Chapter 23 Asher
Asher
One Month Later
The scream soaring toward me from the maple grove is high-pitched enough that I knock over my coffee.
I’m out of my office chair and through the back door before I fully register what I’m doing. My boots—hiking ones now, with sturdy ankle support—crunch on the frost-hardened ground as I move toward the sound.
“Eva?”
Another shriek, followed by laughter. “Asher! Asher, help!”
I find her at the base of a tree, splattered in…
goop. Sap sprays from the tap she installed a little too deep into the trunk.
It’s like a mini geyser making my fantasies come true.
With her hands up over her face and her t-shirt wet and sticky, I’m finding it hard to focus on anything other than her body.
“I did it!” she yells, half-triumphant, half-panicked. “It’s working! But it’s working too much!”
Laughing, I reach her, grabbing the bucket that’s rolled away and positioning it under the tap. The flow slows to a manageable drip as the pressure equalizes.
“Are you supposed to tap trees on a warm day after it was freezing overnight?” I ask.
“Apparently not.” She wipes sap from her eyes, which only smears it across her cheek. “Diego warned me like fifteen times about the pressure. I just got excited.”
“Excited and sticky look good on you.”
“Shut up.” But she’s grinning, so happy it makes my chest hurt. “I’m halfway to being a syrup mogul.”
“I can see that. Want me to take a pic for you to put online?”
She lunges at me, wrapping her sap-covered arms around my neck before I can dodge. “Now you’re sticky, too. Solidarity.”
“You’re abominable.” I kiss her anyway, tasting sweetness and crisp air and Eva.
My life has taken such a turn over the past month, from grouchy coding hermit to…
slightly less grouchy coding boyfriend who leaves the house at least twice a week.
I work for Trede now, thanks to Samuel’s friend Josh.
The title of chief technology officer still terrifies me, but Josh said I can call myself whatever I want as long as I keep the website functional and promise not to add pop-up ads or auto-play music.
It’s a big change for me, having people to report to regularly, going to a building with an in-house cold plunge sauna. But I have Eva to come home to, and I love it. I love her. Staring at her now, sappy and happy, I feel almost brave enough to tell her so.
I didn’t notice it happening—the slow shift from existing to living, to falling in love. But somewhere between Eva’s chaotic arrival and now, everything changed.
My girlfriend timed her grand opening for Tapped Out to align with the strawberry harvest at Bedd Fellows Farm in early June.
She’s cranking a steady stream of videos about the syrup operation and renovation, and absolutely nobody is surprised when it takes off like a storm surge.
Of course, people are excited about Fork Lick.
Eva’s bed-and-breakfast is booked solid.
Every room, every maple experience slot, every Taste of Fork Lick companion package.
“I need a shower,” Eva announces, peeling off her sap-soaked clothes as we walk toward the house. “A long one. With very hot water. Possibly a chisel.”
“Sap washes off easier than you’d think.”
“Spoken like someone who didn’t just take a tree facial.” She shivers slightly; it’s still cold enough this spring that her wet clothes are a problem. I steer her toward my house.
“My water heater’s bigger,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “Is that a euphemism?”
“It’s a fact. But also, yes.”
She laughs, and the sound settles my nerves.
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of making her happy.
Inside, she strips off layers while I turn on the shower, letting the water heat until steam fills the bathroom.
When I turn around, she’s down to her underwear, still streaked with sap, her hair a sticky disaster.
“I look like a swamp creature,” she says.
“A lady yeti, perhaps.”
“Flatterer.”
I close the distance between us and run my thumb along her cheekbone, where a smear of sap has dried to a shine. “Hold still.”
“What are you—?”
I lean in and lick the sap from her skin.
She sucks in a breath. “Asher.”
“Mm.” I move to the next spot, just below her ear. “You taste like maple.”
“That’s… oh…” Her hands grip my shoulders as I work my way down her neck, finding every sticky patch and cleaning it with my tongue. “I thought you meant a real shower.”
“Consider this a pre-wash.” My voice is gravelly as I taste her sweetened skin.
“Is this the yeti version of a cat bath?” She’s the one who purrs as I find a trail of sap that’s dripped between her breasts and follow it with my mouth. She arches into me, her fingers threading through my hair. “The shower’s running,” she manages. “We’re wasting water.”
“Then we should get in.” I strip off my own sap-smeared clothes and pull her under the spray. The hot water hits us both, sluicing away the stickiness. Eva tips her head back with a groan of relief.
“God, that feels good.”
“Just the water?”
“The company is also nice.” She opens her eyes and looks at me through the steam. “All of it.”
I press her into the tile and kiss her, deep and slow, tasting water and maple and want. Her leg hooks around my hip, and I lift her easily, bracing her against the wall.
We’ve gotten better at this. Learned each other’s rhythms, figured out what works. But it still feels like discovery every time—like there’s always something new to find in the way she responds to my touch, the sounds she makes, the way she says my name when she’s close.
“Asher…”
“I’ve got you.” And I do. I always will. I sink to my knees on the tile floor and devour her, glancing upward as she buries her hands in my hair. Eva groans as I lap at her sweetness, and when I slide a finger inside her, she comes with my name on her lips.
Her knees wobble as she catches her breath, and I stand again, steadying her against my chest, holding her close even as my erection prods her stomach.
The water runs over us both, steam thick in the air, and I’m struck suddenly by how much this moment feels like everything I’ve ever wanted and been too afraid to reach for.
