ashley tried to offer me money when it was time to check out but lost the argument. No way would I let her or her grandmother pay for my groceries. I didn’t care that I’d bought far more than necessary. Or that Ashley added six cans of tuna and two tubs of ice cream to the cart. They were on a tight budget, and I had money to spare. Paying was the right thing to do.
On the drive home, Ashley asked me what kind of jobs I’d done before joining the Navy.
“Mostly odd jobs—mowing lawns, raking leaves, the type of thing people are willing to pay young teens to do. During high school, I did construction work in the summers. You?”
“I did the typical teenage girl thing and babysat. When I was old enough, I worked at Grannie’s.”
“Have you always wanted to write?”
She groaned, causing my head to turn at the sound. Once again, I thought dirty thoughts, and once again I reined them in. Though it didn’t stop me from appreciating how cute she looked as she tried to hide her face behind her hands.
“I can’t believe I told you that. I haven’t even told Emily I’m writing a book.”
“Why not?” I didn’t know Emily well, but from what I’d seen there was no doubt she’d support Ashley.
“I don’t know. We’ve joked about writing one together with Meg, but it’s just that. A joke.”
“So tell me again why you’re afraid to tell them.” I wanted to understand, but she was making zero sense.
She laughed. “I don’t know.”
“Would you write full time if you could afford to?”
“Maybe,” she answered quickly, then changed her mind. “Probably. Being creative was my favorite part of my job, and writing is nothing if not creative.”
Back at the house, I let her carry in the bag of tuna, because she refused to get out of the truck unless I let her help. It was easier than carrying her in.
The thought of carrying her, holding her close to my body, had the same effect as actually having her that close. I had to think about Gran and John waiting inside to get rid of the bulge in my pants.
Thankfully, John called Ashley into the kitchen to ask her about her grandmother’s habit of cheating at cards, which kept her occupied while I carried in the rest of the groceries.
To justify buying the tuna, after insisting they didn’t need it, Ashley made tuna salad sandwiches for lunch. When she invited John, he declined.
But Violet insisted, so John ate lunch with us.
We talked for a few minutes in the living room while Ashley made lunch and Gran spoiled Prince.
“Violet said you’re a pleasure to have around.”
