Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The kiss lingered in Zane’s mind long after they’d parted, a tether that pulled at him with every step back to the house. Asha had stayed rooted on the path, her fingertips brushing her lips as if trying to hold onto the moment. He’d wanted to stay, to coax her into talking, to unravel the thoughts swirling behind those soulful brown eyes, but the heat of the day and her father’s teasing had nudged them apart.
Inside, her dad had given him a knowing look over the rim of his coffee mug, one that made Zane’s ears burn despite himself. He’d distracted himself with small talk, letting Asha drift upstairs with an excuse about needing to check on something. She had been quieter on the walk back, her mood shifting like the clouds rolling in above them. It left a knot in his chest—a sense that something was pulling her away, even as she tried to draw closer.
That was why, when her father mentioned the yardwork still waiting, Zane jumped at the chance. He stepped outside, welcoming the familiar weight of the mower in his hands. The steady hum of the engine was grounding, a rhythm to match the thoughts tumbling through his head. It gave him time to think —or at least try to figure out what Asha was hiding and how he could get her to trust him enough to share it.
The lawnmower’s rhythmic churning blended with the late afternoon symphony of birdsong and cicadas. The grass was thick and overgrown in patches, but nothing he couldn’t handle. The walk with Asha had left his mind buzzing, her every glance and touch lingering in his thoughts like a melody stuck on repeat. But here, with his boots solid on the earth and the mower steady in his grip, he found a rhythm that quieted some of the noise.
The front door creaked open, and Mr. Williams stepped onto the porch, a hand braced on the railing. Zane cut the engine, the abrupt silence making the sounds of the yard seem louder. He straightened, wiping the back of his hand across his brow.
Mr. Williams eased down the steps, favoring his left leg as he moved. “Don’t know if I should thank you or scold you for doing my work.”
Zane grinned, resting his hands on the mower’s handle. “Somebody’s gotta keep this place looking good. Might as well be me.”
Mr. Williams chuckled, nodding toward the yard. “You’ve got a good eye for straight lines, I’ll give you that.”
Zane’s grin widened, a flicker of pride stirring in his chest. He gestured toward the porch, where the steps sagged slightly on one side. “That step over there looks like it could use some attention, though.”
Mr. Williams sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That old thing’s been on my list for months now. Always something needing fixing around here.”
“You point it out, I’ll take care of it,” Zane offered without hesitation. “No sense waiting when I’ve got the time.”
Mr. Williams’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer than expected, his expression softening. “You remind me of someone, you know. The kind of man who just steps in and takes care of things without being asked.”
Zane tilted his head, curiosity sparking. “Good or bad thing?”
“Good,” Mr. Williams said, a smile tugging at his lips. He lowered himself onto one of the lawn chairs beneath the shade of the old oak tree, his movements slow but deliberate. “Mind you, son, there’s something I should tell you.”
Zane crossed his arms, leaning against the mower. “What’s that?”
The older man hesitated, drifting his gaze toward the house. He lowered his voice. “My heart’s not what it used to be. Doc’s been after me to take it easy, and I’m trying, but you know how it is—there’s always work to be done.”
Zane frowned, a ripple of concern threading through him. “You should’ve told me sooner. I wouldn’t have let you lift a finger.”
Mr. Williams waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t need a nursemaid. But… Asha doesn’t know. She’s got enough to worry about without fretting over her old man.”
Zane nodded, though a pang of unease settled in his chest. “I hear you. But if you need anything—anything at all—you call me. No excuses.”
The older man smiled faintly, his eyes warm. “I appreciate that, Zane. I really do.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the breeze rustling the leaves overhead. Mr. Williams broke it first, quieter now. “You know, she used to be such a bright spark. Always had a plan, always knew where she was headed.”
Zane’s throat tightened, the image of Asha’s younger self flashing in his mind. “She still does,” he said, though the words felt more like a hope than a certainty.
“Maybe,” Mr. Williams murmured, his gaze distant. “But there was a time, after she left here, when she wasn’t herself. I don’t know what happened, and she never said, but for a while, it was like… like she’d lost that spark.”
Zane’s stomach twisted. There was more to Asha’s story, more to the years she’d spent away from Peaceful, but hearing it from her father added a weight he hadn’t anticipated. “She’s strong,” he said after a moment. “Whatever it was, she came through it.”
“She is,” Mr. Williams agreed, “but even the strongest need someone to lean on now and then.”
Zane’s jaw tightened, a flicker of determination igniting in his chest. “She’s got me. Whether she knows it yet or not.”
