“Guilty for what?”
“For leaving them, I guess. For not being there.”
“You’re not abandoning them. You’re just… expanding.” He seems to consider his words carefully. “When Lia stayed in New York, I thought I’d never see her again. But she came back. Things changed, but they didn’t end. Your sisters will still be your sisters, Eva. Geography doesn’t change that.”
I feel the truth of it settle into my chest. He’s right. I know he’s right.
Dessert arrives just in time for me to avoid any further admissions—a maple crème brûlée that Bacon sends out “from one Fork Lick convert to another,” according to the server. The custard is silky, the caramelized sugar shatters perfectly, and the maple flavor is subtle but unmistakable.
“This is what Pierce Acres syrup could taste like,” I say, almost to myself. “If I can get the operation running.”
“You will.”
“You sound very confident for someone who’s seen me try to operate a power washer.”
“You knew I was watching?”
“I saw you in the window after I screamed when my shirt got soaked.”
“I appreciated every wet bit of you.” His eyes darken as he reaches across the table to take my hand. I squeeze my thighs together at the thought of him staring at me soaking wet, and I swallow just in time to hear him say, “You’re going to figure this out, Eva. All of it. I believe that.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For…” I gesture vaguely at everything. “For trying. I know it’s not easy for you.”
“It’s easier than I thought it would be.” He rubs his thumb across my knuckles. “You make it easier.”
We finish dessert in comfortable silence, trading bites, our fingers intertwined on the table. When the check comes, Asher pays before I even reach for my wallet.
“Very traditional,” I tease, picking up my denim jacket as Asher hops to his feet and moves to ease the coat over my shoulders.
“I have my moments.”
We wave goodbye to the Hotmans—all in the kitchen now, both twins wearing tiny aprons, watching their father work with rapt attention—and step out into the cool night air. Fork Lick is quiet at this hour, and our footsteps crunch on the gravel as we walk toward the golf cart, which isn’t quite street legal, but nobody seems prepared to give us a citation.
“I had a really good time,” I say.
“Me too.”
“We should do this again.”
“We should.” We sit in the cart, looking at each other in the moonlight.
“Eva,” Asher says, and his voice is rougher, lower. “I want to invite you back to my place, but I need you to know… I meant what I said. About not doing this in a while. If it’s too fast, or you want to wait, I understand. We can take this slow.”
I lean closer to him, close enough to see the way his pupils dilate, the way his breath catches. “I appreciate that,” I say. “But I’ve been waiting weeks for you to stop being an idiot. I’m not interested in slow.”
He exhales—with relief, I hope. “Thank god.” He kisses me right there on the street, in front of the stained-glass windows and anyone who might be watching. It’s deep and urgent and full of promise.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. “Your place,” I say. “Now.”
16
Asher
Eva’s mouth is on mine before I can find the light switch inside my house, her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer. I stumble over the threshold, the walking boot making me clumsy, but she doesn’t let go. Just steadies me with her body and keeps kissing me as if she’s been waiting her whole life for this.
