CHAPTER 15
KAEL
By the timethe granola bar’s half gone, I’m wishing I could take it back. Had I really told him I ruined her life? I had, and it’s because of the way he was looking at me. It’s not the first time I’ve wondered if my existence wrecked Mom’s.
“It’s not all I care about,” Ash says while I force down another bite of the gritty, dry granola bar. After today, it tastes incredible. “I know you don’t care about money, but you can see why it matters so much to me.”
“Oh, I care about money,” I correct. “I just don’t have any.”
“You’re lucky you have something you love as much as art.”
“You’re lucky you have two million dollars.” I instantly regret the jab when his shoulders drop. “Not that it’s luck.”
“No. It is luck,” he says. “I work hard, but I didn’t earn the opportunities I got. Hearing your story…”
“Please.” I wave him off. “I didn’t earn my love for art, and it doesn’t pay rent in San Francisco. Enter Alistair.”
Ash stares into the dark beyond the firelight. “Ever wonder if you’re making the right choices?”
“Constantly,” I say, wondering if that same question made Mom leave. “In middle school, I tried getting my first boyfriend with one of those circle-yes-or-no notes.”
“A classic.”
“Turns out, it’s not such a good idea to leave a paper trail,” I say, remembering the bullying. “My gram used to say, ‘We're all wandering in the dark, trying to find the light.’”
A gleam sparks in Ash's eyes, but he looks away.
“You’ve got to live your truth. I’d say you’ve done pretty well,” he says, and starts pulling his shirt over his head. “Fire’s working. I’m actually getting hot.”
Oh God.
My heart stutters. His undershirt rides up with the pullover, revealing his stomach, lean and ridged. A vein disappears beneath the waistband, and all I can think about is following it.
“Hot,” I repeat, unable to look away.
Possibilities simmer in Ash’s incongruence. I have the feeling that if I crossed the room and kissed him, he wouldn’t stop me.
He’s predictable that way. The same slow grind that built his fortune and sculpted that body is what lets me keep catching his lingering stares. Steady isn’t usually my type, but there’s something more. Like an Escher drawing, he’s familiar and somehow impossible to pin down.
“You okay?” he asks, catchingmestaring this time.
“Just, uh, enjoying the fruits of your labor.”
He doesn’t get it. Of course he doesn’t. He’s already back at his laptop, the screen glow swallowing his face and whatever curiosity I had about what he’d do if I actually crossed the room.
“Sunrise is six forty tomorrow,” he says.
“Huh.” He’s oblivious to my disinterest.
“I’ll set my alarm, but set yours too. I could sleep forever after today.”
I reload the firebox, steal a glance at his laptop to confirm he’s back to spreadsheets, then look at the small, grubby couch.
“Take it,” he offers. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”
Under different circumstances it might feel chivalrous. With his laptop already open again, it just feels… predictable. I flop onto the couch, sending up a cloud of grime that reminds me this isn’t exactly the sexiest place to test my theory anyway.
I peel off my sweatshirt and ball it up as a makeshift pillow. Without muscles to flex, I feel ridiculous fake-stretching with my arms over my head, but Ash’s eyes flick back to his laptop the second I catch him looking. Predictable. Annoyingly so.
