I lie there in the dark, listening to her breathe, and try to remember the last time I felt this content.
I can’t.
Maybe I never have.
The thought should scare me. It doesn’t. Not anymore.
I close my eyes and let myself drift, Eva’s weight anchoring me to Fork Lick in a welcome embrace.
17
Asher
Eva is sprawled across my bed, one arm flung over my chest, her face half-buried in my pillow.
She’s snoring. Her hair splays everywhere—a dark tangle that covers most of her features. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen and heard.
I lie there for a moment, watching her. The way the morning light catches the curve of her shoulder. The way her mouth is slightly open. The way her fingers twitch against my skin like she’s typing in her dreams.
I want to remember her in my bed, in my space, filling a void I didn’t admit was empty. I remember photos exist just for this purpose, and I reach for my phone—carefully, so I don’t wake her—on the floor beside the bed. Except…when I power it on, it practically explodes.
My stomach drops as I see seven missed calls from Clayton and a dozen text messages looking increasingly urgent in preview. They all reference a “situation,” with the most recent coming at 7:02, 7:09, and 7:13 this morning. It is now just past eight o’clock, so whatever it is, Clayton’s been waiting hours to resolve it.
I look at Eva, sleeping peacefully, and am filled with squirming anxiety. I don’t want to leave this bed to shatter the fragile perfection of this morning with whatever work crisis is brewing.
But Clayton doesn’t call seven times unless something is seriously wrong.
I ease myself from under Eva’s arm, moving slowly, holding my breath. She stirs, mumbles something unintelligible, and burrows deeper into the pillow.
I grab my boxers off the floor, find a t-shirt and slip out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind me. I hobble to the kitchen, put on coffee more out of habit than desire, and call Clayton. He answers on the first ring.
“Asher, what the hell? I was about to send a search party.”
“Sorry. I was…” I glance toward the bedroom. “Unavailable.”
“At eight in the morning? In Fork Lick?” Clayton sounds skeptical, then amused. “Wait. Did you finally get a life?”
“What’s the emergency, Clayton?”
“Right. Business.” He takes a breath, and I can hear the shift in his tone. “Our time is up.”
I lean against the kitchen counter. “What?”
“The incubator, Trede…the funding expired, and I’m going in a different direction.”
I grip the edge of the counter. My worst nightmare—immediate loss of my career. “You’re just telling me now? Don’t these things take months?”
“Sorry, man. I’ve been running numbers and taking meetings with the Trede folks.” Clayton sighs. “Look, the details don’t matter. What matters is that things are moving fast. Really fast. And I want to talk you through my vision.”
“Your vision…”
“Obviously you’re part of my future, Ashy. You built half our infrastructure. You know the systems better than anyone, including me.”
I close my eyes. “Clayton…”
“I know you hate this stuff. I know you hate travel and meetings and all of it. But I need you in New York immediately.”
“What?” I glance at my booted ankle, out the window at the copse between my house and Eva’s.
