Chapter 45
Karla
Ash and I began to spend a lot of time together.
Days became weeks, and weeks became months.
We reconnected in the spring and danced through the summer nights.
Being with Ash brought a lightness to my world that I couldn’t make sense of.
I didn’t know I could laugh as much as I could when I was with him.
I didn’t know one person could make me fall over into fits of laughter from their corny jokes.
Yet there I was, at least twice a day, bent over in a giggling fit because of something that man had said to me.
* * *
Karla: Daniel told me he liked me tonight.
Ash: Told you so.
Karla: I was kind of surprised. It threw me for a loop. He asked me on a date.
A few minutes passed without any kind of response from Ash. Then he messaged back.
Ash: What did you say?
Karla: I said I valued our friendship, and that I just didn’t feel that kind of connection toward him.
Ash: Oh.
Yeah . . . oh.
Ash: Daniel seems like a good guy. If he’s not your type, then what is?
I stared at his words, feeling conflicted because the moment I saw his question, only one answer popped into my mind.
You.
Instead, I told him I didn’t know, because I was too afraid of pushing him away again.
* * *
After a few requests to meet Ash’s cat, Rolls, he invited me over to his place. That felt like a big deal, because I’d never set foot in his house. When we were kids, Dad didn’t let me go over to Ash’s place because the idea of me being at a boy’s house would’ve sent him into a spiral.
So when I showed up on his front porch, I took everything in.
It was a stunning two-story home with a large front porch, green shutters, and a bright-red front door.
The yard had the most stunning landscaping, with rosebushes spread throughout.
A large oak tree with many twisting branches sat in the middle of the yard.
A basketball hoop hung over his garage, which made me smile.
I wondered how often Ash played basketball in that driveway.
The moment Ash opened the door for me, I felt as if I was stepping into chapters of his history.
The home was beautiful with its comforting feel.
The living room had a redbrick fireplace, and there was a family room right across from it that seemed like a perfect place for hosting.
It only took a few seconds for Rolls, the most beautiful orange tabby cat, to show up and start rubbing up against me.
“Oh my goodness.” I swooned as I bent down to greet him. “Aren’t you a cutie?”
“Don’t give him too many compliments. He has a big ego,” Ash joked.
I picked Rolls up, and the cat purred in my arms as I hugged him. It was an instant match made in heaven. “Not to be dramatic, but I would die for Rolls.”
Ash laughed. “I’m pretty sure Rolls wouldn’t do the same for you. I’m pretty sure he’d sell me to the highest bidder in exchange for wet food.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You want a tour of the house?”
“Absolutely.” I placed Rolls back down, and the beautiful cat began to rub against my legs with the loudest purrs. For a moment, I wondered how Royce would get along with Rolls. Would they be friendly toward each other? Would they fight?
Right as the thought crossed my mind, I felt a little silly that I had it. In what situation would the two cats ever be in the same space to meet? But I did imagine a world where the four of us—Ash, Rolls, Royce, and I—would be in the same home all at once.
For some reason, that thought made me blush, and I tried to play it cool as Ash continued to show me around the space. He walked me though the first floor of the home, and just like I did with Rolls, I instantly fell in love with the kitchen.
He smiled as I stood in awe. “My mother loves to cook,” he said.
“When my father designed the home, he made sure to spend the most time in this space. Well, this space and the family room. Those were the most important rooms to my mom. I haven’t changed anything in the house since I inherited it.
I left all my mother’s stuff in the exact same place.
My dad didn’t change it after she left, so I didn’t either.
In the ten years since my father passed away, she hasn’t been back to Chicago once.
I always go to visit her. Still, I figured I should leave the kitchen as-is if she ever decides she wants to come back to visit. ”
I saw the heaviness in his eyes. “She’ll be very happy to know everything’s still in its rightful place.”
He shrugged. “I doubt she’ll come back. There’s nothing left in Chicago for her.”
“You’re here,” I countered. “You’re worth coming back for.”
Ash’s mouth parted, but no words came out. He brushed his hand beneath his nose and cleared his throat. “Let me show you the rest of the house.” It was clear I hit a nerve, and even though I was curious to know what made him uncomfortable, I didn’t want to push him to share.
