Chapter 8
Ella
My cutest summer dress. My most comfortable Converse. Just a touch of makeup. An iced coffee. And Asher.
What a great Saturday.
We’re walking again, and he keeps glancing at my hand, and I wonder when he’s finally going to take it. We’ve been together for hours. One coffee turned into two, then we had dinner at my favorite taco truck, and the sun is starting to dip.
I’ve decided he’s perfect. He laughs at my jokes. He listens to my stories. He asks me questions.
And best of all?
He read the book.
“I loved it,” he says. “I couldn’t put it down. I didn’t think it’d be funny, too.”
“Oh,” I say. “It’s not supposed to be funny.”
His face falls. “It isn’t?”
I grin. “No, it is.”
“Fuck you, I thought I’d messed up then. Seriously, though. How do you come up with it?”
I shrug. “I really don’t know. Usually, it’ll start with just a word or a phrase or a situation and it just grows from there. Every book I’ve ever written was one moment at first, and then I built on it.”
“What was the moment in Cleaners? Wait, let me guess.” He chews his lip for a second. “My instinct is to say the bathtub scene, but I don’t think it is …” While he thinks, I feel his hand slip into mine and I almost burst into confetti. “The ceiling fan scene?”
I laugh. “Yes! How did you know?”
I’d been half-asleep one night, sitting on the balcony and watching the sun set, and a droplet of rain had dripped from the balcony above and into a puddle.
It had splashed in my face and for a second, just a flash, I imagined what it would feel like if that were blood.
That thought developed into blood dripping through a ceiling fan and someone switching it on, resulting in everyone in the room being spattered with it.
It made me laugh so hard I’d scrambled inside and written it down.
“I don’t know,” he says. “But it was great. I laughed so loud I bet I woke Gable.”
“I’m so glad you liked it,” I say, enjoying the feel of my hand in his. I don’t want the date to end.
He’s so sweet, nervous, funny, kind. He barely says a word about himself, though; he just asks me a ton of questions. He seems interested in what I have to say—in me for me, which is a nice change.
Deacon had been focused on my dad, asking why I’d never become a cop and if I’d change my mind and join the force.
“Ooh,” I say. “Come in here with me.”
I drag him into the flower shop, the smell overwhelming and brightening the day further. This is the only thing I allow myself to really spend money on. I love having fresh flowers in the house. When she was alive, my mom would leave me flowers out every Sunday.
I reluctantly release Asher’s hand to pick up a pink and white orchid. Usually, I buy as many as I can, but I can always come back in a few days. I don’t want Asher to have to carry them all.
Maybe he’d flex his biceps as he did it, though.
“Orchids?”
I nod. “My mom’s favorite. And mine.” I scan the other flowers and touch some roses, smoothing the soft petal between my forefinger and thumb. When I look over at Asher, he’s watching me quietly. I tilt my head. “What?”
He smiles. “Nothing.”
I try to pay but Asher insists, and we walk back to the apartment building, and sadly the momentary stop means our hands are no longer connected—but it’s probably a good thing, because my dad is outside our building.
“Hey, Daddio,” I say as he gets out the car. He’s in full uniform, and I hope to God it doesn’t scare Asher off.
“My child.” He hugs me. “More flowers?”
“You can never have too many,” I say. “Dad, this is Asher, the new neighbor.”
Guy Gibson’s gaze cuts to Asher, and I brace myself for the fear, the intimidation, the excuses to haul ass and leave. But none of that happens. In fact, Asher smiles confidently, balances the orchid in one arm, and shakes my dad’s hand.
“You on a date?” my dad asks.
“Dad.”
“What? I’m taking an interest.”
“Take an interest in something else. Why are you here?”
“You see how she speaks to me?” my dad asks Asher, and Asher laughs. “You left your driver’s license in my car.” He taps it against my forehead. “This is why I take an interest. You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on.” He glances back at Asher. “What happened to your arm?”
“Dropped a glass,” he says, shrugging a shoulder.
My dad frowns. “On your forearm?”
“Dad,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Ignore him, Asher. He’ll be asking for your fingerprints next.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” My dad continues eyeing Asher’s arm.
The doors to the building open, and Gable appears, Motor at his side. Messy dark hair, dark jeans, and a black T-shirt stretched over biceps are paired with a furious expression, and a pink lollipop that he pulls out when he spots us.
“Hello, Motor,” I croon, and the dog wiggles over to me happily. I scratch his chin, and his tail hits hyperspeed.
My dad stares at Gable. I know the look. He doesn’t like him already, but that’s fair, because neither do I.
