Chapter One | Asa
Chapter One
Asa
“PORSHA’S COMING HOME ,” my mom says. I glance at her, amusement flickering in her dark brown eyes, her short graying bob tucked behind her ears as she stands in the middle of her and Dad’s backyard. Mom watches me, waiting for me to respond. Like suddenly, after eleven years, I’m gonna break and confess my undying love for our old neighbor and my brother, Dylan, and my “babysitter.” We were fourteen and twelve, so I don’t know how much babysitting Porsha did, but you get it.
I bend my knees, heaving a white painted wooden door over my shoulder, fighting to hold in my grin.
Truth be told—I’d heard the rumor of Porsha’s return to Trinity Falls weeks ago, but didn’t give it much weight. Rumors like that were common in small towns like this, and the servers working in my parent’s diner in downtown Trinity love to gossip. A fucking lot.
But, seeing as how this rumor has only grown more rampant over the last few weeks and the fact that my mother is now bringing it up, I believe it. Porsha is coming home. And I feel so many things about it.
As my dad rounds the corner of Mom’s freshly painted home away from home, away from home, I sit the door down, propping it against the frame. He hands me a cold beer while gripping another two between his rough knuckles.
“Where the hell is your brother?” he asks. I twist the cap off my bottle and down half of it in one swig.
“Beer run,” I say, sucking my teeth. The irony of it.
“My ass,” Dad grunts.
“Anyway,” mom chimes in as Dad turns and winks at her. She gives him a half-hearted yet playful grin. “As I was saying,” she continues. “Our little Porsha is headed back to our small town, pending her recent divorce.”
“Honey, how is any of this our business?” Dad chuckles. “I mean, Porsha was a wonderful young lady, but are we putting too much into this? Folks move back to their hometowns all the time.” Dad’s sitting on the front stoop of mom’s she-shed, leaning back on his forearms with two beers sitting next to him. He stares at his wife, the sun beaming hot and merciless against his naturally tanned skin as he wipes beads of sweat from his forehead. Mom crosses her arms over her chest, glancing at me before pinning my dad with a poignant stare.
“Porsha was there for our boys when we couldn’t be,” she says. “So, no—I’m not putting too much into her coming home. She’s important to our family.”
“And how do you know her coming back is a sure thing?” he asks.
She smiles coyly and Dad nods, an eyebrow raised as he cracks open his beer. “The diner,” Dad says easily before taking his first sip.
“You mean the rumor mill,” I say, sitting my empty bottle on the porch next to him.
“Lay off, you two,” Mom warns, pointing a finger between me and Dad. “That’s my diner—my rumor mill, and I will have no one talking crap about it.”
“Of course not. Talking crap about stuff’s reserved for your waitresses only,” I say.
“Asa...” she teases. I smirk.
“Sorry, Mom—what I meant to say was, yes ma’am.”
My parents, both hardworking entrepreneurs, have built a successful yet tiny little empire throughout southwest Texas and the Trinity Falls Community. Baxter’s Bistro has been owned and operated by my mother for twenty-one years, and it’s her pride and joy. Despite the long hours and physical demands, she still shows up at the ass-crack of dawn to run the restaurant herself. I can see her now, sitting inside her small office shed once it’s complete. A satisfied grin on her face as she reviews her staff’s schedule and plans for her next business takeover.
With Mom’s she-shed, Dad, Dylan, and I did all the heavy lifting, painting, and yard work to bring my mother’s vision to life. She had a clear idea of how she wanted everything to look - from the color of the paint to the furniture and fixtures. We followed Mom’s instructions without complaint (except for maybe Dylan and some occasional pushback from Dad), because we’re all a little afraid of her and know better than to go against the badass boss-lady known to our town as “Mama Baxter.”
Finally, I take a spot next to my dad on the front stoop as I soak in the warm glow of the setting sun. Together, we admire our hard work as we take our first break of the afternoon. This shit looks even better than any of us could have imagined, thanks to my mother’s faultless taste and determination. Just as I crack open another beer, my brother, Dylan. pops up with my best friend, Sable, trailing behind him. Sable has a radiant, caramel-toned complexion that reflects her vibrant energy, and thick natural curls that frame her face and fall to her shoulders. Her large, expressive eyes sparkle with intelligence and warmth, complementing her full cheeks that dimple when she smiles. She’s carrying a bag of takeout from my mom’s diner and my hazel eyes light up as soon as I see it. I reach for the bag, but Sable snatches it out of my reach, and Dylan steps in before I can try again.
“Hold your horses, man,” he says, angling his body between us. “Wait until she puts the shit down.”
