CHAPTER 24
Olivia
M y store is so busy all afternoon with the nicer weather that I don’t even have a chance to be nervous about dinner with Asher before the front door dings precisely at five o’clock and my gaze lifts to meet a six-foot-five firefighter still in his khaki-colored workpants and a fresh LCFD T-shirt.
Heavy work boots cover Asher’s feet, and his black hair haphazardly touches his forehead.
It looks damp, like he showered at the firehall before he came here. Stop staring, Liv.
“Ready to eat?” he asks, reaching the counter, turning the full force of his gaze on me. “Mama’s choice.”
Close your mouth, Liv.
“You could bribe me to do crazy things with a good cheese-burger and fries right now,” I blurt out, because apparently Asher Reed cancels out the normal filter between my brain and my mouth.
“Noted.” He chuckles deeply, and the sound is like wrapping myself in a soft, warm blanket. “Well, my main goal for the next seven months is keeping you fed. So I’ll start a list.”
I try to push down my dirty, hormone-enhanced thoughts as Asher waits patiently while I lock up. Once I’m done, he leads me out of the store.
“Where should we go?” I ask.
“Sounds like … the Burger Barn?” He eyes me cautiously. “Then we’re going to my house.”
Laurel Creek is bustling at the dinner hour.
Flowerpots hang from every lamppost down Main, brimming with petunias and vibrant green foliage.
The patios are full of people chattering while they sip wine and eat their dinner, and the ice cream shop already boasts a lineup that slinks all around the block as we cruise through town.
By the time we hit the sprawling fields that dot the Kentucky countryside in Asher’s pickup truck, I’m still talking myself out of any sort of attraction to him.
He has zero interest in what I want, which means I have to keep my head straight. We have a long road ahead of us.
The Burger Barn is an old-style diner that offers takeout just at the edge of town, no drive-thru, so we head inside to order, but I’m surprised when Asher doesn’t even ask me what I want and goes to order a bacon burger with cheese, lettuce, tomato, extra pickle, and mustard, sweet potato fries on the side with Cajun mayo.
“Am I that predictable?” I ask as he orders the same thing for himself, but doubles the meat and subs the fries for regular potato.
He glances down at me, always as if he’s assessing me. I say nothing as I let his wheels turn.
“And a strawberry shake. Extra thick,” he adds to the server behind the counter.
I busy myself while he pays, though I can’t help my mind straying to check out how well his uniform pants mold to his perfect ass. Holy hell. I’m a mess.
“Nope,” he says as he turns back to me. “Just a perk of serving you for two years at the Horse and Barrell. I know exactly what you like.”
“I am always ordering strawberry margs and burgers,” I agree. But the fact that he remembered?
The smell of food makes my stomach growl as I listen to Asher tell me how his guys ran a betting ring today on who could empty their truck fastest after a call to an eighty-year-old’s house for an electrical fire. Sadly, she lost her dog, but they managed to save her.
“You don’t find it hard to make light after such a sad afternoon?” I ask.
“No, we do,” he admits as he stares out at the road.
“It’s taken a few years with the same team for me to feel comfortable enough with them to do more than simple small talk, but we have a good group, and if we don’t take moments like that to unwind, to remember that we’re a team, that’s when you get buried under the day-to-day stuff that threatens to pull you under.
” I listen intently because it’s rare for him to talk this much.
“There’s a lot of injury and sadness and loss in this work.
But the one good day, where you save everyone …
” He shakes his head. “That makes every second of the bad worth it.”
I don’t notice we’re slowing down until we’re almost at a complete stop just below the base of Sugarland Mountain.
Asher turns off the main road and onto a paved, narrow track that disappears under a canopy of trees.
The entire property is flat and expansive—fenced in by thick black iron—and we cruise down the driveway for at least half a mile until the house comes into view.
The main building is a two-story white farmhouse, atop of which sits a black metal roof.
There is a main porch at the front that continues all the way around, and I can see what looks like a newish wooden deck in the back.
Beyond the house is a barn that appears almost bigger than the house itself.
It’s red and rustic—but looks restored—and I can see the double barn doors slightly ajar, with Asher’s Harley parked out front.
Asher cuts the engine and hops out before coming around to my side and opening the door.
As my feet land on the concrete driveway, I look around and the smell hits me before I see it.
Lavender. So much lavender that it takes up an expansive portion of the yard at the side of the house. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the beauty of the violet field swaying in the gentle evening breeze. It’s so peaceful, the only sounds the spring peepers and crickets.
