Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Troy
I straighten the forks for the third time, making sure they’re perfectly aligned atop neatly folded napkins.
The dining table is set for two—the first time I’ve used actual silverware since moving here.
For months, my meals have consisted of takeout containers and frozen pizza eaten off paper plates, standing in the kitchen or lounging on the couch.
The scent of melted mozzarella and savory chicken drifts from the oven, rich and comforting.
Inside, a ceramic casserole dish bubbles with a creamy chicken orzo, one of Imani’s recipes.
I followed her meticulously written instructions, measuring every ingredient with the same precision I bring to my brewing.
Still, I half expect something to go wrong.
I catch my reflection in the polished silverware and run a hand through my dark hair, willing it to stay in place.
My cheeks are flushed, my lips bitten raw from nerves.
I trimmed my beard for the first time in months, the sharper line of my jaw unfamiliar, red bumps still dotting my skin despite my best efforts.
A shaky breath leaves me as I try to steady myself.
I’ve hooked up with plenty of people since Mel and I split, but this is my first real date.
And the fact that it’s with Ashton fucking Tremblay only heightens the pressure.
He shakes my confidence in a way that’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
Across the room, Cryptid lets out a soft trill and looks up at me, head cocked in interest. He always knows when I’m wound too tight.
During the worst of the divorce, he slept on my chest every night, grounding me when my body shook with silent sobs.
I honestly don’t know how I would’ve survived without him.
“I’m okay, buddy,” I murmur, crouching to scratch behind his ears. “Daddy’s just nervous.”
A rhythmic thud breaks the quiet, cautious footsteps climbing the apartment stairs.
Cryptid lets out an excited chirp and bolts for the door just as I reach for the handle. I stick my leg out at the last second, blocking him as I crack it open.
“Oh, hey.”
Ashton stands in the dim hallway in a red flannel and worn jeans, shoulders slightly hunched. His hands disappear into his pockets, then reappear just as quickly, like he can’t decide what to do with them.
“Hey,” he says, awkward and soft.
“Sorry,” I add quickly as Cryptid wedges his face between my calf and the doorframe, determined to escape. “This is Cryptid. He, uh—loves meeting new people. I can put him in the bedroom if you don’t like cats.”
Ashton laughs under his breath. “No, it’s fine. I love cats.”
I pull the door open wider, and Ashton slips past me, his shoulder brushing mine as he steps inside.
The door clicks shut behind him, and Cryptid immediately winds around his ankles, tail held high, purring loud and insistent.
Ashton lets out a soft chuckle and bends to scratch beneath Cryptid’s chin.
Warmth spreads through my chest as I watch him, fondness blooming before I can stop it. “Good,” I say lightly. “If you hated cats, that would’ve been a deal-breaker, honestly.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah? Guess I passed the first test.”
He keeps petting Cryptid, fingers confident and gentle. “I grew up with a ton of barn cats around the orchard,” he adds. “Dad never let them inside, though.”
I hum. “My dad had a pitbull at one point, but no cats. He’s my first—and the best.”
Ashton runs a hand along Cryptid’s back. “My favorite barn cat was named Rusty.” He pauses, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Mean as hell, missing an ear, but he was the best mouse-catcher we ever had.”
“Sounds like a hard worker,” I say with a wink, “like someone else I know.”
Ashton laughs as he straightens, brushing cat hair from his knees. A flush creeps up his cheeks. “I could say the same about you.”
I fight back a grin and gesture toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s wash up—dinner’s almost ready.”
Ashton nods and follows me, pausing briefly as his gaze drifts around the apartment. It’s nothing fancy, full of mismatched decorations and whatever furniture I was left with after the divorce, but I still feel a flicker of nerves under his quiet appraisal.
At the sink, I scrub my hands under warm water, the scent of citrus soap blooming in the air. “This place is just temporary,” I say, watching the suds spiral down the drain. “I want something more permanent eventually. A house, maybe.”
We stand side by side, washing our hands, shoulders brushing every so often. I dry my hands on a towel and lean back against the counter. “I’m hoping I can stay in Claremont Shores long-term. As long as the brewery keeps doing well.”
Ashton glances at me. “It will,” he says, without hesitation.
The ease of his confidence sends a flutter through my chest.
“This summer will be the real test,” I say with a shrug. “Tourist season. If we can sustain business through that, I’ll know I made the right call.”
