Chapter Three
Isurface from what feels like a ten-year coma.
Seriously, I’ve never slept that hard in my entire life.
The leather couch is like a luxury cloud, and peeling myself off the plush cushions takes real physical effort.
Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting the glittering skyline over the water, but it’s the smell of roasted espresso that successfully drags me toward the kitchen.
Ash sits at the massive marble island, sipping from a mug next to a coffee press that looks like it belongs in a high-tech science lab.
He’s already dressed in a crisp button-down, his blonde hair styled neatly.
He smiles the second he spots me standing in his borrowed sweats, blinking sleep out of my eyes, probably looking like a complete mess.
“Morning,” he says cheerfully, sliding a steaming mug across the black waterfall counter. “I figured you’d want something warm. Go get dressed. I put a fresh stack of clothes on the bathroom counter for you. We’re going out for breakfast.”
I try to tell him I’ll just eat cereal or toast, that I don’t want to be a bother, but he shuts me down with a polite wave of his hand.
Ten minutes later, I’m wearing a fresh t-shirt and jeans that fit suspiciously well, and we’re walking down the street to a bistro that screams old money.
I’m talking white tablecloths, crystal water glasses, and waiters in vests at nine in the morning.
I stuff myself with salmon-covered bagels and rich, buttery eggs benedict while Ash casually sips his coffee, watching me with an amused glint in his brown eyes. I feel a little self-conscious scarfing down my food like a starved animal, but Ash pushes a plate of pastries toward me, unbothered.
“We need to get you some essentials,” Ash announces once I polish off my plate and lean back in my chair.
I figure he means he’s going to take me to Target or something so I can get a few cheap graphic tees, maybe some clearance jeans.
Instead, he drives us straight into the heart of downtown, steering through the crowded streets until he parks near Westlake Center.
He walks me right past the affordable stores and steers us straight into Pacific Place and Barney’s.
I freeze in the aisle of a designer menswear section, staring at a price tag on a simple black sweater that makes my eyes water. “Ash, no. I can’t let you buy this stuff. This is insane.”
He doesn’t flinch as he tosses three shirts over his arm and eyes a rack of denim. “You need clothes, Jax. Consider it an investment in your fresh start.”
“I’ll pay you back,” I insist, my voice tight as I trail him through the aisles. “Every single cent. I swear.”
Ash chuckles, handing a growing stack of clothing to a very eager sales associate. “If that’ll make you feel better, sure. But I’m not keeping a tab or anything. Let’s just focus on making sure you aren’t freezing on the streets again in the middle of July.”
By the time we head back to his BMW, my arms are overflowing with heavy shopping bags, and my guilt is skyrocketing. I’m overwhelmed by all of it. The fabrics in these bags are softer than anything I’ve ever owned.
He doesn’t stop at a wardrobe upgrade, either.
He spends the early afternoon driving me around to a few community college campuses.
We walk the grounds, he lets me talk to admissions counselors, and I grab stacks of information.
It’s surreal to look at class lists and degree programs without seeing religious courses forced into the curriculum.
I can take graphic design. I can take sports medicine.
I can take anything. It’s freedom, but it’s terrifying because nobody’s telling me what to choose.
I stare down at a glossy brochure in my lap as Ash manages the late afternoon traffic back toward his place. The paper crinkles under my thumb as I twist it.
“Take your time,” Ash says mildly, tapping his fingers on the leather steering wheel to the song playing low on the stereo. “You don’t have to decide what you want to do overnight. You’ve got options.”
“Yeah, but I do need to find a job,” I say, leaning my head against the cool passenger window. “I can’t keep bumming it on your couch forever.”
“I don’t mind,” he replies smoothly, keeping his eyes on the road. “You can stay for as long as you need to.”
I shift in the heated seat, deeply uncomfortable with how easy he makes it sound. “Still. I need to get work somewhere so I can at least pay my way. Once I have some cash saved up, I’ll find my own place and get out of your hair.”
Ash shoots me a brief, relaxed glance. “I can make some calls. See if anyone I know has a position they’re looking to fill. If you feel unsettled, just use my address for your job applications from now on.”
“Your address?”
“Yeah. Oh, and we can just add you to our shared phone plan for now. That’s an easy phone call to fix, and you need a working number for interviews.”
