CHAPTER SIXTEEN Ginger
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ginger
I don’t even get the chance to knock on Cole’s glass front door before Mabel is pulling it open at 6:05, squealing my name and attaching herself to my leg immediately.
“Did you bring me another piece for my garden kit?” she asks, her eyes that match her dad’s glimmering with excitement.
“Mabes, don’t ask someone if they bought you a gift,” Cole calls from the kitchen. His space is open, aside from a half-wall, so I can see him puttering around, popping dinner ingredients on platters. The house is always cozy and tidy but could use a bit of help in the décor department. A few generic scenic prints hang on the walls, and there’s a large sculpture over the living room sofa which Cole made in his senior year of high school. The floors are rustic barnwood, and fishing and sports magazines line the wrought-iron coffee table in front of the overstuffed sofa. Through the back window, maple trees frame the yard and, beyond that, Sugarland Mountain creates a breathtaking backdrop.
“Of course I did,’ I say, winking at her and pulling the newest addition to her kit out of my bag. “This one’s a flower press,” I tell her. “We’ll have to do it together, but any flowers you see that you want to preserve from the garden can go in here. Once we press them, you can keep them forever.”
This kid is always outside, and has been collecting rocks, bugs as pets, sticks, greenery and flowers for the last year. She’s a child after my own heart. I was the same when I was young.
“I want to plant some flowers. Daddy doesn’t know how to grow things.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. I didn’t kill the succulent Nana gave you,” Cole says as he rounds the corner from the kitchen.
“That’s ’cause you don’t ever have to water it!” Mabel retorts. He shrugs, and I smile at their adorable dynamic.
Maybe it’s the new-husband factor, or the dad factor, or some combination of both, but tonight, Cole looks way too good. He’s tanned, clean-shaven, and the color of his blue t-shirt against his amber eyes makes him look just about perfect. But the best part of Cole’s getup? The grilling apron he’s wearing that says “ Grillmasters Motto: It’s not burnt, it’s flavor. ”
I run my hand down Mabel’s hair.
“Go easy on him. He’s a busy guy, your dad,” I say, “Besides, it’s not his fault he’s terrible at taking care of plants.” She laughs as I tweak her chin, and Cole grunts at my insult. “Why don’t you show me where you want to grow flowers?”
Her eyes light up and she takes my hand, leading me toward the yard.
“Nana said maybe she can help me. Sometimes her back bugs her though.” Mabel rambles as we head through the back door. Cole follows.
“Been meaning to get on that garden. We’ll do it this summer, okay Mabes?” he says, keeping pace behind us.
“Daddy tried to grow tomatoes before but it’s just full of weeds now,” Mabel presses on.
Insects buzz and the water in Cole’s pool shimmers as we walk by. It’s like a little backyard oasis here, intimate and private, with a huge concrete patio that runs the length of the house covered by a wood pergola. The entire perimeter of the yard is surrounded by trees but the pool is wide open to all-day sun. I can see why Cole chose this house for him and Mabel. It has the same quiet, peaceful feel of the ranch where he grew up, and faces the same direction for that view of Sugarland in the distance.
We make our way to the “garden” at the back of the yard and take in the sad state of affairs. It’s a bordered plot about eight by ten feet, and sits beside a potting shed. The beginnings of a garden remain, but Mabel is right, it’s mostly weeds now.
“Could I press that flower?” Mabel asks, pointing to one lone little blue violet poking up amidst the mess. I smile when I see it; a beautiful bloom among the weeds always reminds me of nature’s persistence.
“There’s hope for you yet, garden,” I say, before plucking the lively flower from the earth and handing it to Mabes.
“We’ll press it after dinner, okay?”
She grins up at me in response. “Okay.”
We kneel down together to sort through what is already here: some volunteer potato stalks, carrots and rhubarb; a lot of overgrown clover and thistles.
“This could make a great little garden, you know,” I tell her, sifting my fingers through the soil as an earthworm disappears below. “It has good soil.”
“Will you help?” Mabel asks, smushing dirt between her chubby fingers.
“Sure I will. If it’s okay with Daddy,” I reply as Cole yells over that the burgers are ready.
We sit outside under the wooden pergola, enjoying the evening sun. It’s the beginning of a beautiful night and, as we dig into Cole’s BBQ, I watch as a hummingbird hops around on the feeder by their back door.
“This might be the first time you’ve ever made me dinner, Cole Ashby,” I sigh contentedly, listening to a neighbor cut their grass a few houses down.
“And?” he asks from his end of the table, one eyebrow raised.
“It’s quite impressive. Not burnt at all.” I smile and take another bite of my burger.
Even with the unspoken secret between Cole and I, the air tonight is comfortable. Just as it always is. Which gives me hope that all is not lost the moment we sign the dotted line and dissolve this marriage. Through the rest of dinner, we have easy chatter back and forth. Mabel tells me what she’s doing this week—going to the zoo in the next county with Jo, a playdate with her friend—and, when dinner is done, Cole heads back inside to do some chores while Mabel and I set up to press her violet. By the time we’re done, Cole is all cleaned up from dinner, and Mabel wastes no time in looking for more flowers (or anything else that will work) to press. It’s a typical night in the Ashby house. And all the while I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing here.
“She’s asleep,” Cole says as he comes out from the back of the house at nine o’clock with a basket of laundry. I glance up at him, taking a break from watching the lightning bugs dance as the sun sets, sending an orange glow through the cedars and holly bushes. He drops the laundry on the floor and heads for the kitchen to grab us both a drink.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking the amber liquid from him and taking a sip.
“Pa’s bourbon. I’m trying to loosen you up before I cash in on a favor.”
