12. ashton
twelve
ashton
. . .
Crush - Madeline Merlo
“Ashton.”
Brooks stalks through the house, finding me at the fridge and caging me in, one hand on the door above my head.
I’m well and truly surrounded by him: the iced tea on his breath, the pepper and leather in his cologne, the remnant smell of hay and horses clinging to his clothing.
I want to be a brat right now and rile him up, but the intensity shining in his gray eyes is too much and I have to break the spell, look away.
I glance up at the point where his arm stretches outside of my peripheral vision, and then back to his face.
His eyes burn into mine, and not for the first time, I wonder if he’s thinking about kissing me.
It would be hot as hell, and I would probably think about saying “fuck it” and kissing him right now if we weren’t in my parents’ kitchen, surrounded by our families and colleagues. And if I weren’t so damn mad at him.
“What do you want, Brooks?”
He searches for words for a moment. His eyes flutter closed, then open and catch mine.
“I don’t wanna fight with you, Ash.”
“So don’t fight with me,” I answer evenly.
I hope he didn’t hear the tremor in my voice, the way it shook along with my breath.
I guess I couldn’t keep the inner brat entirely at bay.
She just snatched the wheel and swerved us right off the road.
I’m simply a passenger. I couldn’t stop her if I tried.
“All you have to do is stop treating me like a child.”
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. His hand slides down the front of the fridge but stops short of making contact with my head.
It simply rests beside my face, drawing him closer to me.
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, you know?
I couldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt and I could’ve stopped it. ”
“I’m not gonna get hurt, Brooks.” My eyes flick to his lips and back, the intense eye contact awakening butterflies deep in my belly. “I know how to handle myself.”
“I know you do.” His voice is low, quiet; I doubt anyone else could hear him unless they were stood as close to him as I am.
And that low pitch of his voice, combined with whatever fresh-smelling soap he uses, and the way his chest is practically touching mine, has me feeling all kinds of things I shouldn’t be feeling for the man who’s been my best friend my entire life.
But standing this close to him, damn near locked in his embrace, I feel safe. Like nothing can get to me. And I know it won’t, because he won’t let it.
“Good,” I whisper, flicking my tongue out to wet my lips. My whole mouth is suddenly desert-dry.
“So, we’re okay?”
“We’re okay.”
He lowers his arm, finally; resting his palm on my shoulder for the briefest moment before running it down my arm and turning away, greeting Solly and Grady who have walked in looking for beer.
Brooks and I don’t speak much for the rest of the evening, but the frost between us has thawed, and he winks across the table at me a couple of times.
Before he leaves, he circles the house, saying goodnight to everyone, then offers me a salute and one final wink before he climbs into his truck and roars away.
By a little after nine, pretty much everyone has left, and Dad and I are the only ones left in the kitchen.
Mom has abandoned us in favor of a new episode of some medical show on TV—one she and Ms. Angie spent most of the evening discussing excitedly—so Dad and I tackle the dishes together.
I rinse and he loads the dishwasher, and once we’re done, I push up onto my tiptoes and kiss his cheek.
It’s a little rough from a day or two of stubble, and this close, I can see the hairs coming through a little more gray than they used to be.
My stomach clenches, and I squeeze my eyes closed for an extra second when I blink, trying to fight back the urge to cry.
I don’t like to think of my parents getting old.
Getting older means getting closer to losing them someday, and I know for a fact I won’t ever be ready for that.
So, when Dad pulls me into his arms and presses a kiss to the top of my head, I hold on tight, inhaling his familiar tea-tree shampoo scent, and exhale slowly, letting my whole body relax in his embrace.
“Love you to the moon, kiddo,” he whispers as he opens his arms to release me.
“Love you more than all the stars,” I reply. The same words we’ve said since I was a child. He smiles wide, eyes a little glassy, and I give him a playful shove. “Don’t get sappy on me.”
“You started it!” he protests, then urges me toward the door. “Go on, kiddo. Go home. Get some sleep. Mick says he’s borrowin’ you for some horse trainin’ tomorrow.”
I nod. “Yeah, gonna head over in the mornin’. Your truck free, or am I in Mom’s car?”
“Sorry, kiddo.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I gotta go into the city tomorrow.”
“S’okay,” I say. “The car is fine. AC’s about as useful as tits on a bull, but it’ll do the job. I’ll come by in the morning for it.”
Dad smirks. “I might be gone by the time you come over, but if you have any cookies you might feel like bringin’…”
“I’ll bake some tomorrow and drop them by,” I promise with a grin. I’m already planning what flavors to make when I poke my head around the living room door. Mom looks up.
“You heading home, honey?”