“This is my brother, Gable,” Asher says.
“Brother?” Guy asks. “You don’t look like brothers.”
I sigh. “Dad.”
“It’s fine,” Asher says. “Foster brothers.”
My dad eyes Gable. “Do you talk?”
This is going to be tense. Once my dad doesn’t like someone, there’s no changing that, and that’s usually because, nine times out of ten, he’s right. He has good instincts, it’s his job to have them, but I wish he would just stop being so transparent about it.
Gable puts the lollipop back into his mouth. “Sometimes.”
“And what do you two do?” Guy asks, waving his hand between the Flynn brothers.
“Computers,” I say. “Dad, don’t you have to get to work? I know how you love to micromanage those night shifts.”
“I’m in charge. I can get there anytime I like.” He keeps his focus on Gable. “So, you both live in that apartment?”
“Just me,” Asher says. “Gable is helping me get settled in.”
I gesture at Gable. “Isn’t that nice, Dad?”
“Very,” he remarks dryly. “And the dog?”
Gable swirls the lollipop around his mouth. “He’s not good with boxes.”
Asher puts a hand on Gable’s shoulder. “The dog is Gable’s.”
My dad narrows his eyes and hums quietly. Suspiciously.
This is how it always goes. I meet someone, my dad either disapproves or isn’t enthusiastic, and the guy splits.
Anyone who’s ever stuck around has been overly cocky, or a cop well-versed in being around other cops.
But I really want things to work with Asher.
I’ve got a good feeling about this guy, and I want him to stick around.
“Anyway,” I sing. “I should get those flowers upstairs.” I stand on my tiptoes, but my dad still has to lean down for me to kiss his cheek. He keeps his eyes fixed on Gable. “Call me later, Dad.”
“I will, baby.”
“Nice to meet you,” Asher says, and my dad nods tightly, giving Gable one final glance before leaving.
“Your dad is …” Gable pauses. “Very cop-like.”
“And you’re an ass,” I say and look down at Motor. “Isn’t he, Motor? Isn’t your daddy an ass?”
Gable frowns. “Stop doing that; he’s not a baby.”
“No, but you are.” I stick my tongue out at him.
Asher laughs as Gable glares at him. “I’m gonna walk the dog. If you’re gonna have a post-date fuck, take it into the bedroom so I can watch TV.” His gaze cuts to me, and he must notice the burning in my cheeks, because he smirks. “Unless you want a third, Gibson.”
That doesn’t sound so bad.
I tap my temple so hard I wince. Asher playfully shoves his brother. “Ignore him, Ella. He thinks he’s funny.”
“He really isn’t,” I grumble as we head inside.
Asher walks me to my apartment and watches me place my orchids where I always do—one on the balcony, one next to my bed.
“You really like flowers,” he says.
I nod. “Yep. My mom used to say, ‘Wake up to flowers every day, baby, and you’ll guarantee one part of your day will be bright.’” I ball up the packaging and throwing it in the trash before standing before him. “It hasn’t failed me yet.”
“You’re annoyingly cute, you know that?”
I flick my hair dramatically. “It’s a talent. One of many.”
He leans his hip against the kitchen counter and smiles down at me, moving my hair, and goose bumps run down my neck.
“You’re giving me that look again,” I whisper.
“What look?”
“The look you gave me in the flower shop.” I inch closer, hoping for another kiss before the date comes to an end.
He searches my face, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
There hasn’t been a point since I met him when I’ve thought he was lying to me, but right now, something falls away from him.
Even the most honest people sometimes hide behind a facade, so I’m not surprised or wary, but I feel honored that he’s allowing me to see more of him.
Because whatever Asher Flynn has been hiding behind since I met him yesterday is gone.
“My mom’s favorite flowers were orchids, too,” he says quietly, moving my hair again. He twists a strand of it in his fingers, and I’m unsure what I see in his eyes—sadness or a lingering memory.
“What was she like?” I ask, enjoying the closeness.
He smiles. “Kind. She always smelled like lavender. And she sang a lot. All the time, actually. I don’t remember what she sang, but I remember music.”
“Maybe you’ll remember someday.”
Who is this man? Where has he come from? Why, in such a short time, has he made me feel so much? I’m drawn to him, and it’s starting to frighten me.
But something tells me he’s a good man. Something tells me that this isn’t a fleeting feeling for either of us.
He kisses me softly and I cling to him. It’s quick, but enough to remind me how it felt to be entwined with him, and when the kiss ends, he presses his forehead to mine.
“I think I might be in trouble here,” he whispers.