He walked me through the basement and told me how his father had started the renovations before he passed away and that Ash had finished them over the past few years with a few of his friends.
Then he took me upstairs to show me the bedroom that he grew up in.
As he grabbed the doorknob to his room, he paused and turned to me.
“Now don’t hold this against me, but the bedroom still looks the same from when I was a teenager.
Like I said, I haven’t really changed much in the house.
I plan on switching my main room to the primary bedroom downstairs at some point, but I haven’t found the time to do it yet.
So ignore my insane comic book collection,” he joked.
He opened the door, and my heart began to beat faster as I stepped into the space that belonged to the boy I once loved. I used to wonder what it would be like to be in Ash’s bedroom. I wondered what it looked like, what books were on his shelves, what posters hung on his walls.
The moment I saw his queen-sized bed, I reminisced about the days when we were young.
When he was texting me way back then, was he lying in this bed, smiling with his phone in front of his face?
Was he sitting at his desk, typing away?
Did he ever reread our messages in his oversized computer chair?
Because I used to always reread our text messages when I’d sit in my old closet.
My breath caught as I stared at the novels on his shelves. He still had a collection of my favorite books, the ones we’d read when we used to eat lunch together at school. He’d also added dozens more books to his shelves over the years.
He had so many novels that they were stacked in piles by his nightstand, too.
“You still love to read?” I asked.
“All the time, thanks to you. You introduced me to that world, and I never really gave it up,” he explained as he slid his hands into his black jean pockets. “Over the years, when I would read a great book, I’d think about you. I’d wonder if you’d love it as much as I had.”
A sad smile found me.
We could’ve shared so many stories with one another if we hadn’t lost touch. We could’ve written our own chapters, too.
I tried to blink away the emotions from the mere thought of what we could’ve been as I continued to look around his bedroom. On his desk was a basketball with Sharpie signatures all over it. I gestured toward it with an arched eyebrow.
“All my teammates signed it the last year I played. I thought it was a cool thing to hold on to,” Ash replied to my silent question.
“It is a cool thing.” My fingers glided against the trophies on his shelf, too. “You really were a great player, huh?”
“Still am,” he argued. “You’ll have to come and watch the guys and me play some day. I can even teach you to do a layup.”
I giggled. “Trust me, I’m better off on the sidelines.” I picked up a photograph on his desk and studied it. “Is this your brother and father?” I asked, staring at the two people in the photograph.
“Yeah. That’s them.”
“Wow . . . They are so handsome.” I smiled as I stared at the two. “You have their eyes.”
Ash didn’t reply. I didn’t know if my comment was too much, or caused him discomfort, but it was true. Rian and Ash’s father were very handsome, just like him. They had the same kind eyes as Ash, too. Eyes filled with so much love that could be captured simply in a photograph.
I walked over to his bed and sat down on it, wanting to shift the conversation to something a little lighter. I bounced a few times, feeling the mattress beneath me. “So this is where the magic happens, huh?”
Ash snickered and sat down beside me. I watched the slight tension in his shoulders fade due to the shift in conversation.
“Not exactly. People don’t really come over to my place, outside of the guys helping me with the basement renovations.
Let alone come in my bedroom. You are the first woman that’s been in here since, well, ever. ”
I raised an eyebrow. “Ever?”
“Yeah. Ever.”
“But you’ve dated over the past ten years, right?”
He snickered with a headshake. “Dating is a stretch of a word, but yes, I’ve been with women.”
“And they’ve never been in your house?”
“Never.”
“Why not?”
Ash shrugged before rubbing his hands together. “It felt a little too personal, bringing someone into my real world.”
“But you let me in.”
“You’re not just any kind of woman. You’re you, Karla.”
“That makes a difference?”
He smiled at me. A soft, knowing kind of smile.
And there they were again, those wild, intense butterflies.
For the past decade, I felt different from the rest of the world.
Ash had a way of making me feel like my uniqueness was a gift, not a curse.
But that wasn’t new from him. I felt the same all those years before when he met me in the cemetery and asked me for my name.
I felt seen by him. I never knew how important it was to feel seen by another. And now, all these years later, he still saw me.
I saw him, too, and I had no plans to ever look away.