I watch as he pulls our take-out bag off his front seat. “Okay, pussy whisperer. Let’s eat.”
My stomach growls at the thought of food as I follow Asher and Duke across the green expanse of his yard and into his house, fighting how comfortable I feel just being here with him.
“And this was from when I broke my arm when I was nine.” Ihold my arm out so Asher can see the thin line at the bend of my inner elbow.
He cocks his head to the side. “I don’t get it.”
“Well, I was still growing, which meant they didn’t want to put plates in or screws or any of that. They just wrapped the cast really, really tight. So tight”—I take a sip of shake—“my fingers swelled up and started turning blue.”
“Horseshit.” Asher stuffs a fry into his mouth.
“Seriously.” I laugh now. It seems unbelievable, but it’s true. “They had to cut the cast up the center to relieve the pressure then rewrap it.”
“Christ. How does that happen? Your parents should’ve sued.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” I laugh, scooting closer. “And this—” I hold my hair back at my forehead and show him the tiny scar at my hairline. “This was from playing baseball in my neighborhood with friends. Same summer. I wasn’t even doing anything dangerous, just waiting my turn to hit, and the girl in front of me threw the bat after her line drive. Hit me right in the head.”
“Fuck sakes.” Asher starts to laugh, but I’m still not used to the sound or how it makes me feel. It’s a reward. “You really are a fucking walking accident.”
I nod as I take a sip of my drink.
“Between that second toe and all these catastrophes, how are you even still alive?” He leans back in his chair, relaxing his thick thighs.
“I have no idea,” I say, glancing around Asher’s little kitchen. As you would expect from a man who likes to dabble in woodworking, everything that can be crafted from wood, is. The cabinets, the floors, the counters, the beams. It’s stylish but also warm, homey, and clean. It also smells amazing, just like him. Citrus and leather with a hint of pine. I look away first when our laughter putters out, and Asher stands to pickup our take-out garbage, stuffing it all back into the brown paper bag and setting it on the spotless kitchen counter.
“These cabinets would fit a heritage mold suitable for your house,” he says, walking toward his own. “They’re maple, but I got the wood from the same place I told Shane to look for the wood for your floors. When I’m done sanding and refinishing yours, they’ll look something like this.”
I stand and make my way over to his cabinets to run a hand along them. “They look really similar to what I had before we painted my old ones white.”
Asher scoffs in disgust. “Terrible fucking choice.”
“What?!”
“Painting natural wood should be a goddamn crime.” He mutters the last part.
“Could I see the wood?” I ask.
He rinses off his hands and dries them on a tea towel, then nods toward the barn. “Aye.”
He whistles and Duke stands up.
“Let’s go.” I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or Duke, but we both follow him regardless.
As we cross the yard and head back into the barn, I wonder how he ever finds the will to leave this place. The sun is just sinking into a dusty blue-and-pink sky and there are so many tree frogs and cicadas buzzing, it’s hard to hear anything else. Out here, we’re so close to Sugarland Mountain, it feels like I could reach out and touch it. I still have no idea what made him decide to open up and bring me here. But I’ll take it if it means getting to know him a little better.
When Asher flicks the lights on in the barn, I gasp. It isn’t a barn at all. Rather, it’s a full-scale, high-end woodshop. His shop doesn’t take up the whole barn, but it’s most certainly been redone to fit even the most avid carpenter. Floor-to-ceiling shelves hug the whole west wall, filled with wood of various cuts and sizes, so much that I wonder what on earthhe’s planning to do with it all. The east wall boats a variety of hanging tools: wrenches, clamps, a sea of yellow DeWalt power tools, backed by black cabinets lined with novelty stickers.
And, in the center, a big American flag is pinned taut to the wall between the cabinets with a laser-cut sign underneath that says,People come and go, but Johnny and June are forever.I smile at that one because my dad is a Johnny Cash and June Carter fan and it makes me think of him.
In the middle of the room is a table of full-scale equipment. I have no idea what any of it does, but I believe Asher could make anything from a rough piece of wood in this shop. I stare at the space as Duke lies down in the corner with a grumble in a really comfortable-looking dog bed and Dick comes moseying in behind us, curling up beside him.
“Is it air-conditioned in here?” I ask as I feel the chill of cool air on my skin.
“Yeah, and heated. My laser is temperamental.” He nods to one of those big machines. It looks like a big plexiglass box with a motor under it.
“Hmm. Kind of like its owner.” I fold my arms over my chest. Asher just grunts, turning and heading over to his wood shelf while I give myself the tour. Like his home, everything in here is clean and precise, each item in its own place.
Dick gets up and comes to nuzzle my leg again as I’m admiring Asher’s stickers on his tool cabinets.