Sable’s infectious laugh fills the air, a glint of humor crossing her heart-shaped face. She’s beaming as she steps around Dylan. He moves to the side and Sable stands on her tiptoes, throwing her free arm around my neck, giving me a tight hug.
“I’m so sorry, Sabe,” I say, truly apologetic.
“I know you are,” she smiles, sitting the bag on the stoop between me and Dad. “Don’t worry about it,” she whispers playfully. I rub my hands together in anticipation.
“I’m fucking starving,” I say, hovering over her and the bag as she opens it. “What’d you bring me?”
“Sandwiches, potato salad, sweet tea. Yours has mint in it.” Sable glances at me, snapping her fingers. “Shoot, I left the drinks in the car.”
“I’ll get it. Sabe,” Dylan says. “Keys?”
She takes a set of keys from her back pocket and drops them in Dylan’s hand. He stares at the tips of her fingers when they inadvertently brush his palm. He lifts his gaze to Sable’s face, holding her doe-like eyes, before she turns her attention back to me.
“Yo,” I snap at my brother. “drinks, go.”
“So, Sable, did you know that Dylan and Asa’s old babysitter is moving back to town?”
“Old babysitter,” Sable chuckles, a slight frown creasing her brow. Her face scrunches as if she can’t believe what she was hearing. “When did you have a babysitter?” Sabe asks as she sits on the step underneath me.
“She wasn’t really a babysitter. She looked out for Dylan and me while Mom and Dad were out doing their thing.”
“That’s what Asa likes to think,” Dad says. “But she was very much his babysitter.” He looks at me and grips my shoulder. “You think we’d leave the two of you in our house alone? No way in hell, son.”
“How old were you?” Sable asks.
“I was thirteen, fourteen. Dylan was twelve.”
“She was a godsend,” Mom says. “I absolutely hate what she’s going through. She was such a caring person.”
“What’s she going through?” Sable asks. Mom hesitates, a look of concern spreads across her face.
“I don’t want to put her business out in the street.”
“Her business is already in the street, Mom.”
“Yeah—but I don’t want to be the one to put it out there, you know.”
“Yeah, Mom, I know.”
Mom loved Porsha. She admired and respected her for being a responsible young woman. Trusting her to watch over and cook for her two rambunctious boys while she and Dad were busy building their lives. Porsha was only ten years older than me and Dylan, but she took on the role of caretaker with ease. She was funny as hell, always teasing my cocky brother and keeping him in line. Dylan thought he was God’s gift to the opposite sex even in middle school - rebellious, flirtatious, and constantly getting into trouble. Meanwhile, I gained a reputation for cleaning up his messes, especially with the girls he hurt or played with. I apologized on his behalf and trying to convince people that deep down, he really was a good guy. But unlike my charismatic brother, I didn’t actively pursue girls. Partly because I didn’t have to. Hell, neither one of us really did, thanks to inheriting the best genes from both sides of the coin.
Big hazel eyes, dirty blonde hair (which is now bleached from the Texas sun), sharp cheekbones from mom, and a Roman nose from dad. Our long torsos and lean muscular bodies courtesy of good ol’ genetics. We even shared the same deep gravelly voice like our grandfather on Mom’s side. Naw, getting girls was never a problem for either of us. Finding ones we wanted to keep turned out to be the real challenge. As I think back on all of this, I catch my mom stirring from inside her she-shed. She’s sitting in one of her comfy chairs, leaning forward, a curious expression on her face.
“If you run into Porsha, make sure you’re nice to her,” Mom says, her eyes ping ponging between me and Sable. “I hear the last few years haven’t been kind to her.”
“Why is that?” Sable asks, as Dylan returns with our iced tea.
“Divorce is hard, honey.”
“Who’s divorced?” Dylan asks, handing Sable her drink.
“Porsha,” I say, as I take my mint tea from him.
“Porsha?” Dylan asks.
The four of us nod in unison.
“Woah. That fucking sucks,” he says, as if he can’t believe it. “She was cool as hell. Who’d want to divorce her?”
“Obviously, a complete fucking asshole,” I mutter as I rip the lid from my plastic to go cup, guzzling my mint tea. I wipe my mouth with the back of my arm as Sable watches me sheepishly. Her hands are fists resting on her lap and when our eyes meet, she gazes at me for a hot minute before looking away. Dylan’s holding his beer by the neck, posted against the white painted railing. “You okay, Sabe?” he frowns as Sable shifts again under his scrutiny.
She doesn’t answer him, but turns her attention to me. “So, you really had a crush on your babysitter back in the day, huh?” Her voice is lithe, sweet, teasing. She forces a smile.
