Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
L iam
We don't talk a lot on our way to the lookout, but once we get to the far edge overlooking the city and the ocean stretched out beyond, I break the silence.
“Should've brought a blanket," I say, looking down at the patchy ground.
Ashley, who's in a pair of light pajama pants and a sweatshirt, simply shrugs. “I don't mind getting these dirty.” She’s about to sit down to prove it, when I stop her. The PJs won’t stand up to the dirt the way my Levi’s will.
“Wait,” I say, unfastening the buttons on my flannel shirt. “You can sit on this. I’ll just sit on the butt of my jeans.”
Ashley's gaze splits between the view and the action of me shrugging out of the flannel. Wearing just a white T-shirt on top, I shake out the flannel, lay it over a spot on the ground, then take a seat beside it before she can argue.
Once she’s seated, I start in. "So, what do you want to talk about first? Failed marriages, midlife crises, or the challenges of raising kids who think they’re smarter and cooler than us?"
She tips her head back and chuckles softly. "I think I'll take failed marriages for five hundred."
"Failed marriages, it is," I say, but then I remember the promise I made myself. “How about I let you start since I am not supposed to discuss mine in detail right now.”
"Litigation process?" she guesses.
I shake my head. "That's long been done. It's more of a therapeutic process courtesy of my happily engaged brothers.”
“Which brothers?" She shifts her position, and I try not to get distracted by the feel of her thigh as it brushes against my knee.
"That would be Braxton, who’s getting married for the first time to Maggie Modella. She owns the Coffee Loft that used to be an old train station."
"Oh, that's cool. I'll have to check that one out. We had a Coffee Loft in Oregon that I loved. So, which of your other brothers suggested this therapy you’re referring to?"
"Beau. He’s actually engaged to Maggie's sister, Kirsten. And if I told you the story behind their courtship, you wouldn't believe me."
"Well, you can't just dangle bait like that and leave me hanging."
"Beau’s wife was hooking up with Kirsten’s husband while they were married. Their teenage sons, who are here with me and Cam, are the ones who spotted signs of the infidelity first."
"Ouch,” Ashley says. “And I thought I had it bad."
"Oh yeah? Let's hear about it. You are the one who chose the failed marriage category."
"Yeah, I guess I did, but not because it's the aphrodisiac of conversation, mind you. It's more of an inevitable evil, I guess. Something you have to get out of the way right up front.”
“Right,” I agree. “We’ll just summarize. We can do that.”
“Definitely,” She straightens her shoulders. “I’ll summarize without going into the gory details. You remember Ross from school, right?”
I nod as I think of Ross Brynn and his cheesy Brynn for the Win campaign motto when he ran for student body office. I always thought the kid would go into politics, not dentistry.
“Yeah,” I say, sounding as unimpressed with the guy as I am, now that he lost her, anyway.
“Well, Ross has controlling tendencies, and I have pushover tendencies. Stick the two together, and you have a dictatorship, not a healthy marriage. But, like I said, I’m just as responsible for it as he is.”
I nod, though I don’t fully agree. A guy who walks all over his woman is no man at all. Just because you can get away with something doesn’t mean you should.
“So, how about you?” she asks. “Can you give me a summary without breaking any of your rules?"
I consider that, determined to stick to my no-whining rule. My inner coach agrees. Tell her without sounding like the victim. You can do that.
The trouble is, I don’t want to sound like the bad guy either. Of course, Chapter Two was eye-opening enough that I discovered how far from perfect I was in the relationship.
I decide to take Ashley’s approach and share that discovery without going into too much detail. "Gabrielle had the tendency to belittle those around her. And I had the tendency to allow it, and then internalize it, which resulted in passive-aggressive behavior." There, I admitted to my own unsavory crap. But hopefully, she’ll be able to look past it; recognition is crucial to not repeating the unsavory crap, so…
Ashley nods appreciatively. "That's interesting."
I would give anything to know the ways in which that information interests Ashley, but if we go any further down this path, I'll become Liam Hurt Heart again, and that is no longer who I am, or at least who I want to be. How I act from this point on, this conversation included, will put that to the test.
“I can fess up to doing passive-aggressive stuff, too,” she admits. “We had to get even somehow, right?”
