“I have to go.” I start clicking the keyboard, hoping it sounds serious.
“Asher, wait?—”
I hang up.
Immediately, I feel like shit. Lia doesn’t deserve that. She’s been nothing but supportive, nothing but kind, and I shut her down because I can’t handle my own feelings.
My phone buzzes.
Whatever you did, fix it. Life’s too short to be this stupid.
I stare at the message for a long time. Life’s too short. Lia knows that better than anyone. When she got her health under control, she grabbed onto happiness with both hands—Ethan, the farm, the baby, the life she almost didn’t get to have.
She didn’t let fear stop her.
But I’m not Lia.
Eva doesn’t need me growling on her joy parade any more than my sister does. It’s just a matter of time before Eva realizes that I really am an old, grouchy beast of a man with nothing to offer her… apart from really fucking fast internet.
I sit in my dark office, staring at my screen, and tell myself this is protection, not punishment. But even I don’t believe it anymore.
10
Eva
The morning after Asher made it abundantly clear that we’re “just neighbors,” I decide to be mature about this. Professional. Neighborly, even.
I will bring him coffee that I make at my own house with the ancient percolator I found in the cellar. I will be friendly, but distant. I will prove I am a functional adult who does not get emotionally derailed by grumpy hermits who send mixed signals.
I rehearse what I’m going to say the whole walk over. Hey, brought you some coffee. Just being neighborly. No big deal. I’m so focused on my script that I almost don’t notice the car in his driveway.
It’s a Honda sedan, pale blue, with a Fork Lick Community Garden bumper sticker.
I slow my steps, suddenly uncertain. Maybe it’s a delivery person. Maybe it’s someone from town checking on him. Maybe it’s?—
Through the kitchen window, I see Ginny from the Quick Lick, unmistakable with her cloud of curly hair and bright pink cardigan. She’s standing at Asher’s counter, unpacking Tupperware containers.
Asher sits at the table, looking uncomfortable. Good.
Ginny laughs at something—I can’t hear what—and touches his arm casually, familiarly. Like she belongs in his house.
I stand on the outside while an insider brings him a homemade casserole that’s probably full of his favorite ingredients. I know he said he’s not interested in her, but he seems to say a lot of things.
I can’t decide if knocking and staking my claim on this handsome yeti would be the mature response or the absolute wrong decision.
Neighbors don’t interrupt when other neighbors have company, right?
I turn around and walk back to Pierce Acres. The coffee goes cold on my kitchen table while I attack the first floor with a shop vac from the 1900s, raising clouds of dust that make my eyes water.
That’s the only reason my eyes are watering.
Around noon, my phone buzzes. This must be my pocket of cell service.
Asher
You didn’t come by this morning.
I stare at the message for a full minute before responding.