Eva’s eyes are closed, her forehead pressed to my shoulder, her breathing slowly evening out. She’s so trusting like this. So open. She lets me see her completely—sticky with sap, shaking with pleasure, vulnerable in ways I still struggle to show her.
Need rises in my chest—not just desire but the overwhelming requirement to form words I’ve thought a thousand times but never uttered out loud. Not to anyone.
I open my mouth.
Close it.
Eva shifts against me, tilting her face. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I just…” The words stick in my throat. Am I supposed to just say it? Like it’s easy? Like it won’t change everything?
“Asher?” She cups my jaw, her thumb tracing along my cheekbone. “What is it?”
I look at her through the steam. Water droplets cling to her eyelashes. Her lips are swollen from kissing, her cheeks flushed from the heat, and she’s looking at me like I’m something precious, something worth waiting for.
“I want to tell you something,” I manage. “But I’m not… I don’t know how to…” I break off, frustrated. I’ve built entire software systems from scratch. I’ve debugged code that made other developers weep. But I can’t string together three simple words without my throat closing.
Eva’s expression shifts. Something knowing enters her eyes—not impatient, just… understanding. She reaches past me and turns off the water. The sudden silence is deafening.
“We don’t have to stay in here,” she says quietly. “If you want to talk.”
“No, I…” I catch her hand before she can step out. “Stay. Please.”
She nods, and the bathroom is quiet except for the shower dripping and our own breathing. Steam curls around us, slowly dissipating. Eva doesn’t push, doesn’t prompt, doesn’t try to fill the silence with chatter. She just waits, her hand warm in mine, giving me space I didn’t know how to ask for.
“I haven’t said this to anyone,” I admit. “I used to tell my parents, obviously. And my sister. But they’re stuck with me.”
Eva’s grip tightens on my hand.
“But this…” I gesture between us, inarticulate. “What I feel about you? It’s not safe. It’s terrifying. If I say it, it becomes real, and if it’s real, I can lose it, and I’ve already lost—” My voice cracks. Actually cracks, like I’m fifteen again and powerless.
“Asher.” Eva’s voice is gentle. “I’m not going—”
“I love you.”
The words come out rough. Ragged. Nothing like the smooth declaration I imagined in my head. They scrape out of some deep place in my chest, a place I’ve kept locked for so long I forgot it existed.
“I love you,” I repeat, and it’s easier the second time but also harder, because now I can feel the weight of it, the enormity of what I’m admitting. “I love you, and it scares the hell out of me. Everyone I’ve ever loved has either left or suffered, and I couldn’t do anything about it. And you…?”
I have to stop. Breathe. My eyes are stinging, and I tell myself it’s the residual steam. “You’re so good, Eva. So bright. I keep waiting for you to realize I’m not—that I’m too broken, too closed off, too much work. That you could do better.”
Eva is crying now. Tears slide down her cheeks, mixing with the water dripping from her hair.
“And I know that’s my shit to deal with,” I continue; apparently the dam has broken and I can’t stop. “But I need you to understand when I say I love you, it’s permanent for me. There is no halfway. You have bored into my soul, and I… require you now.”
I run out of words. Stand there in the cooling bathroom, naked and exposed in more ways than one, feeling like I’ve just handed her a weapon that could destroy me.
Eva reaches up with both hands and cradles my face. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks wet, and she’s smiling even through the tears.
“Asher Thorne,” she says softly. “I love you, too.”
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost buckle.
“I’ve loved you since you crawled out of those woods like a wounded bear,” she continues.
“I’ve loved you through every grumpy morning and every almost-kiss and every time you pushed me away because you were scared.
I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to leave.
And I don’t think you’re too much work.” She brushes her thumb across my cheekbone, wiping away moisture I’m sure is mostly shower water.
“I think you’re exactly the right amount of work. ”
I let out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob, and I kiss her—not hungry like before, but slow. Careful. Like I’m trying to memorize the shape of her mouth, the taste of her lips, the way she sighs against me when I pull her close.
“Say it again,” she whispers when we break apart.
“I love you.” Easier now. Still scary. But easier.
“Again.”
“I love you, Eva Storm.” I press my forehead to hers. “I love you, and I’m keeping you, and I’m going to spend an unreasonable amount of time figuring out how to be the kind of person who deserves you.”
“You already are,” she says. “You’ve been that person the whole time.”
I’m not sure I believe her, but I want to. Maybe that’s enough for now.
We stand there in the bathroom, wrapped around each other, until the air goes cold and Eva starts to shiver again. I grab a towel and wrap it around her shoulders, then another for myself, and we stumble to my bed—our bed now, really—still damp, tangled together under the covers.
“Hey, Asher?” Eva murmurs against my chest.
“Mm?”
“For the record, I don’t think loving someone is supposed to feel safe.” She props herself up on one elbow. “I think it’s supposed to feel exactly like this. Terrifying and worth it.”
I pull her against me, tucking her head under my chin. “Terrifying and worth it,” I repeat. “That sounds about right.”
Outside, the wind rattles the windows. Inside, Eva’s breathing slowly deepens into sleep.
I lie awake for a while longer, feeling the unfamiliar lightness in my chest. I said it.
I actually said it. And the world didn’t end.
It expanded and filled, and I fall asleep excited for what adventure comes when we wake.