“How’d you figure that?” I ask. She cocks her head to the side.
“Let’s just say I can just tell. You’re quiet about her. You’re not saying much, but the look on your face... I just... know that look.”
Of course, she does. My best friend knows me well.
These feelings have been bubbling under the surface for so long, simmering quietly until they threaten to boil over. It wasn’t just a crush or a passing infatuation; it was something deeper, more profound. I’d thought of Porsha a lot over the years. More than I’d ever expected.
I was a fucking kid when I knew her, and I thought she was the best thing since slow roasted brisket. I didn’t need posters of pop stars and movie starlets on my walls because Porsha Smith (her last name was Smith back then) was my absolute dream girl.
Every time I saw her smile, heard her laugh, felt her touch on my shoulder as she comforted me from the disappointment of a Dallas Cowboys loss, my heart swelled with longing.
The memories flood back–lazy summer afternoons spent playing in the backyard, Dylan and my friends filling our swimming pool while Porsha passed out slices of pizza and cans of soda. Cozy movie nights snuggled up on the couch, binge watching episode after episode of the old-school Jersey Shore. Whispered secrets shared under the blanket of darkness. I, unlike so many of my friends back then,was still a virgin with way too many prospects to keep up with. I couldn’t deny the truth any longer. She was more than just a babysitter to me; she was a confidant. Cool as hell, with the insane superpower of thrashing my ass when we played Call of Duty . I don’t answer Sable right away. Hell, I don’t think I have to. She stares at me, waiting, her lip holding a tiny quiver.
“So cliché,” she says.
L ater that evening, I consider cancelling my date tonight with a girl I’d met at a local softball game last week. All this talk of Porsha has me seriously doubting my entire existence, and I ain’t in the mood for small talk with a woman I barely know.
At dinner, the two of us make as much small talk that our lack of chemistry will allow, before she calls it a night. She declines my offer to walk her to her car, which pains me a little.
Shit, was it that bad?
I sit for a moment longer, collecting the bill as my eligible bachelor status fucking strangles me. To my surprise, just as I’m about to make my way to my car, I spot Sable sitting alone at a table. Her face is a cloak of sadness and disappointment, tugging at my heartstrings. I head towards her table.
“Sable,” I say, my voice gentle as I slide into the chair across from her. “What happened?”
She looks at me, holding back tears. “I had a date. He never showed. And he’s not answering my calls or texts.”
My chest tightens. “I’m so sorry, Sabe.”
She shrugs, looking down at her hands. “I mean, I thought about working out more. Toning up a little—maybe drop like twenty pounds. What do you think?” she asks, gazing at me. “I’d be hot then, right?”
“You’re already hot,” I snap. “Stop that shit. You’re so pretty and so perfect. Real men love curves—so fuck all that.” I hate, and I mean hate, when she says shit like this. I hate how some idiot could inadvertently send my best fucking friend into a tail spin just because she’s got hips and ass. Sable is a ten out of ten hands down. Great style, great humor, smart as shit, a total fucking catch.
I shake my head, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “Sable, you’re gorgeous. Any guy would be lucky to have you. You’re just... picking assholes.” A small smile breaks through, and I can see a bit of the light return to her eyes. “Thanks, buddy.”
“Of course,” I say, smiling. “You wanna have dinner with me?” I ask. “Let’s turn up, c’mon.”
“You paying?” she ask tilting her chin playfully in my direction.”
“Fuck yeah, I’m paying. Girl, you already know.”
Sable giggles as we flag down a waiter. As we sit and talk, I do my best to keep her spirits up, cracking jokes and reminiscing about old times. We’re a good hour into our dinner when, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse someone who takes my breath away. She’s having dinner with a friend and a small child and looks stunning. Even more beautiful than I remember. My heart pounds in my chest, the boyhood crush I had now a grown man’s obsession.
Porsha. I can’t stop staring at her, the way her smile lights up her face, the way she interacts so lovingly with the little girl seated next to her. I’m captivated by her all over again.
“Asa?” Sable’s voice pulls me back to our table. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, tearing my gaze away from Porsha. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
She follows my gaze, then looks back at me. “Is that her?”
“Who?”
“You know who you, ass... Porsha.” She whispers her name as if it’s never to be spoken out loud.
“Yeah,” I say.
She looks at me, unable to hide the displeasure on her face. “I think the universe is trying to tell you something,” she says softly, disappointment lodged in her throat. Sable squeezes my hand, her own troubles momentarily forgotten. “Go say hi.”
I hesitate. “You sure?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” she assures me, her smile genuine. “Go.”