“Okay. Will lemon ginger work then?”
“Sounds good.”
“Perfect. It pairs excellently with the piece of Halloween candy that you’ll get if you’re nice.”
“I’m never nice,” he replies flatly.
“And that’s what the world likes about you.” I spin on my heel when I get to the kitchen, and Asher straggles behind in the living room. It’s open plan, which means conversationcan carry on.
My hands are busy preparing the water, but I notice Asher perusing my living room, pausing when he sees the framed photographs on my side table.
“Who is this?” he asks and holds up a photo in a frame.
I smile instantly and abandon the kettle that I just set on the stove to join and study the photo with him. “That’s my brother, Drew.” I was younger in the photo, probably around three.
He scoffs a laugh. “What? He’s like the same age as your mom.”
“Yeah, he’s my half-brother. We have the same dad. You would think it would be kind of awkward at every family dinner, but we just never say stepmom and then it’s fine. He married a Blisswood, so he lives not far in Bluetop and helps with their winery when he isn’t constructing things.” Everyone knows about the Olive Owl brand.
Asher seems interested and meets my eyes for a beat when he sets the frame down.
I point to the next one. “That’s my great-grandmother. She died when I turned ten. A fiery woman. Hysterical, too.”
“That explains a lot.” His comment is flippant.
He seems like a tough cookie, but also, there is a glimmer in his eyes that makes me believe it’s for show and he is toying with me.
“I’m honored if I take after her, although my dad is 100% convinced that she haunts him every time he makes a non-traditional choice.” He huffs out a laugh because I sound serious, and I am. “No joke. When I didn’t have a Bat Mitzvah, he couldn’t sleep for weeks. Then one Eastover, when he had an Easter egg hunt for everyone before Passover dinner, suddenly this clock on the wall justpoof.” I gesture with my hands. “Just dropped to the floor and broke for no reason.”
His eyes squint and his face screws up. “Your family is interesting.”
I pat his shoulder. “And I’m sure yours isn’t.”
He whistles and grins. “That explanation is for another day.”
“Well, it’s another day, so spill.” I motion for him to join me in the kitchen, and he obliges.
He perches on the stool at the kitchen island while I return to my task of making tea.
“My parents are loving. My dad is ruthless when it involves business but completely turns soft if it involves his kids. He came to every hockey game growing up, even though he probably wishes I played football?—”
I interrupt as the kettle on the stove begins to whistle. “My father would happen to agree.”
“Right. You must have been to your fair share of football games growing up with your dad.”
I nod proudly as I pour the water over the bags in each mug. “Yes. But he also tried to keep me out of the public eye so I could live a normal life. And tell me about your mom?”
“My mom is a free spirit who will photograph anything. I also have a little brother.”
I interrupt. “Yeah, also a hockey pro, right?”
“He is.”
I slide the cup of tea to him before I grab my own. “Close?”
A fond little smile curls on his lips. “Shaw and I are not as close as I would like. The age difference perhaps plays a role, but when we see one another, you wouldn’t know it. The messages we exchange when we play his team are hysterical.”
“I bet.” Leaning against the opposite counter, I getcomfortable.
