“Hi, Ginny,” Asher says, and he sounds resigned.
“Heard about your ankle from half the town. How’re you managing?”
“Fine.”
“And you’re Eva, right? The one who inherited the Pierce place?” Ginny’s attention shifts to me, bright and curious. “Whole town’s talking about you two. Are you an intern?”
My face heats. “I’m twenty-three.”
“And already driving Asher around? That’s so sweet. He never lets anyone help him with anything.”
Asher turns an adorable shade of red underneath his bushy beard. “We’re just?—”
“Neighbors,” I finish. “Just neighbors doing neighborly things.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ginny’s smile suggests she thinks we’re full of crap. “Well, it’s nice to see.” Her tone seems sinister somehow, but I don’t know her well enough to assume.
Asher mutters, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ginny.”
She feigns surprise. “Well, that’s why I’m asking, silly.” She pats his shoulder. “You need anything else? I can help you shop while you tell me all about it.”
“We’re good,” I say quickly, desperate to escape.
Ginny frowns, her hand on the basket of Asher’s scooter. He looks up at her. “We’re good,” he echoes.
The curly yenta purses her lips and nods. “All right, then. I’ll see you at the register.”
She bustles off, and I look at Asher. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw tight.
“That was?—”
“Humiliating?”
“I was going to say awkward.”
“That too.”
We finish shopping in silence, both of us hyperaware now of the eyes following us through the store. By the time we get to the register—where Ginny rings us up while making more pointed remarks and very clearly staking some sort of claim on Asher—I’m ready to flee.
Asher pays for his stuff, I pay for mine, and we load everything into my car as quickly as possible.
“That was the worst,” Asher says once we’re safely in the car.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“She’s always like that, and I’m not interested.” Asher seems keen to make this point, and I tuck that knowledge inside, reminding myself that I’m just in town briefly.
His stomach growls, and I glance at the groceries. “How long would it take to grab a quick bite at the diner?”
He shrugs. “Should be fine if you don’t request a bunch of substitutions or send the line cook out foraging.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Asher Thorne. I work in the service industry. I would never.” I grin and hop out of the car, tugging him to his feet outside Lick Your Fork.
6
Asher
Over the next few days, a routine develops. Every morning around eight, I hear her knock. Then her voice: “It’s me!”