My stomach drops.
“I gotta say, all this buildup makes me think I might not want to know what you’re going to ask,” I note, moving to help him fold the laundry.
“Probably not. But I’m hoping you’ll remember all the nights I picked you up when you were in trouble. Plus all the stops for food on drunken Saturday nights. Every last favor, Vixen. Remember them all.”
“Jesus, Cole. Just ask already.” I laugh, setting down the fourth towel I’ve folded to his two.
“Well, I found out some answers today …”
He starts to fill me in on everything he found out from Bev—about proving intoxication or lying—and I let the news sink in.
“So, we’d have to get a divorce?” I ask. “In which case, I’m taking half.”
I laugh, he does not.
“I’m being serious, Ginger. Divorce is public knowledge. And when you’re in my position …”
My chest tightens. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Cole almost looks nervous. And Cole never looks nervous, which makes me … well, very nervous.
He starts pacing the length of his six-panel front window that’s almost floor-to-ceiling.
“I do have an idea that I think will help us both,” he starts.
I lean back against the couch but say nothing. Cole takes that as his invitation to keep talking. “What if we stayed married?”
My mouth falls open and, for at least ten seconds that’s how I stay, until I realize I should say something, anything. But it’s impossible to form any words, because the fuck ?
“I … For … ever?” I ask, gulping.
“No, not forever,” Cole chuckles before making his way over to sit down across from me on the ottoman.
“You don’t want this to affect your father. And I don’t want to give Brent a reason to pick away at my position or for the public to find out.” He takes a breath before continuing. “I remember you saying you might be a little short on money this summer, and I’m struggling to keep Mabel busy. What if I can offer something that suits us all? Mabel included. That’s why I wanted you to come over early this evening. So you could … so I could see how you fit.”
Everything adds up as I realize why I’m here tonight. Anger rushes through me.
“This was a nanny interview?!” I ask incredulously. “That’s fucked up, even for you.’
“No, not an interview!” He reaches out and grabs my arm before I can stand. “Christ, Ginger, I know you’re more than capable. I just … fuck .”
I pull my arm back and raise my eyebrows expectantly. “Start talking, Ashby.”
Cole rises, takes a sip of his drink and continues walking the length of the room, bourbon in hand. He pauses in front of the window, staring blankly into the distance, before turning back to face me.
“Ginger, you’re great with Mabel. Amazing, actually.”
“That’s a good start.” I wait for him to continue.
“I just, I’m trying to figure out if this could be an option. This isn’t easy for me. I don’t … let people into our world. Ever.” He comes to sit back down across from me. Then he drains his glass, looks me in the eye, and continues. “Hear me out. You move in here. For the summer, so you can help me take care of Mabel. I’ll pay you. The going rate, whatever that is, plus ten percent. It will only be part-time, but I’ll pay you for full-time. My mom likes to help when she can, and Mabel will be gone for over a week to Gemma’s parents’ cottage too. Mabel will have an explanation for why you’re here without her needing to know what’s really going on. And it covers our tracks in case anyone, mainly Brent, ever finds out. We can divorce quietly later, sometime in the fall. This way, it will be a lot easier to make the town believe we meant to get married but chose to keep it private if the news gets out.”
I don’t answer him immediately, so Cole starts rambling on about my accommodation.
“The in-law suite would be yours, so you’ll basically have your own wing. I redid it a few years ago and it’s never even been used. You can spend the summer swimming and relaxing at the house …”
Cole trails off and moves closer, sinking to his knees and placing both his hands on my thighs. I tense. I’m not used to this Cole. The one who isn’t afraid to touch me. For years, ever since the night we kissed, it’s been like both of us have been on a mission to show each other who wants the other less. But this Cole? The one that makes me dinner, touches me freely, and looks at me like I’m his only hope … I’m not really sure what to do with him .
“If word gets out, we’ll tell them all we thought it could work, but we realized we were too different.” He smirks, like that much is obvious.
“That’s believable,” I say with a shrug.
“I thought so.” He removes his hands and sighs. “Look, I know in terms of favors this one is big—”
“Huge,” I say, putting my head in my hands. “The hugest.”
“The hugest,” he repeats, swiping my hands away and using his finger to tilt my chin up. “But Ginger, I need this. Sometimes, fuck, I feel like I’m holding everything in my life together by a single thread … that someone just coated in gasoline and set on fire.” He deadpans.
I can’t help but laugh.
“Look, personality-wise, I’m not so sure about you.” I grin as he sticks his tongue out. “But as a dad? You’re doing a great job, Cole,” I add seriously.
“It might seem that way. But I barely have time to cut my own lawn. There’s so much mess to clean up from what the last sheriff left behind at work. And , on top of that, I’m trying so fucking hard to be a good example for my daughter. This job I have is her future. I need to be good at it.”
I eye him for a beat. “You better get me another drink and some sort of notepad, ’cause I’m gonna have some ground rules.”
The smile Cole gives me in response takes up his whole face. His full lips curve up over his straight white teeth and the dimples settle in his wide jaw. He stands.
“Yes, okay … whatever you want.” He grins, then kisses my cheek. “And … you’re the best PIC ever.”
“Settle down with the flattery, Ashby. I already agreed.” I swat at him as he turns to head into the kitchen.
I chew my bottom lip as a rush of excitement flows through me. I’m going to stay Cole’s wife, and even if it’s just for a little longer, the thought of it doesn’t fail to make me feel warm.
I remember the written pact sitting somewhere in my purse that says I will no longer come when he calls. Should I be surprised I haven’t followed my own rules? Probably not. When it comes to Cole Ashby, I’m starting to wonder if there’s anything I wouldn’t do.