It makes me realize we both see ourselves as the wronged spouse in our relationships. I wonder if Ross agrees or tries to claim the title himself. Gabrielle knows she’s mean, so she lets me hold the title. Which, now that I think of it, has probably done more harm than good.
“Right,” I agree, but the geek in me has to share what I’m learning. I’ve always been that way, especially compared to Luke, who avoids serious conversation like it’s contagious. And the fact is, I don’t want to come all this way only to get involved with someone who doesn’t let me know if I’m doing something wrong.
“From what I’m reading,” I venture, “we’ve got to draw a line up front and not tolerate the behavior to begin with. It’s how we give the other person a chance to improve. And we’re better because of it, too, for a lot of reasons.” I decide not to list those reasons; I don’t want it to come off like a lecture since I’m only learning this stuff myself. But standing up for ourselves is vital to mental health, confidence, and trust in a relationship. If we’re hiding our hurt or offense, we’re breaking that trust.
“That sounds like good advice. In fact,” she says with a new lift in her voice. “I’m learning to assert myself too. I mean, not right here, like, tonight with you, but…in life in general. It’s something I’m working on.”
I nod as I take that in, liking that we seem to be on a similar path.
"Okay,” I say. “I think we can put a bright green checkmark next to the failed marriage box, don't you?"
Ashley chuckles and bumps my shoulder. Her sweet fragrance infuses my next breath. "In more ways than one," she says playfully.
I tip my head back with a laugh. "Yes, we both survived a failed marriage, and now we've very briefly discussed it. Now to sweep it under the metaphorical rug and talk about more pleasant things."
"Like midlife crises?" she says.
"A very pleasant topic when you consider that mine rewarded me with a convertible Ferrari."
"Ah, so cliché. Except, aren’t you supposed to be balding before you resort to that?” She pauses to inspect me. “You have too much hair and too much muscle mass. And your good looks have yet to slip away, so maybe this wasn't so much about a midlife crisis as it was…" She drops off there and I fill in for her.
"Ego? Greed? Immaturity?"
“I was going to say adventure, but we’ll let your conclusions stand."
“Me and my big mouth.” I shoot her a look. “You're not old enough to have gone through a midlife crisis," I decide.
"I would've thought so too, seeing that I’m a whole two-and-a-half years younger than you, but Lucy recently told me that midlife crises typically happen between the ages of forty and sixty."
"Hmm, it sounds like we’ve made it to our next category: Keeping up with the teenagers. Unless your daughter was searching up the whole crisis thing for a reason, and what does the cliché crisis for women look like?"
Ashley shrugs. "Liposuction? A facelift? A date with the pool boy?"
I can't let that one slip. "I never figured you for a cougar,” I say, “but I suppose with as young as you look, it could be a problem."
"I have zero cougar tendencies,” she says, “trust me. But it would probably serve me better if I did. I'm sure if I got with somebody much younger, I'd naturally have more of a voice."
It's a reference to the issue she brought up over her failed marriage. I picture Ross bossing her around with his politically polished face, and my fist balls up. I force my mind back to the cougar topic.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the reason teenage boys walk around with shirts that say I love hot moms ." And I am not kidding in the least. If I'm being fair, Gabrielle is a beauty in her own right, but she's also a man-eater. Which means she’d eat young thugs for lunch and spit them out in time for supper.
"What do you think a non -cliché midlife crisis for a woman looks like?" I ask, hoping to glean a bit more.
Ashley tilts her head, looking thoughtful for a blink. "Good question. Maybe it could be defined as someone who let a TikTok, their seventeen-year-old daughter showed them, rewrite their entire course in life?"
“Wow,” I say. “What an oddly specific answer. I can’t wait to hear the story behind it.”
Ashley shakes her head. “Oh, there’s no story. That was purely hypothetical." She rakes her fingers through her silky-looking hair and tugs a scrunchie off her wrist. She proceeds to gather her hair at the back of her head as she continues. It sends that intoxicating scent of hers in my direction like I just walked past an apple orchard rich with fruit.
“Okay, so Lucy shows up in my room which is actually part office, and part craft room. Even though I’m flat on the futon with the lights out, right in the middle of not being able to sleep, I might add, she tells me I have to watch this TikTok right then.”
