The apartment is quiet without her buzzing energy. Ash curls her legs up, sitting close to me in a comfortable silence as we sip the world’s worst smoothies.
Finally, she murmurs “You didn’t have to do that today.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because you needed the break, the reset. If this gave you one — heat stroke and all — then it was worth it.”
Her eyes soften. “You always say things like that and then act like they don’t mean anything.”
“Maybe they mean everything and that’s why I keep them quiet.”
She stares at me for a long moment, then reaches out, tracing the edge of my hand where it rests on my knee. Her fingers are cool against my overheated skin.
“I hate how you do that.” She whispers.
“Do what?”
“Make me feel seen.”
I smile faintly. “Someone should.”
Her lips curve, sad and sweet. “You really were terrible at yoga.”
“Truly abysmal.”
“But you’re good at this.” She nods at the space between us. “At showing up.”
The words settle deep. If she only knew. I can’t tell if it’s the heat still in my veins or her voice wrapping around my chest, but I feel something inside me unclench.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Ash bullies me into a shower and then insists on going for a walk, stating that if I sit still I’m going to undo all the good that the yoga session did for me. Or some such nonsense. Honestly, I was sulking after she declined to showerwithme. After the “on my knees” comment, I do have to concede that she had a point — if she had gotten in the shower with me, we wouldn’t have been leaving the apartment for the foreseeable future.
As a pseudo-apology for the truly atrocious smoothies, she had popped into a shop and come out with ice cream cones. Now, we’re strolling along in the sunshine, enjoying our icy treats and watching the people. And for once, just once, I let myself be in this moment with her. The world smells like sugar and summer rain. Ash’s strawberry ice cream is dripping down her fingers as she absentmindedly licks at it, trying to keep up. I have to focus on my own chocolate deliciousness before I forget how to breathe or do something inappropriate in public.
“You’re staring,” she says, not even bothering to look my way.
“Am not.”
“Are so. You’ve got that face.”
“I do have a face. What face?”
“The one that says,‘I’m pretending to look at the street but I’m really thinking about how she eats ice cream’.Or maybe‘I can think of other things she could do with that tongue’.”
I grin, despite myself. “You’re imaging things.”
“Mhm.” She takes another slow lick, looking at me with a maddening glint in her eyes. “Sure I am.”
She’s impossible.
We follow the boardwalk into the heart of Willow Creek — small-town charm painted in fairy lights and wooden signs. It’s charming and reminds me of home. Kids run past with sticky fingers and melted cones. The smell of waffle cones, river air and jasmine is everywhere.
Ash drifts towards a shop window displaying handmade candles. She presses her nose to the glass like a child, fogging it slightly. “Look, they’ve got one that smells like thunderstorms.”
I arch a brow. “And how would they bottle that?”