I nod. “See you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too, sweet girl. Sweet dreams.” I lean in to kiss Mom on the cheek as Dad settles onto the couch beside her. He grabs my hand and squeezes it once before I leave.
I take my time walking home, enjoying the warm late-evening breeze on my bare skin.
When I reach my cabin, there’s a small box on my doorstep.
Brown and unassuming. There’s no address label on it, so someone must have intentionally left it there for me to find.
It’s lightweight when I lift it, and there are no suspicious smells or sounds coming from it, so I carry it straight to the kitchen and grab a knife to slice through the single strip of packing tape that holds it closed.
Inside, I find my own personal nirvana.
A bottle of body wash, the kind that claims to get rid of everything, even mud.
I smirk as I set it down on the kitchen counter, next to the hot pink loofah that comes with it.
There’s a yellow cardboard case from my favorite lip balm brand, with three of their original flavor tubes.
Nestled below that, there are five—five—of my favorite cupcake flavor, their blue lids familiar as my own name.
Amongst the shreds of yellow packing paper, I find a set of cookie cutters with a western aesthetic theme: a cowboy hat, boots, a cactus.
There’s also a cutter in the shape of a devil, and immediately, I know where this box came from.
The hand-scrawled note that flutters onto the kitchen counter as I lift it all out just solidifies what I already know.
Looked like you were getting low on that goopy cupcake stuff. B x
I had no idea that a simple act of kindness could sweep me off my feet, but I stumble as I sit on a stool at the kitchen counter.
The box came from Brooks; there’s no question about it.
But he had to go looking for these things.
He bought the body wash as a joke, I assume, after he saw me covered in mud.
But for him to notice something as tiny and frivolous as my lip balm—to notice not only the brand but the flavor, too, and that I was running low—fills me with an unexpected kind of warmth.
A peaceful kind. It makes me feel seen in the kind of way only Brooks has ever been able to see me.
Adding the cookie cutters is the icing on the proverbial cake.
Something he knew I’d not only appreciate, but enjoy the sentiment of, too.
I didn’t realize how much I’d missed being home. How much I’d missed my friends. But now that I’m back, I can’t even imagine wanting to be anywhere else.
I tuck the cookie cutters into the drawer beneath my stove, with the rest of my embarrassingly large cookie cutter collection.
Then I take the rest of the box’s contents with me to the bathroom, leaving one lip balm on my night stand on the way.
The rest go into a drawer, and I bring the body wash and loofah into the shower with me.
It smells like strawberries, and that’s another thing that makes my heart skip. Strawberry has always been one of my favorite flavors. It’s been years since the last time we went fruit picking or drank milkshakes together, but he remembered.
When I crawl into bed, I fall asleep to the memories of our laughter in strawberry fields.
Teenage and wild, Ms. Josie entrusted the four of us—me, Brooks, Ev, and Jody—to fill a couple buckets with berries at Aunt Roberta’s U-Pick farm right outside of Heath.
Aunt Roberta never married; has no family, but she’s everyone’s aunt nonetheless.
An afternoon in the baking hot late-spring sun with my favorite people turned that day into one of my favorite memories.
A memory I’m still smiling at when I wake the next morning.
Still high on the scent of strawberries, I slice a few berries onto my peanut butter toast before shoving my feet into my boots and heading out the door just as Brooks runs into view.
I pull my door shut behind me and suck in a breath before hollering, “Did you leave that box on my porch?”
I step out into the morning sun, using my hand to shield my eyes.
Brooks is out for a run, earbuds in his ears.
He slows down and removes one earbud, letting it hang on its cable and bounce against his chest with every step he takes as he jogs in place on my doorstep.
I know full well he left them there, but I’m asking anyway.
For reasons I don’t care to unpack, I need to hear it from him.
“Might’a done. Why?” He offers no further explanation. I won’t push any further. I’m quiet for a moment while I try to formulate my thoughts, but in the end, I say the only words I can come up with.
“Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say.
It doesn’t seem like enough, but I’m overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness and with gratitude for the way that he sees me in a way no one else does.
He doesn’t seem to think too much of it, either my lack of words, or of his gesture, because he continues to run on the spot like we’re not sharing an intense moment of eye contact.
“No problem. Bake me somethin’ with those cutters, okay?
” He jogs backward as he speaks, before saluting and turning to face his direction of travel.
It’s a strange sight to see him in sneakers.
More of his tattoos are on display—the eagle wings that span his broad chest, the wild horses on his right shoulder, the mountains and forest scenes that wrap around his strong thighs.
The basketball shorts and bare chest aren’t unwelcome at all.
In fact, it’s a pretty good way to start the day.
And now that we’re friends again, today is already shaping up to be pretty damn great.