I stare at him like I’ve forgotten how language works. My entire face is on fire. I hold the book up higher, like maybe if I pretend to read, the universe will retroactively erase the last three minutes of my life.
Ash, of course, doesn’t miss a beat.
He lifts the donut in his hand and says, “Help yourself. But Olive crushed the good ones in a moment of crisis.”
I whip around to glare at him. His voice is smooth. Unbothered. Thesmug bastardis smiling like he didn’t just have his tongue in my mouth ten seconds ago.
Liam shrugs, dumps the snacks on the counter, and heads to the fridge. “I’ll take what I can get.”
I finally exhale. My knees are still wobbly. My mouth still tastes like Ash.
I risk a glance.
He’s already watching me.
And that stupid, smug half-smile?
Still there.
Liam’s muttering at the fridge like it personally insulted him, and I’m pretending to scroll my phone—while sneak-glancing at Ash every ten seconds like a complete weirdo.
Not that he seems to notice. He’s back to being effortlessly chill, lounging like he owns the place—which, honestly, he probably could, judging by the sheer confidence radiating off him.
I try to focus on breathing like a normal person.
“Anyway,” Liam says, flopping into the armchair. “I just spent twenty minutes on a call with a guy who thinks a quarter-inch cable and an XLR are the same thing. I swear if I hear one more person use the word ‘vibe’ in a tech conversation, I’m going to lose it.”
Ash chuckles. “You should’ve sent him that video from the benefit concert last year—the one where the power cut out mid-song and I had to finish the chorus unplugged. Crowd thought it was planned.”
Liam grins. “Still one of the best nights. You didn’t even flinch. Just kept playing, and everyone lost their minds.”
“Fire Seasonblew up after that,” Ash mutters around a sip of coffee.
I blink, caught off guard. “Wait—you were involved inFire Season? I love that song!”
Liam looks at me like I’ve sprouted horns. “Ja, you could definitely say Ash was involved inFire Season.”
I narrow my eyes. “What exactly is your role in the music industry, then, Ash?”
“I’m a singer-songwriter. Rock, soul, folk—whatever you want to call it,” Ash says with a shrug, like this is nothing.
Wait.
No. It can’t be.
My gaze shifts to him. Ash, who’s calmly biting into a donut like he isn’t detonating my entire worldview. Ash, with the tattoos. The guitar. The voice. The smirk that suddenly feels way too familiar.
Oh. My. God.
“You’re not—” My voice cracks. “You’re notAsh Ryder?”
He shrugs, maddeningly casual. “Last I checked.”
I stare at him like he’s grown a second, smug head. No way.
I blink. Once. Twice.
Liam stares at me like I’ve just confessed to never hearing of oxygen. “Wait—you seriously didn’t know?”
