“I agree.” He snickers, pushing back in his seat. “Now. Where were we?” He thinks for a second, fixing his face back to business. “Ah, yes. Fateful moments. Well, Esme. I like you. If your manuscript is as interesting as your personal story, I think we will do great work together.”
“Thank you, Mr. Prewitt.” A genuine smile breaks across my face.
He laughs, his features relaxing. “Ashton, please. I helped you shake your stale cracker of an ex. That’s personal name type of stuff.”
If I would have sipped my coffee, it would be all over Ashton right now. I’ve gotten to know Bryan a little over the past year, and what I came to terms with in the span of several uncomfortable encounters, Ashton deduced from one. “You did not just call him that.” I can’t stop the boisterous laugh, and I throw my hand over my mouth to stifle it. When I gain my composure, I lean across the table and whisper, “My best friend, Sam, refers to him as a bland bag of vanilla wafers.”
He mocks offense, those eyebrows rising high as his dark hazel eyes widen. “Tell her from here on out he must be referred to as stale crackers. Vanilla wafers are delicious.”
“Noted.” At that moment, I realize he has leaned in, too, and his eyes are alight with an air of playfulness. So far, I’ve seen the business side of Nikhil Ashton Prewitt, and now this side. I don’t think he intended to show me this side, but who knows? Maybe he’s one of those people who doesn’t chameleon themselves. Maybe he is who he is regardless of whether he’s working, on a date, or talking to his friends and family. I can respect that greatly. I value honesty.
He must notice our closeness because he audibly swallows once before looking over my shoulder. “He’s gone.”
I haven’t moved an inch, trapped in his eyes. “Good.”
His eyes flick down to my chest. I have the urge to cover myself, and I briefly wonder if I’ve made a mistake coming here. But his wide eyes rise to mine as he asks, “Where did you get that necklace?”
“Oh, uh—” I bring my hand to the cross emblem, leaning back under his intense stare. “A nurse gave it to me after my accident back in Bora Bora.”
Ashton tilts his head ever so slightly before pulling at a chain around his neck. “I have one, too.”
The uneasiness prickling at my senses vanishes, and I audibly exhale at the sight of the silver cross necklace that is identical to mine. What are the odds? “Well, would you look at that. It’s like fate.”
Ashton hums, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips, before abruptly standing. “I’m going to read through what you have, and I will reach out about another meeting when the manuscript is complete. I live in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and it’s a three-hour drive to get here, so I should be on my way back home.” Ashton pulls a card from his wallet. “Here. Just in case you accidentally lose my number.”
I drop the card into the front pocket of my satchel, a little taken aback. I don’t know why I thought he lived closer even though his company was based in Tuscaloosa. “Thank you.” Then I add, “You drove all this way just to meet me?”
He nods, a small smile tugging on his full, pale pink lips. “I like to show my future authors that I’m committed to them and their craft. Plus,” he shrugs, “I can go to Bass Pro Shop over in Pearl before I leave.”
Chuckling, I say, “There’s the real reason.”
“What can I say? I’m only a man.”
Yes. You are all man. Hot, bookish man,I think while sweeping my gaze across his broad shoulders before chastising myself and remembering he was talking about calling a woman named Branda back earlier. But I am intrigued by the ease between us. I don’t talk to hot men so openly. Ever.
Clearing my throat, I rise from my seat. “Regardless if it was me or Bass Pro Shop, I’m glad we could meet and you couldrescue me from my ex. I’m not good at getting myself out of conversations with him because I feel a tad guilty that I forgot the time we were together.”
“Never feel guilty for that,” Ashton says gently, a softness overcoming his chiseled features. “He left you at the altar. You owe him nothing.”
Tears push against my eyes, but I hold them back and nod, cursing my mom’s gift of cry-over-anything genetics.
Ashton offers his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Esme. I look forward to reading this story.”
I shake his hand, enjoying the warmth and firmness of his grip. “I hope you like it.” Anxiety settles in my chest, and a million questions race through my mind. I hear the Enemy’s voice stirring doubt, and I counter with a quick, silent prayer for the Lord to battle it for me. Aloud and through a forced smile, I say,“And if you want, we can set up a Zoom meeting or something next time so you don’t have to drive all this way.”
Ashton shrugs. “We’ll see. I like traveling.”
And with that, he leads us out of the coffee shop and disappears around the corner of the parking lot while I slip into my old, beat-up Toyota.
I white-knuckle the steering wheel as my brain shuffles and repeats the encounter with Ashton, analyzing every detail against my book character, NoahAshton. His looks, the tattoo, the silver cross necklace…
There’s no way…
My phone buzzes, and I check the incoming message from Isla Grimsley, the owner of our one dance studio, Whimsical Whitney Dance Studio. We don’t talk often as her work keeps her busy and she’s about ten years older than I am, but on occasion we rendezvous back together for coffee and catch ups.
Isla: Jay said that his little sister said that she saw you in Main Street Coffee with a man and that y’all were cozy. Care to spill? ;)
I groan, dropping my forehead to my steering wheel. “Stupid small towns.”
