“Also seemed pretty mature when she won an award for one of her images the year before.”
“That’s certainly—”
“And I’d think bein’ brave enough to fly all over the world alone was mature. But what do I know? If you’ll excuse us.” Asher pressed his hand to the small of Nat’s back and opened the door to the ice cream parlor, ushering them inside, satisfaction settling over him when Wanda didn’t respond.
Once inside the safety of the shop, Owen squealed his approval, and June ran up to the case, her hands pressed to the glass as she stared at all the flavors. Meanwhile, Nat stared at him.
He ran a hand through his hair and slid her a glance out of the corner of his eye. Okay, so maybe he’d overstepped, speaking for her when he knew damn well she could speak for herself. But what the fuck was he supposed to do? Just stand by while someone insulted his wi—friend?
“What?” he asked.
She smirked at him. “What was all that about?”
“Small-minded people bein’ small-minded.”
“I wasn’t talkin’ about her. I haven’t spent a day in my life caring about what those people think of me. I’m sure as hell not gonna start now.” She tucked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and tugged him closer. “I’m talkin’ about your reaction to it.”
“I don’t appreciate anyone shitting on you for doin’ this. Or actin’ like you doin’ something so selfless is out of character, ’cause it sure as hell isn’t with me. You agreed to this ’cause I asked, so I’m not gonna let anyone badmouth you when I’m around.”
If he hadn’t been watching closely, he might’ve missed how her expression flickered for a moment before June pulled her away to choose her ice cream.
Shit. Why had he said that? With everything that had been piling up and all the other expectations weighing down on him, he wasn’t so sure he had the mental bandwidth to tackle what this thing between them was. Because it sure as hell felt like a lot more than a favor for a friend.
It had actually started to feel a little like this was their family.
“Hey, you want the usual?” she called from the ice cream case.
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket as it buzzed with an incoming call, Cole Donovan’s name flashing on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Asher. It’s Cole. You have a minute? I want to talk about the custody hearing.”
His stomach bottomed out, worry over what was coming up both too soon and not nearly soon enough drowning him. He hadn’t gotten any closer to guessing what the outcome would be. If the judge would be able to put aside his personal prejudice against Asher and realize he and Nat would be the best fit for his niece and nephew.
He lifted his gaze to where Nat squatted down in front of the kids, taking turns feeding June and Owen from a tasting cup. She was laughing, her eyes bright as June danced around her and the stroller.
Yeah, he and Natwouldbe the best fit, except it wouldn’t be them together. This farce was sohe’dbe awarded custody. In the end, Nat wouldn’t stay in Havenbrook. She couldn’t.
She had run as far as she could from this place as soon as she’d been able, and he’d be damned if he kept her locked up in a cell just because he didn’t want her to go.
Later that night, Asher collapsed onto the couch next to Nat, the earlier talk with Cole still weighing on his mind. He needed to make a decision on his career, and he needed to do it now. Though, truthfully, when push came to shove, he’d already done so. Turned out, he’d been right all along.
He’d gotten started in this business writing music and playing those songs at open mic nights.Thathad been his passion, but he’d caught some early breaks that had propelled him into the spotlight. And he’d felt sort of foolish giving up the possibility of a full-fledged career as a touring musician, so he’d gone down that path. But if this past week had reminded him of anything, it was that he preferred writing a song from the heart and playing it at an intimate wedding rather than a packed venue. Especially if that song was written about his wife, and especially if she was in the crowd.
Nat was curled up in the corner of the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she watched another episode ofSupernatural, barely sparing him a glance when he sat down.
“Isn’t this, like, your hundredth time through the show?”
“I haven’t counted,” she said haughtily. “I refuse to quantify my love for the Winchester brothers that way.”
He snorted and slouched down farther on the couch, propping his bare feet on the coffee table. With a sigh, he ran a hand down his face, the events of the day catching up to him.
“Damn,” she said. “Gettin’ a little bent out of shape about my crushes over two fictional characters, aren’t you?”
He huffed out a laugh and turned his head toward her. “I wouldn’t dare come between you and the boys. It’s just been a really fucking long day. With June and the session…”
“You said it went really well, though, right?” she asked as she turned toward him, ignoring the TV altogether.
