Because whatever the reason Ashton has been showing up in my room for the past week, I don’t want him to feel obligated that he has to. I don’t want him to think I’m completely bored, or pathetic with his visits as the only highlight of my day.
I have many highlights.
I will finish my painting today, whether he shows up or not.
I have the cats to keepme company.
But the empty room, which had been full of such laughter, and so much love last night, is a little lonely today, despite the cats’ best intentions.
20
Ashton
ThenextdayI’mback in Sophie’s room, like I’ve been pulled there by an invisible rope.
Sophie doesn’t ask where I was, and I don’t give an excuse. Because I have no excuse. After I got my coffee, I stayed in Battle Harbour with my sister, helping out at Hera’s for the night.
Also, drinking too much and fending off bad pick-up lines and ignoring blatant glances from women of every shape and size. And age.
I wasn’t in the mood for company last night.
I’m not sure I’m in the mood for it today, but I wanted to see Sophie.
It bothers me how much I want to see her.
I braved the cold in the morning and head to Coffee for the Sole to get us coffee and drove back to the castle. Silas lent me his car, because Fenella still refuses to. Spencer and the others have seemed to have gotten past my part in Sophie’s accident, but my sister won’t. And will not, if I know Fenella.
That was the first and last time I will drive that Charger, and I’m fine with that.
“Reading again?” I ask as I settle on the couch beside her. I notice the canvas beside the window with the painted waves and moonlight, looking too real for an art project.
I don’t say anything about it. Not yet.
Sophie lifts her ereader, but I only see words, no cover. I raise an eyebrow, hoping for more information. “The Stand,” she supplies.
“The Stephen King Stand? The one like the beginning of Covid?” She nods. When I wondered what books Sophie would like, I wandered through the romance section. The Reese and Jenna and Oprah picks.
I would have picked wrong for her. Like I am a very wrong pick for her. “Huh.”
“It came out years before Covid,” Sophie says. “I think it’s spooky that he came up with the idea before Covid was even a thing.”
“Yeah, but Stephen King is spooky. I mean—It? Killer clown. Dude’s got issues.”
“It’s one of my favourites.”
I would have never thought Sophie was into killer clowns. “You like reading about things that grab you under the bed? Did not see that coming.”
She laughs, and I can feel the sounds smoothing out another of my sharp edges. “I don’t think there’s anything that grabs you under the bed in this book. Definitely his other ones, though.”
“You read all the other ones?” I ask, interested despite myself.
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing?”
I shrug. “I’m not one for the written word.”
“You wouldn’t like my book club, then.”
“You have a book club?”
