Then he pauses, sniffing the air, eyes lighting up. “More importantly—what’s for dinner? Smells delicious.”
I laugh. “Some kind of chicken orzo situation. Got the recipe from my chef at the taproom, Imani. She handled all the hard parts. I just had to follow instructions and not burn down my apartment.”
Ashton’s brows lift. “Imani Sparks, right? I think my dad’s friends with her father. She’s a few years older than me.”
“Yeah, that’s her,” I confirm. “She knows your family pretty well, actually. The Tremblays have quite the reputation.”
Color creeps up Ashton’s neck, his mouth twisting awkwardly. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m aware. It’s followed me my entire life.”
The air shifts, that familiar weight creeping back in. I clock it immediately and push off the counter, forcing brightness into my tone.
“Hey,” I say gently, reaching for his arm. “Sit down. I’ll bring the food out when it’s ready.”
He nods, still avoiding my gaze, and moves toward the table. I turn back to the oven, slipping on mitts before pulling the dish free. Heat washes over my skin as the door opens, the scent of roasted chicken, garlic, and melted cheese filling the kitchen. The cherry tomatoes have burst and cooked down, the orzo creamy and bubbling at the edges. It looks—thankfully—exactly like it’s supposed to.
I carry it to the table and set it down carefully on a knitted trivet.
“Wow, thanks. This looks incredible,” Ashton says, eyes going wide.
Before I can grab the plates, he reaches forward with the wooden serving spoon.
“Hey—” I tsk softly and tap his wrist, nudging his hand away. “Absolutely not.”
He blinks at me, startled. “Oh. Sorry, I just—”
“I’ve got it,” I say firmly, but there’s a smile tugging at my mouth as I scoop a generous portion onto his plate before doing the same for mine. “Sit. Relax. Let someone else take care of you for once.”
Ashton lets out a small, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’m… not really used to that.”
I glance up at him, catching his eyes. “I figured.”
He swallows, then gives a sheepish nod, settling back in his chair as I slide his plate toward him. The way he watches me—quiet, grateful, a little stunned—makes something warmand dangerous bloom in my chest. I want to take care of him. I want to be a safe space where he can unwind after long, exhausting days.
“Well,” I say lightly, taking my seat across from him, “get used to it.”
Ashton gives a small, timid smile before forking through the steaming food, pushing it around his plate. Without looking up, he asks, “So, how was your day?”
I hum, leaning back in my chair. “It was alright. The taproom was pretty busy this afternoon, but nothing our new bartender can’t handle. He’s doing well.”
“Shane, right?”
“Yeah. Nice kid. Fast learner,” I say. “And people seem to really like the new food menu we rolled out.”
Ashton nods along and finally takes a bite, his shoulders easing as he chews. His eyes widen a fraction. “Wow,” he says, already reaching for another forkful. “Yeah. This is really good.”
Relief loosens something tight in my chest. “Thank God.”
He laughs softly and takes another bite, jaw working slowly as he actually savors it. We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, the quiet settling around us like a soft blanket. It’s… nice. Domestic in a way I didn’t realize I’d been craving.
“So,” I prompt, breaking the hush, “how was the orchard today?”
That does it. He brightens instantly, green eyes catching the lamplight.
“Hot,” he says first, huffing a quiet laugh. “Unreasonably hot. But Olivia and Juan have been a huge help the past few weeks. I honestly couldn’t do it without them.”
“When does Olivia head back to school?”
“Not until late August. Cherry season will almost be over by then.”