My jaw drops. “Ash, no. I couldn’t possibly—”
“It’s just temporary,” he interrupts, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “Besides, it’s really nothing. Don’t stress over it.”
I watch his profile as he watches the road.
The afternoon sun gilds his blonde hair, catching the gold tones.
My stomach does that weird fluttery thing again, the one I’m trying very hard to ignore because I don’t really understand why I’m feeling it.
I keep waiting for the catch. The hidden motive.
Nobody hands out favors for free, right?
But Ash doesn’t seem the least bit bothered.
He’s never made me feel anything but comfortable, like my presence is a welcome change rather than a massive inconvenience.
“Are you really okay with all this?” I ask quietly, my grip tightening on the brochures. “There’s not much I can do to thank you right now.”
Ash flashes me a warm smile. “It’s really fine, Jax. There’s no way my conscience would have let me leave you out there in that alley anyway. You looked like an abandoned puppy, no offense.”
A laugh bubbles out of my chest. “A puppy? Seriously?”
“A very wet, very sad puppy,” he teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I roll my eyes, though the heavy tension in my shoulders loosens. “Okay, fine. But what about your roommates? Aren’t they going to be a little upset you brought a total stranger home and offered to let me live in their place without asking them?”
Ash hums, tapping a thumb against the wheel. “They might be more receptive to it than you expect.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll probably meet them both tonight,” Ash says, a slight smirk curving the corner of his mouth. “You can see for yourself what I mean.”
I’m not sure what to make of that cryptic answer.
I spend the rest of the drive back in silence, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
Maybe Ash has some kind of savior complex.
Maybe it fulfills him to help the less fortunate, to swoop in and rescue runaway ex-Mormon kids with no life skills and negative dollars to their name.
If that’s his thing, I’m certainly not too proud to accept the leg up.
If it makes Ash happy to buy me clothes and feed me salmon, then it’s mutually beneficial. We both win, right?
But what about his roommates? These two strangers could have any number of reactions to finding a homeless guy sleeping on their ultra-expensive leather couch.
And honestly, they’re way more likely to be pissed off than welcoming.
Why wouldn’t they be? They didn’t sign up for a charity case.
They didn’t agree to foster a stray twenty-two-year-old.
But weirdly, I trust Ash. I don’t know him well yet, but my gut tells me he’s genuine. If he isn’t worried about his roommates tearing my head off, then I probably shouldn’t be either.
When we get back to the apartment we drop the mountain of shopping bags in the Ash’s room before heading back out to the main living area. The sun is just starting to dip lower over the Puget Sound, warm, golden hour light spills across the hardwood floors.
Ash doesn’t bother sitting down to relax. He rolls up the sleeves of his button-down, ties a dark grey apron around his waist, and starts pulling an endless assortment of vegetables and meats out of the massive stainless-steel fridge.
I lean against the waterfall counter, watching him move around the kitchen. My guilt from the shopping spree is still eating at me, making my skin itch. I can’t just stand here and let him serve me again.
“Put me to work,” I say, stepping around the island. “Seriously, Ash. Let me help. You bought me half a wardrobe today, the least I can do is earn my keep in the kitchen.”
He glances over his shoulder, smiling. “You don’t have to earn anything, Jax. But if you really want to help, you can start with the carrots. Just wash them and chop them into thin slices.”
He hands me a chef’s knife that looks sharper than a surgical scalpel.
I stare down at it, then at the bundle of orange carrots on the cutting board.
This shouldn’t be hard. It’s just chopping vegetables.
But growing up with ten siblings in a strict, ultra-traditional household meant there were very clear lines drawn on who did what.
My sisters and my mom basically lived in the kitchen.
My brothers and I were shoved outside to do yard work or sent to church activities.
I’ve literally never cooked a single thing in my life that didn’t involve pouring milk into a bowl of cereal.
I grab a carrot, hold it awkwardly against the wooden board, and hack into it.
The knife slips. The piece I cut off flies across the counter and hits the toaster.
I wince, grabbing it back, and try again.
My grip is weird, my angles are terrible, and within two minutes, I’ve managed to completely mutilate the poor vegetable. It’s a jagged, uneven massacre.
A soft laugh breaks my concentration.