He kisses either side of my clit, and just as he laps up my center and I melt into the counter, my work radio goes off.
“Fuck.” Asher growls, pressing his face to my thigh.
“Up.” I push his head away, even as I wish I could pull him closer. “Can you get that, please?”
With a groan, he reaches behind and retrieves the radio.
After clearing my throat, I ping back. “Hello? This is Claire.”
“Hi, Claire,” Brenner says, his words carrying over a faint sobbing in the background. “We have a guest here who took a nasty fall. Nothing appears to be broken, but they have a pretty gnarly gash. Are you nearby?”
“Of course. I’ll be right there.” I set the radio down and hop off the counter.
“Ugh,” Asher whines, swiping a hand down his face.
Straightening my panties, I poke him in the chest. “This is all your fault.”
“Mine? How?” He feigns offense.
“You’re the one who hired me. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have been interrupted.”
“If I hadn’t hired you, we also wouldn’t be having sex.”
“Touché.”
And what a tragedy that would be.
When I return from the clinic, I fully anticipate to pick up where Asher and I left off, so I’m caught off guard when I find the kitchen lights off and the man sitting solemnly on the sofa, one ankle crossed over his knee, the house eerily quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator.
My heart drops. Less than an hour ago, his head was buried between my thighs. What happened between then and now that has him so distressed?
My knees wobble as I approach him, but I don’t sit down. “Is everything okay?”
He looks up at me, his green eyes dull. “I think we should talk.”
My throat tightens. “Oh?”
“Actually. Can I show you something?” he asks, his tone somber.
I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat, then follow him out the back door. We walk in silence side by side, down the porch steps, across the lawn and sandy beach, and onto the dock. He extends his arm to help me onto the boat, but still no words are spoken. He revs the engine and slowly putters across the water until we pass the markers and can pick up speed.
The wind whips my hair into my face, but I don’t have a hair tie, so I secure the unruly strands with my fist at my nape at the same time that Asher spins his ball cap around so it doesn’t fly off his head.
We glide across the water for several minutes before he slows and guides the boat into a small cove and up to a short dock. Ihelp him tie the ropes to the posts and accept the hand he offers as we climb out of the boat.
When I’m steady on my feet, he lets go and drops his hand by his side.
Disappointment washes over me, but I choke it down.
When we hit the sand, we kick off our shoes. The cove is barely big enough for a large family to spread out comfortably and could easily be missed from the water if not for the bright yellow flag attached to a ten- or twelve-foot pole. To one side, a wooden bench sits, surrounded by daisies and painted river rocks.
Asher guides me to the bench, and only when I’m a foot or two away do I realize where he’s brought me. In the middle of the back of the bench is a gold plaque that reads: In honor of Daisy Greer. Beloved daughter, wife, mother, and friend. May her memory be a blessing.
Tears prick my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away with my sleeve.
Shoulders rolled in, Asher picks a white-and-yellow flower from the bunch. “She really was the friendliest. Just like the flower.”
“It’s so nice here,” I say, my voice cracking.
