“Hey bud…it’s six am, what are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep anymore.” Asher shrugged. “And I was hungry.”
Nodding slowly, I considered my options. I knew that Harper wanted to take itsomewhatslow, and I was pretty sure Asher discovering me sneaking from his mom’s room was the furthest thing from slow.
But for better or worse, I was caught, and Asher seemed completely okay with it. I decided to act casual and walked into the kitchen, flicking on the light. “Are you sure you don’t want pancakes or something?”
“We don’t have pancake mix. Mom always burns pancakes, so she thinks we’re saving money this way since we’re not just tossing them in the trash. When I really want them, I tell Nik to bring me some from the diner.”
I chuckled, moving over to the Keurig to make a cup of coffee. “Making pancakes is an art—one that I happen to excel at.”
“Mom used to say that you were good at everything,” Asher said matter-of-factly, returning to his cereal.
My heartbeat stuttered in my chest, and I was humbled how kind she was to me, even when I’d failed her—and him. “I’m not good at everything. I’m terrible at golf.”
And goodbyes. And usually, communicating—although, through some stroke of insane luck, I’d managed to not fuck that up—this time around.
“Who wants to be good at golf?” Asher’s frown of disgust was like looking in a time-travel mirror. I laughed.
“Fair enough. It’s a boring sport.” I’d only played once, at the beginning my recording career, because the CEO of the label had insisted on it. Dare and Evan weren’t any better, and we’d spent the majority of the afternoon goofing off behind the prick’s back.
I found the mugs in the cupboard over the Keurig, along with an assortment of glasses. Practical of Harper to tuck them beside the refrigerator and above the coffee maker.
Grabbing one, I placed it beneath the nozzle. I turned at the slurping sound, catching Asher through the peek-through as he drank the milk in his bowl. Once he finished, he picked up his spoon and pushed the chair back, carrying his dishes into the kitchen.
He opened the dishwasher and placed his empty bowl and spoon inside.
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” I asked.
“I have a spelling test in the morning. I’m hoping Mom will let me come home early, though.”
“I’ll see if I can sway her,” I winked. “I bet if we let her sleep in, that’ll help.”
“She usually stays up late reading, so I let her sleep in until eight. She only needs a half hour to get ready. I’ve timed her.” He said matter-of-factly.
I chuckled, not really surprised that she still did that. How many times had I’d imagined her, sitting in her window seat curled up in a blanket, a book in hand? Sometimes, when I’d seek her after a particularly bad row with the old man, I’d see her silhouette in her window, and a sense tranquility would flow through me from just the sight of her.
Asher closed the dishwasher, rousing me from my memories. Turning, I pressed the brew button. The machine started percolating, and as it brewed, I opened the refrigerator to grab the creamer.
It was a bit of a mind trip, this feeling that I’d instantly known him forever, even though I hadn’t, even though I didn’t really—not yet. All the missing pieces to all the puzzles in my mind had been found. My existence rearranged because I would doanythingfor him—for either one of them.
“So, what do you usually do when you wake up before your mom?”
“Watch Netflix, read comic books. Sometimes I play with my Legos. I’m not supposed to play videogames, though.” He seemed disappointed by that. “I tried once, but Mom set it the Xbox to alert her when videogames are being played—I got grounded for a whole week. Sometimes, technology bites.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “We can always play later.”
His entire face lit up. “Does that mean you’ll be here when I get home from school?”
“It does,” I confirmed, smiling.
“Are you going to sleep over again?”
I blanched with the mug half risen to my lips. If I had it my way—the answer to that question would be a resounding yes. “Maybe, we’ll have to see what the lady of the house says.”
“Maybe we should let her sleep in even later,” Asher pondered. “We could make her breakfast in bed and you could drive me to school while she eats. Then she’ll let you stay forever.”
I laughed, air escaping my nose in a barely discernible huff. He was a little Romeo master mind.
