Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Kat
Grandma Beverly’s house is an old Victorian thing that always feels cozy and homey to me despite its large size, and tonight it looks like something from a dream.
Warm light spills from every window, casting golden rectangles across the snow-covered lawn.
Garlands wind around the wraparound porch columns, dotted with tiny white lights that twinkle in the darkness.
Through the tall windows, I can see the party in full swing, adults mingling as they sip on mulled cider as a few children run around.
The sound of laughter and holiday music drifts out as we approach. Usually, my grandmother’s party is one of the things I legitimately look forward to during the holidays, but tonight, my stomach churns with nervous energy.
The fake couple act is getting easier to sell now that we’ve actually gotten to know each other and aren’t total strangers, but tonight still feels like it will be a real test. There will be a lot more people to fool than just my family and my ex.
The front door opens just a few moments after we knock, and my grandmother beams at us from the doorway. At seventy-eight, she’s still beautiful, her silver hair cut short and curling slightly to frame her face.
“Katherine, sweetheart!” She claps her hands together before pulling me into a hug. “Oh, you look radiant. Just glowing, sweet girl.”
“Thanks, Grandma.” I squeeze her tight, lingering for a moment in her familiar embrace.
When we separate, she turns to Asher, and I hold my breath. My grandmother’s opinion matters more to me than almost anyone else’s, and if she doesn’t like him—if she sees through our charade or finds him lacking somehow—I’m not sure what I’ll do.
But her face lights up with pleasure as she takes him in. “And you must be the new boyfriend I’ve been hearing about. My goodness, no one mentioned how handsome you are.”
“Asher Vaughn, ma’am. Thank you for having me tonight.”
“Beverly, please. None of this ma’am business.” She’s already charmed, I can tell. “Come in, come in! Everyone’s dying to meet you.”
Asher looks a little surprised by that, his eyebrows raising slightly. I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips, and I nudge him as we follow her inside.
“You’re not that familiar with small towns, are you?” I whisper. “Good gossip spreads faster than the flu around here.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m starting to figure that out.”
My grandmother wastes no time dragging us into the living room to start introductions.
It’s like making the rounds at a political event, with handshakes, small talk, and the same questions over and over.
How long have I been back? How’s the illustration work going? What’s it like living in the big city?
But what strikes me is how different people are acting toward me tonight.
Celia Hutchins from the post office, who usually just gives me a polite nod when I pick up packages, lights up like we’re old friends. “Kat! Don’t you look lovely. I heard you’re doing illustration work now. That must be so interesting!”
The Kowalskis, who run the hardware store and have never shown much interest in my artistic pursuits, actually seem engaged when I mention my freelance work. “Must be exciting, working on your own schedule like that,” Bash Kowalski says. “Creative field and all.”
It’s weird but kind of nice, as if I’ve suddenly become more interesting just by association. As if having Asher beside me has given me some kind of social currency I never had before.
We work our way through the crowd, stopping to chat with the fire chief, some of my parents’ friends, and a few teachers from my old elementary school.
Asher handles each introduction with the same easy charm, asking people questions about themselves and nodding along with interest as they speak.
When Devlin Crawford mentions his granddaughter starting college next fall, Asher asks what she plans to study as if he’s talking to an old friend.
“You’re really good at this,” I murmur to him during a brief lull between conversations.
“Years of media training and team events,” he says with a shrug. “Hockey players spend a lot of time in the public eye. You learn how to work a room, make small talk, remember names and faces.”
“Multi-talented, huh?”
That gets me another one of those grins that sends my pulse into overdrive. “I have my moments.”
We’re standing near the old piano in the living room when a group of women from my high school class spots us.
Lyla, Amanda, and Tracy weren’t exactly my inner circle back then, but they weren’t mean girls either.
Just the popular crowd I never quite fit into, the ones who dated the football players and got elected to student council.
“Kat! Oh my god, look at you.” Lyla gives me an enthusiastic hug that catches me off guard. “You look amazing. City life agrees with you.”
“Thanks, Lyla. You look great too.”
“And this must be your boyfriend,” Amanda chimes in, her gaze shifting to Asher with obvious appreciation.
I make the introductions, watching them size him up.
He’s probably used to this kind of attention, being a professional athlete who’s handsome and successful.
He doesn’t seem fazed by the way they’re practically drooling over him, just stays politely engaged as they pepper him with questions about his career and what brought him to our little town.
“So how long have you two been together?” Tracy asks, taking a sip of her wine.
“About seven months,” I say, sticking to our story.
“That’s so sweet. How did you meet?” Lyla leans forward like she’s expecting a romantic comedy plot.
God, if only she knew.
I glance at Asher, hoping he remembers the café story from the car.
Thankfully, he handles it without missing a beat, repeating the lie about me spilling iced tea on him and even adding a few extra details, like how we walked together to the dry cleaner and then ended up spending the rest of the day together, talking for hours about everything and nothing.
“By the time we said goodbye that night, I was already planning our second date,” he says with a grin that looks almost fond. “I didn’t want to seem too eager, but I texted her the next morning anyway.”
The three women pout their lips and exchange glances as if they’ve just heard the most romantic thing ever.
“I should’ve moved to Philadelphia to find a man,” Tracy jokes. “Small town pickings are slim these days.”
Asher’s arm slides around my waist, and I feel the warmth of his palm through my dress. “Well, if I hadn’t met Kat in Philly, I like to think I would’ve had to come to Maplewood to find her anyway.”
Amanda actually sighs. “That’s so sweet.”