He smiles, easy and reassuring. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Then he pauses, sniffing the air, eyes lighting up. “More importantly—what’s for dinner? Smells delicious.”
I laugh. “Some kind of chicken orzo situation. Got the recipe from my chef at the taproom, Imani. She handled all the hard parts. I just had to follow instructions and not burn down my apartment.”
Ashton’s brows lift. “Imani Sparks, right? I think my dad’s friends with her father. She’s a few years older than me.”
“Yeah, that’s her,” I confirm. “She knows your family pretty well, actually. The Tremblays have quite the reputation.”
Color creeps up Ashton’s neck, his mouth twisting awkwardly. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m aware. It’s followed me my entire life.”
The air shifts, that familiar weight creeping back in. I clock it immediately and push off the counter, forcing brightness into my tone.
“Hey,” I say gently, reaching for his arm. “Sit down. I’ll bring the food out when it’s ready.”
He nods, still avoiding my gaze, and moves toward the table.
I turn back to the oven, slipping on mitts before pulling the dish free.
Heat washes over my skin as the door opens, the scent of roasted chicken, garlic, and melted cheese filling the kitchen.
The cherry tomatoes have burst and cooked down, the orzo creamy and bubbling at the edges.
It looks—thankfully—exactly like it’s supposed to.
I carry it to the table and set it down carefully on a knitted trivet.
“Wow, thanks. This looks incredible,” Ashton says, eyes going wide.
Before I can grab the plates, he reaches forward with the wooden serving spoon.
“Hey—” I tsk softly and tap his wrist, nudging his hand away. “Absolutely not.”
He blinks at me, startled. “Oh. Sorry, I just—”
“I’ve got it,” I say firmly, but there’s a smile tugging at my mouth as I scoop a generous portion onto his plate before doing the same for mine. “Sit. Relax. Let someone else take care of you for once.”
Ashton lets out a small, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’m… not really used to that.”
I glance up at him, catching his eyes. “I figured.”
He swallows, then gives a sheepish nod, settling back in his chair as I slide his plate toward him.
The way he watches me—quiet, grateful, a little stunned—makes something warm and dangerous bloom in my chest. I want to take care of him.
I want to be a safe space where he can unwind after long, exhausting days.
“Well,” I say lightly, taking my seat across from him, “get used to it.”
Ashton gives a small, timid smile before forking through the steaming food, pushing it around his plate. Without looking up, he asks, “So, how was your day?”
I hum, leaning back in my chair. “It was alright. The taproom was pretty busy this afternoon, but nothing our new bartender can’t handle. He’s doing well.”
“Shane, right?”
“Yeah. Nice kid. Fast learner,” I say. “And people seem to really like the new food menu we rolled out.”
Ashton nods along and finally takes a bite, his shoulders easing as he chews. His eyes widen a fraction. “Wow,” he says, already reaching for another forkful. “Yeah. This is really good.”
Relief loosens something tight in my chest. “Thank God.”
He laughs softly and takes another bite, jaw working slowly as he actually savors it. We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, the quiet settling around us like a soft blanket. It’s… nice. Domestic in a way I didn’t realize I’d been craving.
“So,” I prompt, breaking the hush, “how was the orchard today?”
That does it. He brightens instantly, green eyes catching the lamplight.
“Hot,” he says first, huffing a quiet laugh. “Unreasonably hot. But Olivia and Juan have been a huge help the past few weeks. I honestly couldn’t do it without them.”
“When does Olivia head back to school?”
“Not until late August. Cherry season will almost be over by then.”
“I bet it’s nice,” I say, “having all your siblings together again for the summer.”
“Yeah,” Ashton says softly, dabbing his fingers with a napkin. “It is.”
He chews slowly, his gaze suddenly dropping to a random swirl in the wood grain. His jaw works in tight, measured movements, fingers fidgeting with his fork.
“You okay?” I ask.
He looks up like he’s forgotten where he is. He blinks a few times and worries his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I shrug. “Anything.”
He swallows. “If we’re going to do this… dating thing,” he says, voice low and unsure, “I want to know about your past. I’ve heard a rumor that you have some kind of criminal record.” He draws in a breath. “And I know it’s probably not even true, but—”
“It’s true,” I cut in.
He blinks at me, clearly surprised. “Oh.”