He frowned. “Are you that close to finishing?”
“No?” She attempted to clear the emotion from her throat and speak with more confidence. “But I can be. I have to be.”
“They won’t honor the original date?”
“They might, but the new date is so much better.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped speaking.Keep it together.
But compassion was her kryptonite, and when Asher squeezed her hand and then, so slowly, so carefully she knew he was unsure about his actions, he pulled her into an awkward hug. The console squeezed between them, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his right arm so he patted her on the shoulder. It made her laugh, but it also made her cry. All at once. A laughing, crying mess of a woman who had just yelled at some poor fabric store worker.
Appearing flawless to Asher was so impossible at this point, it wasn’t even a worthwhile pursuit. If it ever had been.
She pressed her chin into the tight spot between his collarbone and neck, fitting there exactly perfect. “Do you ever feel like life is just happening to you, and you have no control?”
His awkward, patting hand finally found a place at the back of her head. His fingers threaded into her hair and drew downward in a soothing motion. She let out a long, shuddering breath and almost made a joke about comforting the crying Peters sisters today being a full-time job. But she held back, wanting to soak in that comfort instead of teasing him about it.
He pulled back too soon, and she wished he would have stayed close, with his arms wrapped around her so she could keep breathing him in. His soap was so much more potent with her nose pressed against his neck than when she was wrapped in his blankets on his bed.
“What would help?” he asked. “Getting away from everything for a few hours, or going back to the house and working?”
She should go back to the house and work. It was the responsible thing to do. But a million buzzing bees hopped from flower to flower in her brain, and the thought of sitting down at her computer and putting words on the screen felt as futile as trying to control real bees.
“I need to work. But I will probably die if I don’t get a break.”
“I mean, you’re going to for sure die someday.”
Again, she laughed, even though she was still crying. “Well, that’s a pleasant thought, Asher.”
“I’m not the sunshine in this duo,” he said.
She put her hand to her chest, feeling more touched than she should. “Are you calling me sunshine?”
“Yes. You’re bright and cheery and fiery and sometimes molten material shoots off of you—”
“So I’m hot,” she supplied.
Instead of laughing, like she expected, he looked at her in a way that made her entire body feel like it wasfilledwith molten material. “Yes, you’re hot.”
The car suddenly felt much too small as a tingle slid over the back of her neck and cheeks. His gaze darted to her lips, and they parted in response. Her breathing quickened. The silence was taut, strung between them by a growing desire she didn’t want to face.Couldn’tface. With effort, she tore her eyes away from his mouth. “So that break …”
He paused for a beat, as if waiting for some cue from her, but she held completely still. He relaxed into his seat. “Let’s go to the house and get our swimsuits. Tonight we’re supposed to have perfect boogie-boarding waves.”
Eliana had been boogie boarding many times in her life. On this beach. In full sunlight!
But never with Asher.
It was the only explanation for why she could not ride a wave this time. Instead, she biffed it over and over again, the nose of the board diving into the sand, flipping her over the waves, and her falls causing her to swallow more sea water than was probably healthy. She pushed her stringy, wet hair away from her stinging eyes.
Asher stood to the side in his wet suit, watching her with a smirk. He’d offered to help her several times, but she insisted she could do it on her own. Pride. Today, it tasted like salt and was always her downfall.
“Fine!” She motioned him closer, then put her hands on her own wet-suit clad hips. They’d rented one from Chad’s surf shop just before it closed. “Will you please help me?”
“Yes.” He rode on his board over to her and then stood up beside her in the waist-deep water. “It’s your timing. You’re jumping too soon and the waves are rolling over you.”
“How are you so good at this?” she asked him.
“I surf a lot.” That explained his muscular chest and arms. She knew he came out here with his wet suit nearly every evening, but she assumed he only swam.
“Okay, get ready, a good wave is coming. I’ll tell you when to jump into it.” He stared at the wave, and she took the opportunity, unobserved, to look at his profile. He had a straight nose and firm brows. Was his beard as soft as it looked?
