Chapter Four
Franklin
I pulled the sandwiches out of the fridge and added some potato chips to each plate. Asher had been upstairs fixing a few things in the bathroom since arriving at noon, but it was getting to be time for a break, and I figured we could use some refueling before we started the next big task.
“Oh hey,” he said, rounding the corner from the stairs. “I just finished cleaning up. The bathroom’s all set.”
“Wonderful!” I said, clasping my hands in front of myself. I smiled at him, then remembered the sandwiches and hurriedly grabbed the plates. “Would you like a chicken salad sandwich? Or a vegetable and hummus sandwich?” I didn’t take him for a vegetarian, but I thought options were nice anyway.
“Chicken salad, sure,” he said, dropping down casually to the stool beside the counter as he took the plate. “Thanks.”
I was glad he seemed satisfied and warmed a bit to see him smile when he bit into the sandwich. It was wonderful to have him helping out. He had an easy confidence and a laid-back nature that helped mellow me out, considering how prone I was to fidgeting and worrying these days. He also got things done at about twice the speed I did, and with double the strength as well. Considering he laughed at my corny jokes—and even at mypuns—I almost wished I were hiring a full-time assistant, he was that helpful.
“What a lucky girl Ava is,” he said. “You cook on top of everything else?”
“Oh,” I laughed, “it’s just a simple sandwich.”
“You and Rory already seemed like the perfect couple,” he said. “You’re both sexy and you can make a sandwich this good? No wonder you fell for each other.”
I chuckled along, then took a drink of my soda to hide my blush. I couldn’t lie. The way Asher kept complimenting Rory and me was pretty nice, too. It was hard to imagine that some young tattooed guy like him would actually have a crush on us, but I thought it was sweet that he was flattering us anyway.
“He’s good with the barbecue and meat,” I said. “I’m the sandwich and dessert guy.”
“I’m breakfast food,” he said, gesturing to himself with a handful of chips.
“Nice to meet you, breakfast food.”
He groan-laughed, then nodded toward the back door. “We going to tackle that shed next? What’s in there, anyway?”
I frowned, then rubbed the back of my head. I wasn’t looking forward to sharing my mess with him. But a childhood habit of collecting action figures and comic books had resurged when I opened the store, and for a few years, a large number of oversized cardboard figures and bizarre convention finds had started to make their way back to our house. I’d gotten it under control about five years ago, thanks to Rory’s loving insistence and guiding hand, but the shed was the last remaining stronghold.
I gritted my teeth. As reluctant as I’d been to deal with it over the years, Ava was coming home now. I had every intention of giving her the best life I possibly could, and dealing with my mess was an important step in doing that.
“Just some stuff from the store,” I said. “You’ll see.” I considered Asher for a minute, and the black lines of the tattoos on his arms. His frame was slender, but his arms and chest were shaped by muscles. His lips were soft and pink, and his cheekbones were high, giving him a surprising air of beauty despite his rough look and the mess of his sandy hair.
“I don’t think I asked—what brought you to Seattle? You said it’s only been a couple of weeks?”
Asher tensed slightly, then took another bite of his sandwich. “My sister lives here,” he said. “I came to stay with her. I guess I was just done with LA.”
“All the driving,” I said. “I always thought that part sounded like it would be too much for me.”
Asher laughed loudly, and I chuckled back softly, although I wasn’t sure what was so funny. “All the driving,” he agreed. “And some of the people.”
I nodded, accepting that he wanted to leave it at that. He was just my temporary handyman, after all, and didn’t owe me any more of a life story than what he chose to share.
Asher wiped his hands on the napkin, then looked up to me. “What do you say? Back to work?”
I filled him in a bit more on the shed as we walked out back. The yard was big, and an exceptionally large oak grew beside the little structure, with spindly branches that filled the sky. Marlene ran out with us, skipping along by our side and then chasing after a bug.
“One of the problems,” I explained, “is that I didn’t organize anything before I put it in here. And honestly, a good amount of it might be trash.”
“I can’t fit much trash in my car,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “But does that truck in your driveway work? I could drive it to the dump if you want.”
I cringed, thinking of all the collectibles going to the trash. “We might not be there quite yet,” I said carefully. “But we can use Rory’s old truck if we need.”
Asher laughed, then nodded. “Got it. Organizing the junk, not actually throwing it away.”
I laughed. “Precisely.”