“So what do you guys do for fun?” Lyla asks. “I mean, besides the obvious hockey stuff. Do you go to all the fancy Philadelphia restaurants? The theater district?”
Asher looks at me, then back at them. “We like going to art galleries, walking around our neighborhoods when the weather’s nice. Honestly, some of our best nights are just staying in, cooking something together, playing board games, putting on a movie we can talk through.”
My heart does this weird little skip. Those are exactly my favorite things to do.
The kind of quiet, low-key evenings I’ve always preferred over crowded bars or expensive restaurants.
Did he just make that up on the spot to sound relatable, or would those actually be his ideal ways to spend time with someone he was dating?
“That sounds so nice.” Amanda presses a hand to her chest. “So cozy and sweet. David and I used to do stuff like that before the kids came along.”
“Board games are underrated,” Asher says. “And Kat here is ruthless at Scrabble. I’m still recovering from last week’s defeat.”
I blink at him. We’ve never played Scrabble, but the way he says it, with that rueful shake of his head, makes it sound so real that for a second I almost believe we have.
“What’s your favorite game?” Tracy asks me.
“Um…” I scramble for an answer. “Scrabble is fun. I like word games in general. And Asher’s gotten me into some strategy games that I’d never tried before.”
It’s not entirely a lie. I do like word games. And I can picture him being good at strategy games, the same way he probably analyzes plays on the ice.
We chat for a few more minutes before my old classmates drift away to mingle with other people. As soon as they’re out of earshot, I turn to Asher.
“Scrabble? Really?”
He shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “You seem like someone who’d be good at Scrabble. And it made the story more believable.”
“What if they ask for details later?”
“Then we’ll have to actually play a game so you can beat me.” His eyes have this teasing glint that makes my stomach flutter. “I’m terrible at spelling anyway.” He glances down at my empty cup. “Do you want another drink? I could use one.”
“Sure.” I swallow and nod. “Thanks.”
He takes my cup from me, then heads over to the drinks table to get us more cider, and I watch him navigate through the crowd.
Even in a room full of people who have no idea who he is professionally, he commands attention.
There’s something about the way he carries himself that seems to draw people in, confident but not arrogant, approachable but with an edge that suggests you don’t want to cross him.
As Asher reaches the table that’s laid out with a variety of beverages, a woman walks up to stand beside him.
Although I know pretty much everyone at this party, I can’t pull her name and I don’t really recognize her face, which probably means she moved to Maplewood sometime after I left.
She’s pretty in a polished way, wearing a black cocktail dress that shows off her stocking-clad legs.
She positions herself right next to him at the drinks table, leaning in a little as she says something to him with a friendly smile.
A spike of something sharp shoots through my chest. Jealousy? That’s ridiculous. He’s not actually mine to be jealous over.
But before I can get lost in a mental battle with myself over what emotion I’m even feeling, Asher steps back slightly, creating space between them. His smile is polite but distant as he gives her a curt reply and then fills up our cups before heading back with our drinks.
“Here you go,” he says when he reaches me, handing me my cup carefully. Then he frowns, his brow furrowing. “What?”
I blink, realizing belatedly that I’m grinning like an idiot as the sharp feeling dissipates from my chest. “Um, nothing.” I hold up my cup in a little cheers. “Thanks for this.”
“Anytime.”
We go back to making the rounds, and honestly, I’m having more fun than I expected.
With Asher beside me, I feel like I fit in here for the first time in my life.
People are actually interested in what I have to say, asking real questions about my work instead of treating it like a cute hobby I’ll eventually outgrow.
Winifred Garrett, who taught my second-grade class, wants to know if I ever do school visits. “We’d be thrilled to have you come talk to the children about illustration. Show them how books are made.”
“I’d love that,” I tell her with a smile. “Let me know when you’re thinking, and we can set something up.”
The conversation flows easier than it ever has at these town gatherings.
I often feel like I’m defending my life choices, explaining why I haven’t followed a more traditional path.
Tonight, with Asher’s presence giving me some kind of social legitimacy, people seem genuinely interested in hearing about my work.
We chat with Josephine and Mike for a while, and when they step away to go check on Megan and Oscar, I glance across the room and spot Daniel near the fireplace with Maya.
She’s chatting with another couple, but Daniel’s attention isn’t on the conversation.
He’s got that pinched expression he gets when things aren’t going his way, and I realize he’s been watching us work the room.
For once, he’s not the center of attention. He’s not the most successful person in the room, the one everyone wants to talk to. Asher’s presence has shifted the social dynamic in a way that clearly bothers him.
“Your ex looks like he’s having a great time,” Asher murmurs quietly, following my gaze.
I watch Daniel’s sour expression as he half-listens to whatever Maya is saying. “He’s probably not used to competition,” I whisper. “He’s always been a golden boy around town. He’s got a successful job as a lawyer, a nice car. He was everyone’s idea of a catch.”
“And now?”
“Now there’s someone more interesting in the room.” I glance up at Asher. “Someone who’s actually accomplished something impressive, not just by small-town standards.”
His mouth quirks up. “Sounds like he should’ve thought about that before he let you go.”
My head jerks back slightly in surprise.
I was talking about Asher—his hockey career, his success—but the way he turned it back to me, as if I’m the impressive one that Daniel lost, catches me off guard.
It’s probably just part of the act, but still, it makes my throat go a bit tight with emotion.
Because he said it like he meant it, like Daniel really did lose something precious when he let me go.
Like I’m worth keeping.