Chapter 13
Millie
After Ashton left me some of his clothes to wear, I opened the bedroom window to let in some of the fresh night air. The temperature had finally dropped and I just wanted to take a shower and try to sleep, not thinking about Ashton or the fact that I was royally confused about where I stood with him.
As I crossed the room to enter the bathroom, my phone rang.
Julie.
Shit, I was supposed to call her last night.
“Hey,” I answered, standing in the hall.
“Woman, where are you?”
I frowned. “In Tennessee, remember?”
“Wherein Tennessee? I’m in your shitty little apartment. Some stoned old lady let me into the building and your door was unlocked.”
Shit.
She was here!
“Julie! Oh my gosh. I’m at Ashton’s grandma’s farm. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Surprise.” Her voice was flat. “This place needs a makeover. The wallpaper is seriously hideous.”
I laughed. “You’re here! Oh my gosh I miss you so much. I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Morning! You’re sleeping at your boss’s grandma’s house?”
I chuckled. “It’s in the country, and his truck broke down today. It’s getting fixed.”
There was silence. Long, uncomfortable silence. “Mil … what are you doing?”
My heart raced in my chest. I was starting to forget how this whole thing had started. I’d come here to meet Ashton, hear Colin’s heartbeat, and leave. Now I’d moved into Ashton’s apartment building, started working for him, promised to save his bar, andkissedhim.
What am I doing?
“I like him,” I blurted out.
“Millie.No.” Her voice was full of compassion, not condemnation, which made tears prick my eyelids.
“I know. It’s fucked. I need to tell him but … it’s not because he has Colin’s heart. I mean, that’s why I came here originally but—”
“But what, Millie? Of course it’s because he had Colin’s heart. You feel a connection because he’s carrying around the only living thing left of your dead husband.”
Her words were harsh but I needed to hear them. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know, but the chemistry he and I have…”
“You sound confused,” Julie said. “You didn’t kiss him or anything, right, Millie?”
I chewed on my lip. “One kiss.”
Julie sighed. “Did you call your therapist?”
I groaned. “Fuck my therapist! He’s going to charge me two hundred and fifty dollars to tell me everything you’re telling me now.”
Therapy was great in the beginning, but then it became repetitive: “How does that make you feel? How can you change your thinking? How this and how that?” If I wanted to be asked a bunch of fucking questions I’d tell my problems to a five-year-old.