I chuckle a little, remembering this humorous side of Ashley. It makes me miss her in a way I can't begin to explain. My smile widens, and my body angles toward her in preparation for more. "Okay," I urge.
"At first, I think it's going to be a joke because it's some young stud of a guy acting like he has some life-changing tidbit for the world. But then I realize he's interviewing his grandmother, who happens to be Vanessa Kaylee.
“He asks her what piece of advice she’d give to her younger self, and for whatever reason, it actually did speak to me. It had me feeling motivated and listing out all the changes I want to make in my life, and it all stemmed from this one woman's short piece of advice."
I scoot closer in anticipation. "What was it?"
She looks at me, holding my gaze while intrigue and mystery dance in her warm, moonlit eyes. "It’s, say yes ."
I lift a brow, thinking it’s counterproductive if she’s already a pushover.
“Not to what other people want,” she amends. “To the things I want, but I’m too…afraid to go out and get them.”
I love what I'm hearing. Love it, because it speaks to me too. In fact, it helps me identify what I want to do at this very moment.
My gaze drops to her pretty smile, and heaven help me, but Ashley’s gaze drops, too. Something tells me she wants exactly what I want at this moment and that we’re both battling the fear she just talked about. Fear of moving too fast or messing this up. Giving in to an urge like this is a risk; there's no telling if she and I could make things work. But why not take this chance and test the one thing we know we do have in spades: chemistry.
That chemistry becomes the only thing I feel. It’s a breathing, growing presence as we collectively lean in, ever so slowly, gauging each other as we close the gap.
My lower belly burns with desire, similar to how it did when we were young, but more intense now. This mature, experienced side of Ashley is incredibly attractive. A woman like her isn’t going to fool around with someone just for the heck of it. In fact, I doubt she’d let any other man get this close to her.
She’s also the very woman I craved for years after the breakup. The one I spent tortured nights dreaming about. I even tried bartering with God as if I had some sort of pull—if He’d bring her back to me, I promised I’d cherish her forever.
And now, here she is before me, a free woman, and I’m a free man. She’s close and warm and willing to meet me halfway as I lean closer, even still.
I remember how silky her skin was along the side of her neck, how I always cradled her there when we kissed, relishing the fact that she was mine.
I lift my hand, tentative at first, until Ashley cups my knee to steady herself. At her touch, I exhale a raspy sigh and slide that hand right where it belongs, reveling in the fact that she’s really here, really with me, really wanting to explore this path, too.
I barely brush her lips, then pause to savor her tangy-sweet scent, her softness, her everything .
The heat between us sparks and snaps, begging to be tested, and I’m ready to oblige.
I move back in for another taste, pleased when she lifts her chin and parts her lips. She exhales a breathy whimper before our lips lock in a full, gratifying kiss.
So good. A warm, pleasurable sensation pulls at my lower belly as I kiss her again and again. Long, lingering kisses that make me feel young and hungry.
The passion grows stronger like the tide, and just as I’m riding that perfect wave, wanting to glide my mouth along her earlobe and sample that spot, too, I remember how little of her I know right now.
Too fast . Definitely too fast.
She must agree because we both seem to slow our pace at once. The thing is, that does little to tamp down the passion. In fact, with our mouths still engaged, the movements now low and slow, it’s way more sensual.
Sweet mercy! Just a minute more…
There, I tell myself. That’s good for now. Sure, I’m hungry for more, but just as she’s grown and matured, I have too. I want more from her than the physical side of things. I want more of her witty quips and easy banter. More conversation that shows me just who she’s become and how she is now as a divorced mother of two.
We put an end to the kiss at last, and a groan sounds deep in my throat.
“Okay,” I say with a chuckle under my breath. “I think we can put a green check by that box too.”
Ashley widens her eyes innocently. “Next to what box?”
I glance down at the grip she still has on the front of my T-shirt. “Nice try.”
She nods and releases my shirt, smoothing the thin fabric over my abs before pulling back completely.
“It was a nice try, I thought,” she says. “And yes, we’ve earned one more checkmark tonight. Chemistry still present? Check.”