CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Asher
“Wow.”
I look over and see Ledger pulling up to the curb on the street behind me. His elbow is propped on the open window, and a smile is wide on his face as he takes in the cherry picker that is currently hanging a new sign over the entrance to The Fields.
“You like it?” Pride warms me. Especially because it’s praise coming from him.
“It looks incredible.” He parks his car and walks over to where I’m standing. “This is starting to look like a whole new place with all the changes you’ve been making.”
I so desperately want to tell him the why behind it but still haven’t heard from Hillary.
It’s imperative for me to get this partnership on my own merit.
I’ve always been looked at through a different lens in this town, and the last thing I want with this first venture of my own is for it to be assumed I slept my way into it.
“I’m trying.” I shrug. “It definitely needed a makeover. That, and I wanted it to feel like it was somewhat mine. I know that sounds silly, but . . . it’s always been Gran and Pop’s. Updating it, bringing a little more life to it, makes me feel like I’ve contributed to it somehow.”
“I can understand that. It’s admirable.” He pulls me against his side and presses a kiss to my temple. “I’m proud of you. I truly am.”
“Thanks.” I glance back at his car and then to him. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a busy day.”
“I did. I do.” He nods. “But I wanted to see you more.”
My heart lurches in my throat. I always want to see him, but as of late, protecting my heart is of equal importance.
Telling myself to enjoy the time we have left and not stress about what comes next is one thing.
Actually listening and believing it, is a whole other thing.
In fact, it’s brutal to want someone so badly—to be with him and enjoy him and laugh with him—while acknowledging that each second we spend together, I fall a little harder for him. And hate that one day he’ll be gone.
“You know how to make a girl feel special. I’d never complain about a visit from you.” I smile while admiring the sheer beauty of him.
How am I ever going to let him go?
“Do you have time to break away for lunch?” he asks.
“I can’t,” I say, as much for self-preservation as I do for truth. “These guys will be here for the next hour hanging new signage. I have to be here. Can we meet up later?”
“I have a dinner meeting.”
“I can leave the key under the mat for you for when it’s over?”