Our gazes collided again, as if some invisible pull tethered us. Time stilled. My heart beat faster.
“Guess I could,” he said, eyes still on me. “At first.”
My muscles loosened. Damn it. I didn’t want to care whether he stayed or left—but I did.
Sharon pressed her palms together under her chin. “I’m so glad.”
“Yeah.” Asher glanced at her, nodding. “We’ll catch up later. After the cake.”
Sharon and Dad exchanged an awkward look. Silence pressed in, heavy and uncomfortable. My stomach dropped.
They forgot. Sharon’s shopping bags definitely hadn’t held anything for me.
Sharon cleared her throat, her smile too quick, too brittle. “Kaia, we thought maybe we’d celebrate this weekend, when things calm down. You know how busy—”
It was obvious she was only trying to save face.
They hadn’t planned anything.
Dad cut in, voice gruff. “You’re eighteen now. Old enough to understand priorities. Not everything can revolve around a birthday.”
Heat pricked behind my eyes. They weren’t even trying to hide it.
Asher shook his head. “Sorry,” he whispered, looking at me. Then he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m exhausted. Same room?”
“But you’ve hardly eaten,” Sharon said.
“I’m not hungry.” He gave a tight smile. Passing behind me, his fingertips brushed my shoulder. “Happy birthday,” he whispered. Tingles spread across the spot he touched.
“Thanks,” I said.
Then he left, and no one spoke as we finished dinner.
As soon as I cleared my plate, I excused myself and dashed upstairs.
Asher’s bedroom door was open.
But he wasn’t there.
CHAPTER THREE
Kaia
An hour later, Asher was still missing. I sat on the bed with the book he’d given me, but anxious thoughts blurred the letters into a mess I couldn’t read.
He’d said he’d stay, but he’d taken his backpack and left anyway. Something must’ve upset him. I replayed dinner in my head but couldn’t pinpoint what changed his mind about living here.
Maybe it wasn’t one moment but the idea of seeing our parents acting like a couple. It had taken me years to stop feeling like my heart was sinking every time Dad kissed Sharon—or worse, when they had sex.
This house was big, but not nearly big enough.
Footsteps thudded in the hallway outside my room, followed by a knock. Dad and Sharon were already in bed.
Without thinking, I leaped up and opened the door. A tall, familiar figure in riding gear stood there.
Relief washed through me. “Asher.”
A smirk curved his lips. “You remember my name. I’m flattered. Can I come in?”
