“It’s not.” He jerks his chin toward a corner where it’s quieter. “Just come.”
My pulse jumps. I follow him toward the back wall of the garage, weaving past toolboxes and stacks of wrapped presents. Holly keeps drawing at the far table, humming to herself. Good. She won’t overhear anything. When we stop, Ash crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against a support beam. Not casually. There’s nothing casual about him. This is the stance he takes when he’s interrogating someone.
“You okay?” he asks. The question lands heavier than it should.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I counter.
His eyes narrow. “Don’t deflect.”
I wince. I hate that he’s learning my habits. Or maybe I love that he is. Which is worse.
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
He scans my entire face—slow, careful—until I feel completely transparent.
Then: “No, you’re not.”
I blink. “Wow. Rude.”
“Truthful.”
He pushes off the beam, stepping closer. Close enough that I feel heat roll off him. Close enough that my breath catches.
“Something’s been bothering you,” he says, low. “You’ve been jumpy all week.”
“Maybe I just have a lot going on.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, “you’re avoiding talking about it.”
Damn him. Damn his intuition. Damn the way he looks at me. Damn the way my throat tightens.
“Ash,” I whisper, “I’m really okay. Just tired.”
He tilts his head, studying me like he can read every lie I’ve ever told. “Lucy.” His voice drops to a warning. “Talk to me.”
There it is—the unfiltered command underneath his calm. The thing that makes my knees go weak and my spine straighten at the same time. I swallow. Hard. “You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “You’re not going to like it.”
“I’ll manage.”
I exhale shakily. “Fine.”
And I tell him. Not everything at once. But enough to rip open the wound I’ve kept stitched tight since arriving in Devil’s Peak. “I left Denver,” I begin, “because I needed a fresh start.”
He waits.
“My ex cheated,” I say flatly. “On me. Repeatedly. With someone younger, blonder, and impressive in absolutely no ways except the ones that mattered to him.”
Ash’s jaw flexes so hard I hear the teeth grind. I keep going, because if I stop, the words will rot inside me again.
“When I found out, he said it was my fault. That I’d ‘changed.’ That I wasn’t fun anymore. That caring for my grandmother had made me… boring.”
I laugh—sharp, humorless. “Imagine that. Sacrificing your life for someone who raised you, only to be told it made you unlikable.”
Ash’s fists clench. I stare at the floor.
