Ashton had been there for Abigail, but instead of chasing after her attention, that night he picked me. He danced with me. He held me not too close, but with just the right amount of space between us. His fingers traced circles on my back, and my fingers itched to run through his dark hair.
And then I left, and Abigail sent him home. Ashton showed up here in Battle Harbour, and I thought for a few heady moments that maybe he camefor me.
Maybe more than a few moments. It might have been a few days.
But he wasn’t there for me. Because there were no more dances, not even any conversation when I saw him on the street. It was like it never happened.
I’ve been trying to convince myself it didn’t, but every time I hear Teddy Swims, I remember how it felt to be held by Ashton.
And this isn’t the time or place to be thinking of it.
“I have flowers.” I point out the bouquets from Fenella and Hettie and Bo, and the Christmas cactus from King Magnus.
“Boyfriend flowers,” he corrects. “A bouquet that takes up half the room. Roses and—” He pauses, studying me. “Sunflowers. And daisies. Bright and sunny flowers. At least, if I were a boyfriend, that’s what I would bring.”
“No boyfriend,” I admit in a shaky voice. I tell myself because it’s never something a single woman wants to admit, but it’s really because I can’t get the image of Ashton hiding behind handfuls of flowers. Especially daisies, my favourite flower.
“If I’m sticking around, maybe I can help with that?”
Things screech to a halt.What?
“You want to help me get a boyfriend?” I take the easy way out of that one. Because, of, course, that’s what Ashton was implying.
He shrugs, a simple lift of his shoulder in an effortlessly graceful manner. Like he shrugs all the time.
“I don’t date a lot,” I say carefully.
“And why is that?” Ashton says, mocking my tone.
“Because I’ve known these guys most of my life. I went to high school with them. Primary school. After a guy snaps your bra strapwhen you walk by, you tend to take him off themaybe-somedaydate list.”
Ashton makes a motion with his hand that I assume would look like if he snapped a girl’s bra strap. “Why don’t you leave and find a boyfriend somewhere else?”
“I like Battle Harbour. I like my life here. I haven’t found the need for a significant other.”
Ashton frowns. “What would one do on a date in Battle Harbour, anyway?”
The way he says it, the casual indifference that could be hiding a real interest in the subject—if it was anyone else. I really doubt Ashton is looking to date while he’s here in Battle Harbour.
“There are a variety of drinking establishments that seem to be pretty popular,” I report, keeping my tone casually indifferent. “Coffee for the Sole is always a good choice.”
“So… beverages? Not surprising that you don’t date if those are your options.”
“It’s not the only thing to do on a date,” I protest.
“No? You’re not helping push Battle Harbour if you don’t have a list ready with options.”
“I like to be by the water,” I confess. “There’s a nice spot by the beach.”
“Do you have those fish rolling in here?” He shudders.
“The capelin roll?” It had been summer on Saint Pierre when they filmed The Suitorette, and the show had highlighted many aspects of Maritime life, including the infamous capelin run, where thousands of silvery little fish swarm the beaches to spawn, creating a rolling, glittering fish carpet that tourists and townsfolk flock to. The event takes place in Laandia, as well as Saint Pierre, andit was fun to watch the handsome and well-dressed contestants wade into the water to fill their bucket of the little fish. “I saw the episode. You don’t seem to be a fan.”
“Did you watch all the episodes?” Ashton asks with a sly grin.
“Of course. Lyra is a good friend. And Abigail is great.”
He nods, his expression unreadable. “She is. They both are.”