Mr. Williams chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “I thought you might say that.”
From the kitchen, Asha heard the low murmur of voices drifting through the open window. The lawnmower was silent, but she couldn’t follow their conversation—only overhead snippets. Her father’s deep baritone was steady, a familiar anchor, while Zane’s confident voice carried like he was used to creating order amid chaos. The cadence was enough to make her chest tighten.
Zane’s voice seemed to deepen. “She’s got me. Whether she knows it yet or not.”
Asha froze, the words landing like a physical blow. She gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles whitening. Her father’s chuckle followed, soft and knowing, and it felt like the two of them were conspiring against her. She hated that thought—hated how it made her stomach twist.
Zane and her dad, talking about her like she was some project to figure out. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t have enough time to figure herself out, and now Zane was swooping in with his easy charm and those damn hazel eyes that saw too much. She straightened, her breathing shallow.
The screen door creaked as she stepped outside, her heart pounding louder than her sandals against the porch. Zane looked up first, his gaze locking onto hers like a magnet, his expression unreadable. Her father followed, his face softening in that way it always did when he tried to placate her.
“Hey, honey,” her dad said, shifting in his chair. “We were just talking?—”
“About me?” Asha’s tone was sharper than she intended. She folded her arms across her chest, cutting her gaze to Zane. “Seems like you’ve got a lot of opinions about my life.”
Zane rose from his perched position, brushing grass clippings from his hands. “We weren’t?—”
“Weren’t what?” she snapped, taking a step closer. “Talking about how I’ve messed up? About all the things I should’ve done differently?”
Her dad frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “Asha, that’s not?—”
She held up a hand, silencing him. Her gaze stayed locked on Zane, her anger swelling like a tide she couldn’t hold back. “You think you know me? You think mowing a few lawns and fixing a couple of things means you get to judge how I’ve lived my life?”
Zane’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?” Her voice rose, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “You want to play the hero? Sweep in and fix everything? I didn’t ask for that, Zane.”
“No.” The word was measured, steady but firm as he continued. “You didn’t, but maybe you should.”
The response landed like a slap, her breath hitching as she took a step back. For a moment, the air between them was thick and charged, the unspoken truths heavy.
Her dad shifted again, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms with a knowing expression. “Asha, you’re being disrespectful. You might be an adult now, but that doesn’t mean you’re too old to earn yourself a spanking.”
Asha whipped her head around, her eyes wide with indignation. “Dad!” Her voice cracked with disbelief, her face heating with mortification. “How can you even say that? And in front of—” She darted her gaze to Zane, who was watching her with an unsettling calm.
Before she could finish her protest, Zane closed the distance between them. His eyes, glinting green in the sunlight, locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “You know, sir,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “I think you might be right, but I also think the honor is mine now.”
Her father gave Zane an approving nod, his lips twitching as if fighting back a smile. “She’s all yours, son.”
“What?” Asha’s voice shot up in pitch, her temper boiling over. “You’re not serious?—”
“Dead serious.” Zane closed his hand with a determined but careful grip around her arm, his touch sending a jolt of heat through her despite her outrage. “And it’s about time we got a few things straight.”
She struggled against his hold, but he didn’t relent, guiding her toward the house with the unyielding force of a river carving a path through stone. “You can’t just?—”
“Watch me,” he said, in way that brooked no argument.
Asha shot a pleading glance over her shoulder at her father, but he simply waved them off with a bemused smile. “Don’t give him too much trouble, sweetheart. It’ll only make it worse.”
The screen door slammed shut behind them, muffling her sputtered protests as Zane guided her up the stairs with a steady, unyielding grip. Her heart pounded, a mix of anger, anticipation, and something deeper—something she couldn’t name.
“Zane, this is insane,” she hissed, twisting her arm in a half-hearted attempt to break free. “You can’t just drag me upstairs like some?—”
He stopped abruptly, turning to face her at the top of the stairs. The raw intensity in his gaze made her words falter and die on her lips. “Like what, Asha?” His challenge was soft but dangerous. “Like someone who cares enough to call you out when you’re running yourself into the ground? Like someone who refuses to let you keep shutting them out?”
Her breath caught, her chest tightening under the weight of his words. “I don’t need?—”
“Yes, you do.” He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “And deep down, you know it.”
Asha’s pulse raced, her defenses crumbling under the sheer force of his conviction. She hated how he could do this—how he could see straight through her walls, her excuses, her carefully constructed armor. And she hated even more how much she wanted to surrender to him.