He reaches for his beard, then drops his hand to his lap. “I’m fine.”
I cross my arms and give him a look. “Are you sure about that? Because you look like you haven’t had any food since this morning.”
“I said I’m fine.”
It’s been about six hours since I came by with breakfast. “Okay, so you’re coming with me.”
“I don’t need?—”
“You need food. I need hardware store advice. We can knock both out in one trip.” I tap the doorframe. “Come on. Fresh air will do you good.”
“Fresh air,” he repeats flatly.
“Yes. That thing that exists outside this cave.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse, to dig in his hermit heels and insist on staying in his increasingly stale-smelling house. But then he sighs and reaches for his crutches. “If I fall and break something else, it’s on you.”
“Deal.”
Getting him to my car takes longer than I expect. He gets himself outside while I run and grab the car, bouncing over the potholes and then up his driveway that’s smooth as glass. The crutches are unwieldy, and he has to navigate his porch steps one at a time, hopping and grunting. I stand nearby, not sure if offering help will offend him or if letting him struggle alone makes me a terrible person.
“Stop hovering,” he mutters.
“I’m just making sure you don’t fall and crack your head open. That would be very inconvenient.”
“For you or for me?”
“Both. The one lawyer in town would probably take your side in the lawsuit.” When we get him settled in the passenger seat with his leg stretched out and his crutches crammed in the back, I’m sweating despite the cool air.
“This is why I don’t leave the house,” Asher says as I climb into the driver’s seat.
“Because of lawsuits?”
“Because everything takes too long.”
“You’ve only been broken for like a day.” I start the engine. “And you don’t have a choice. I’m rescuing you.”
“Pretty sure this is kidnapping.”
“Tomato, tomahto.” I like talking to him this way. If he were a customer at the bar, I’d be flirting. And maybe I am doing that, since I know he will be in my life for the same amount of time. In and out and back to the ‘burgh. I have to remind myself I’m only here to sort out paperwork.
When I called Esther last night, she was sure to remind me how I promised to come back to Pittsburgh as soon as possible to finish what I started with my marketing clients—AKA all my sisters and their small businesses. But there’s no harm in admiring the hunky injured grizzly bear while I’m around.
The drive to town is quiet at first. I focus on the road—it’s curvier than I’m used to, although the hills and sharp turns are certainly Pittsburgh-esque. But Fork Lick has no signal lights or city buses to navigate around. Asher stares out the window, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Whether he’s regretting coming along. Whether he’s in pain.
“So,” I say, because I can’t handle silence. “Climax was a weird place…”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Bunch of hippies moved here after 9-11, and now we’ve got Manhattan transplants who telecommute.”
“You should write travel brochures.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. I’m counting that as a win. “It’s got some good restaurants,” he adds after a moment. “Art galleries. Antique shops. Great parks.”
“And hipsters?”
“You’d be surprised. The town got trendy a few years back. Now you can’t throw a rock without hitting someone from Brooklyn with an ironic mustache.”
I laugh. “Do you hate that?”
