For my tenth birthday,I begged my parents to throw me a surprise party. Specifically a sleepover. I saw one portrayed in a movie I loved and decided I wanted one too. But requesting a surprise party takes all the fun out of it. So my mother planned a tea party at the country club, and I stuffed my disappointment down a figurative disposal, hoping maybe it would happen next year.
The day before my party, my grandparents took me out on a little pre-birthday shopping spree. When we returned around dinnertime, all the lights were shut off. For a split second, I was afraid something awful had happened, but before panic sank in, the lights flipped on and ten girls yelled, “Surprise!”
Unbeknownst to me, my parents had planned aPrincess Diaries 2–themed sleepover, complete with my conservative grandmother mattress-surfing down the stairs, à la Julie Andrews.
Asher’s appearance brought back that similar unforgettable feeling of confusion, shock, and surprise.
I had every intention of driving out to Daisy Lake tomorrow to lay my heart out on the line. I’d even worked it out with Jackand Natalie to ensure Asher would be home. Now I wonder if they were in onthissurprise all along.
While no one will be mattress-surfing down the stairs this evening, I suspect a certain mattress activity will be involved.
But there’s no rush for that.
Returning to the present moment, I let the first and only man I’ve ever loved cry in my embrace. He’s been through so much, and if I can offer him even a fraction of what he’s given to others, I’ll be satisfied.
“It’s okay, baby,” I reassure him. “I’ve got you.”
When his breath eventually evens out, I slide off his lap.
“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice uneasy.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just getting tissues.”
I return with a box, and he blows his nose and wipes his eyes, then tosses the crumpled tissues to the side.
“Come here,” he says, tugging me onto his lap again.
A stray tear trails down his cheek, but I stop it with my thumb. I bite down on that same thumb, a nervous habit of mine, and swallow the salty taste of his emotions.
His attention drops to my mouth, and all of a sudden, I’m acutely aware that we haven’t kissed yet. Haven’t kissed inweeks.
When I run my fingers along his lips, his mustache tickles my skin.
“I’ve missed you so much, my pretty boy.”
He kisses my fingertips in return. “I almost shaved it, you know.”
I gasp. “Thank the facial hair gods you didn’t. What stopped you?”
“Ezra.”
I giggle. “Remind me to send him a fruit basket.”
He huffs, feigning offense. “Are you saying you wouldn’t love me without my mustache?”
“Well…” I tease.
He cuts me off by gripping me by the thighs and standing up.
I squeal, locking my legs around his hips. “What are you doing?”
He pins me against the wall, his breath hot against my ear. “What I’ve been thinking about every day since you walked out my door.”
“Fuck, Ash,” I whisper. “Kiss me already.”
He captures my bottom lip with his teeth and tugs, then quickly releases it.
I squirm and groan against him in protest. I need more. So much more. “Please, Ash.”
