Chapter 15 Eva #2
I sip my beer, which pairs perfectly with the cheese and makes me a little homesick for Eila’s microbrews. “What happened?”
“Life.” He shrugs, but there’s weight behind it. “Lia got sick. I dropped out. My roommate started an entire tech company while I made spreadsheets for Lia’s labs, and he took pity on me with a coding gig in exchange for my amazing networking abilities with Fork Lick town council.”
I laugh around a bite of cheese. “You’re a real schmoozer, huh?”
Asher gestures at me with his flatbread. “Before my parents moved to Florida, Dad clerked at town hall.” He shrugs. “Clayton needed someone on the ground and some good will with the townies. He runs his satellites or whatever from his condo in the city.”
“Satellites or whatever.”
Asher smiles. “Those are very technical terms.”
We sip our beers and finish our appetizers.
“What about you?” he asks. “Did you always want to market Storm Industries?”
I laugh. “God, I don’t even remember. I went through a phase where I was obsessed with horses. Then I took some horticulture classes. And then I wanted to open a bookstore.”
“A bookstore?”
“I had the whole thing planned out. Cozy chairs, a cat, those rolling ladders like in Beauty and the Beast.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad dream.”
“Yeah, well, someone with actual capital already opened that near Esther’s bar. Bishop Books is lovely.” I twirl my wineglass, watching the candlelight refract through it. “Growing up, I never really had a dream past just… making it through. You know?”
His lips press together, eyes flashing with something. Anger? Empathy? “And now?”
“Now I have a maple farm and a half-formed B&B idea and a grumpy neighbor who apparently likes me.” I smile. “It’s more than I had two months ago.”
“I’m not that grumpy.”
“You literally growled at me the first time we met.”
“You were trespassing.”
“Moi?” I whack him with a breadstick. “I believe you invaded my new yard.”
He’s fighting a smile. I love that I can do that—crack through his stern exterior to the warmth underneath.
The courses keep coming: a butternut squash soup with brown butter and sage, pan-seared trout with wild mushrooms, braised short ribs that fall apart at the touch of a fork. Each dish is better than the last, and between bites, we talk.
Really talk.
He tells me about growing up in Fork Lick, about his parents moving to Florida when Lia got sick because they “couldn’t stomach” her symptoms. About Ethan being more of a brother than a friend, about Gran Ethel basically adopting him into the Bedd clan.
I tell him about my mother’s revolving schemes, the money scarcity and food insecurity—almost forgotten with such an amazing meal in front of me. And I smile, remembering when Esther bought the yellow house on the north side with a bedroom for me.
I talk about my sisters closing ranks around me, protecting me maybe too much. About always feeling like I owed them something for keeping me safe.
“You don’t owe them anything,” Asher says with authority. “That’s what family does. That much I know.”
“I’m starting to know.” I push a piece of fish around my plate. “It’s weird, though—building something that’s just mine. I feel a little guilty about it.”
“Guilty for what?”
“For leaving them, I guess. For not being there.”
“You’re not abandoning them. You’re just… expanding.” He seems to consider his words carefully. “When Lia stayed in New York, I thought I’d never see her again. But she came back. Things changed, but they didn’t end. Your sisters will still be your sisters, Eva. Geography doesn’t change that.”
I feel the truth of it settle into my chest. He’s right. I know he’s right.
Dessert arrives just in time for me to avoid any further admissions—a maple crème br?lée that Bacon sends out “from one Fork Lick convert to another,” according to the server. The custard is silky, the caramelized sugar shatters perfectly, and the maple flavor is subtle but unmistakable.
“This is what Pierce Acres syrup could taste like,” I say, almost to myself. “If I can get the operation running.”
“You will.”
“You sound very confident for someone who’s seen me try to operate a power washer.”
“You knew I was watching?”
“I saw you in the window after I screamed when my shirt got soaked.”
“I appreciated every wet bit of you.” His eyes darken as he reaches across the table to take my hand. I squeeze my thighs together at the thought of him staring at me soaking wet, and I swallow just in time to hear him say, “You’re going to figure this out, Eva. All of it. I believe that.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For…” I gesture vaguely at everything. “For trying. I know it’s not easy for you.”
“It’s easier than I thought it would be.” He rubs his thumb across my knuckles. “You make it easier.”
We finish dessert in comfortable silence, trading bites, our fingers intertwined on the table. When the check comes, Asher pays before I even reach for my wallet.
“Very traditional,” I tease, picking up my denim jacket as Asher hops to his feet and moves to ease the coat over my shoulders.
“I have my moments.”
We wave goodbye to the Hotmans—all in the kitchen now, both twins wearing tiny aprons, watching their father work with rapt attention—and step out into the cool night air.
Fork Lick is quiet at this hour, and our footsteps crunch on the gravel as we walk toward the golf cart, which isn’t quite street legal, but nobody seems prepared to give us a citation.
“I had a really good time,” I say.
“Me too.”
“We should do this again.”
“We should.” We sit in the cart, looking at each other in the moonlight.
“Eva,” Asher says, and his voice is rougher, lower. “I want to invite you back to my place, but I need you to know… I meant what I said. About not doing this in a while. If it’s too fast, or you want to wait, I understand. We can take this slow.”
I lean closer to him, close enough to see the way his pupils dilate, the way his breath catches. “I appreciate that,” I say. “But I’ve been waiting weeks for you to stop being an idiot. I’m not interested in slow.”
He exhales—with relief, I hope. “Thank god.” He kisses me right there on the street, in front of the stained-glass windows and anyone who might be watching. It’s deep and urgent and full of promise.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. “Your place,” I say. “Now.”