“Y’okay?” Asher asks.
I look back at him with a nervous smile.
“Yeah. It’s just … lavender is my favorite. You have so much of it.”
“Aye. I figured. Lavender Grove.” He says the name of my store. “This was a farm before I bought it. A woman from town buys bushels of it from me to make soaps now.”
“What a beautiful place to live,” I observe, still taking in the surroundings.
“Mmm,” he gives. “At the base of a mountain.” I smile, remembering what he told me his mother said.
“As soon as I saw it, I knew it was right.”
“I can see why.” I’m happy that he felt he could share his home with me.
I startle when a big, black, burly head pokes out from the barn, until I realize it’s a dog, a dog that seems very uninterested we just woke him from his slumber as he yawns and saunters toward us.
Asher crouches down to rub the fur behind his ears.
“Were you a good lad today?” he asks as the dog jumps up, his front paws settling on Asher’s thighs. He’s both massive and intimidating, but it’s obvious he’s Asher’s baby.
“Hold down the fort?” he continues as the dog nuzzles in.
“Yeah, you did. And now you’re looking for your dinner, aren’t ya?”
The dog paws at him, tail wagging like crazy, and I almost melt into a puddle with this softer side of him I’m sure no one ever really sees.
“Who’s this?” I ask, moving toward them and holding my hand out.
“This is Duke,” Asher says as his bear-like best friend hears my voice and strolls over to investigate me. He’s calm as he sniffs me, so I go to pet his head as he cozies up to me.
“A gentle giant,” I say.
“He doesn’t meet a lot of new people,” Asher admits. “But he seems to like you.”
A flash of orange catches my eye before I can answer, and I spot a tabby cat milling around one of the doors to the barn. He has a cat too?
The cat rubs his back against the edge of the door as he looks at me, curious and utterly adorable. My heart swells in my chest as I think about my little Biscuit. This cat looks very similar, only he’s still very young, hardly more than a kitten.
“Quite the animal lover,” I note as I narrow my eyes at Asher. I can’t figure this man out.
Asher’s face morphs into a scowl. “ He’s not mine.”
“He’s in your barn.”
“Yeah. But he’s not mine. Although he thinks he owns the place, and Duke likes him.”
“Well, at least Duke has some common sense,” I say to Duke, who gruffs in what I’d like to think is agreement as I let go of his head and make my way over to the cat.
I stop about a foot away and kneel down.
He seems a little skittish, unsure of me at first. But after a moment, he comes right to me, purring as I scratch behind his ears.
“I’m pretty sure he’s a runaway from the farm about a mile down the road.” Asher shrugs. “He just hangs out here.”
“What’s his name?”
“I call him Dick.”
I turn and frown at him. “That’s not very nice, is it? Is he a big meany?” I ask, turning back to Dick. “Maybe he just isn’t a pussy guy after all, huh?”
“Christ, woman,” I hear Asher grit out as I pick up the cat. He’s heavy and warm and purrs into the crook of my arm.
“He just wants some love. How long has he been showing up?”
“A few months.”
“What do you eat, big guy?” I ask Dick as he lets out a little meow.
“He eats the mice around here, and whatever I bring out for Duke from my kitchen.”
I nuzzle into his fur. “Tell the big bad meany you’d like some pumpkin too.” I turn and face Asher. “Pumpkin was my cat’s favorite treat.”
“Pumpkin?” Asher queries as he picks up a stick from his grass and tosses it for Duke to retrieve.
“Cats usually have temperamental stomachs. It’s good for them.”
Asher lets out a grunt as Duke finds the stick and redelivers it. “I’m not about to spoil the damn barn cat.”
I watch as he pulls our take-out bag off his front seat. “Okay, pussy whisperer. Let’s eat.”
My stomach growls at the thought of food as I follow Asher and Duke across the green expanse of his yard and into his house, fighting how comfortable I feel just being here with him.
“And this was from when I broke my arm when I was nine.” I hold my arm out so Asher can see the thin line at the bend of my inner elbow.
He cocks his head to the side. “I don’t get it.”
“Well, I was still growing, which meant they didn’t want to put plates in or screws or any of that. They just wrapped the cast really, really tight. So tight”—I take a sip of shake—“my fingers swelled up and started turning blue.”
“Horseshit.” Asher stuffs a fry into his mouth.
“Seriously.” I laugh now. It seems unbelievable, but it’s true. “They had to cut the cast up the center to relieve the pressure then rewrap it.”