What treasures were in this box?
She reached in and pulled out a handful of worn boxer shorts. Seriously? Nobody wanted these. She riffled through the rest of the box without pulling anything out. All used underwear and socks went straight to the trash pile.
The next box was bedding, so she put that into a giveaway pile.
The third box had been so heavy she’d had to drag it into the living room. When she opened it, she expected to find books. Instead, it was filled with mail.
Her heart skipped. Finally, something interesting. She grabbed as much as she could hold and set it on the coffee table to go through. She wouldn’t read any of it without Asher’s permission, but just to see handwritten cursive address labels and old stamps was exciting.
The first stack, though, was filled with pretty recent mail—all of it junk. Advertisements from lawyers, for life insurance policies, for windshield repairs, credit card applications. This went on and on, and she deflated with every piece of mail she threw into the trash pile.
She unpacked more and discovered what made the box so heavy. Magazines. Dozens of them, from celebrity gossip to political, all of them from the last couple of years.
She paused to take in all the boxes surrounding her. Would they all be bedding, underwear, and old magazines? No, she refused to believe it.
The act of sorting and organizing was relaxing, and she fell into a rhythm of separating things into three piles: one for giveaway, one for things that were very obviously trash, and one for Asher to go through and make a decision about.
She startled when the door opened and Asher walked in. Was it already the end of the workday? She glanced at her watch. She’d been at this for almost four hours and had accomplished so much more here than she had with her book this morning—especially since she’d made the decision to delete everything she’d written that day and start fresh tomorrow.
No one cared about the mating patterns of birds.
Asher stood frozen in the doorway.
“Hey,” she said. “I know it looks like a mess, but there’s a system, I promise.”
His expression was as frozen as his body. She tried to take the room in from his point of view, and realized how disorganized it might appear from his perspective.
“Over here is the giveaway pile.” She held her arms out to encompass the boxes she’d refilled by the television. “This is the—”
“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low and growly.
She stilled. “Going through the boxes.”
“Why are you doing this?” He bit off each word, like ice chipping from his frozen frame, leaving behind a hot core.
An angry, hot core.
Confused, she turned on him with her hands on her hips. “You said I could.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Yes,” she insisted. “Yesterday, I said we needed to start going through the boxes to help with the lighting, and you said yes.”
“You mentioned I needed to clear the boxes, and I acknowledged that I heard you.” His face was turning a bright shade of red, as if the heat was filling him up to the brim
She thought back on their conversation, and she clearly remembered that he grunted in agreement. “I saidwe, and you made this sound.” She mimicked his grunt.
“Exactly. I agreeIneed to do it sometime.” He looked around the room, his jaw flexing. “It’s one thing to move into my space, but another to go through my stuff.”
“I’m trying to help you.” Now it was her turn to clench her jaw. Couldn’t he be grateful? She’d spent hours on this, and hardly made a dent.
“I don’t want your help! I don’t want you here!”
His words cut her right to her core. Hurt flashed through her, but she covered it up quickly with anger. She turned on her heel and grabbed Louisa from the counter.
“Where are you going?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re going for a walk.”
