“Just a feeling. He never demands anything of substance from me. My older brother Evan has all the responsibilities, and he’ll take over when Dad retires. He’s never given me the option of being involved.”
“Would you want to?”
“I don’t know. I’d like the chance to find out.” He shifts, and his expression smooths out. End of Ashton conversation. “This is all very princess-locked-in-the-tower,” he says glancing around with a smile.
“The door is never locked but if you take my crutches away, I am pretty stuck here. It could be worse.”
“What would be worse?”
“My apartment. They blocked off the stairs in the house, so I have to use a fire escape to get inside.”
He gives a little huff, which might be condescending or humour. “Do you have to climb in the window?”
“No, they put in a door. But still not great when you bring in groceries. And it might be a while until I can climb up with one leg.”
“How else did I mess up your life?” he asks in a cool voice.
“I’m not trying to make youfeel guilty.”
He meets my gaze, studying me with those dark blue eyes. “No, you wouldn’t. But what about work? Boyfriend?”
If I mixed Prussian blue with azurite and a touch of light violet, I might be able to match the colour of his eyes. “I obviously took some time off work, which isn’t a bad thing,” I say, again needing to stop staring. “I enjoy not smelling of fish and chips.”
Ashton laughs, and I’m caught off guard how few times I’ve heard him laugh. He chuckles, smiles, but rarely a true smile.
I’m wrong—I would need to mix ultramarine violet with the Prussian blue.
“Boyfriend?” he asks again. “I’m going to say no, because I’ve been in Battle Harbour enough times that I would have seen him. Or heard about him. Plus, I didn’t see anyone come into the hospital with a bouquet of flowers.”
No, but if anyone was watching, they would have seen Ashton steal into my room last night after visiting hours were over, carrying a grease-stained brown paper bag that smelled heavenly. My stomach had rumbled loudly at the sight of them.
He dropped off a burger and fries, just like he said he would, and then he vanished.
I haven’t seen him since I left the hospital two days ago. I also haven’t let myself wonderwhy?
Why the burger? Why the visit? Why is he here now?
While he’s been out of sight, I convinced myself that it was only a dream—not only that Ashton Carrington had left to buy me dinner, but that he had come to visit me at all.
So many questions and enigmatic Ashton isn’t very forthcoming with answers.
“So you’re admitting that you were stalking my hospital room?” I ask lightly, hoping that if I bring it up, I might get a few answers about thewhys.
He raises an eyebrow. He’s got the ability of raising one at a time, arching a brow high onto his forehead, and it’s not a look that gives me the warm and fuzzies.
There’s nothing about Ashton that gives me the warm and fuzzies.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself that.
“Not exactly stalking,” he says, his tone cool. “I may have felt a little responsible for you being in there in the first place.”
“I told you not to. I was in the middle of the street and you—”
“Do you always try to make people feel better even when they’re clearly in the wrong?” Ashton interrupts.
I catch my breath. Yes, he sounds abrupt and maybe a little rude, but I’m not offended. In fact, it’s the opposite. I feel like heseesme.
Ashton had been on the latest season of The Suitorette—both Lyra and Abigail’s seasons. I had gone to Saint Pierre when they were filming, and the night they shut down the town for the celebration, I danced with him.
