Chapter 21 Ashton
ASHTON
Sunlight pours in through the large kitchen window, filtering across the counters and catching the dust motes in its path.
I’m at the stove, focused on flipping pancakes, my mind already occupied with the day ahead.
The sizzle and pop of batter hitting the hot pan keep me in rhythm, methodical, almost like a meditation.
Then I hear the soft patter of her footsteps.
Dove slips into the room, barefoot, her eyes catching on me with a spark of mischief that I catch in my peripheral. I glance her way just in time to see her grab an apple from the fruit bowl and bite into it with an exaggerated, loud crunch. She smiles when I turn, eyebrow raised.
“You know,” she says, leaning casually against the counter, “for a guy who has everything perfectly lined up in his head, you look a little out of your element with breakfast.” She takes another loud bite, her eyes dancing with amusement.
I shake my head and focus back on the pancakes, fighting a smile. “I’m hardly out of my element. I make these every Sunday.”
“Do you, now?” she challenges, sidling up beside me and peeking into the pan. “Because I saw you add… what, three tablespoons of salt?”
I glare at her, but I can’t stop the small smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. “It was sugar.”
She laughs, her voice bright and easy in the morning quiet. “Sure it was.”
Her laugh feels like it fills the whole kitchen, and I’m suddenly aware of how small the space feels with her in it—how her energy seems to spread across the whole room.
I turn back to the stove, but she’s already moving again, sneaking over to where I’ve laid out the plates.
She’s slipping a hand into the bowl of blueberries I set out as toppings, popping one into her mouth with a grin.
“Those are for the pancakes,” I say, shaking my head but not stopping her.
“Oh, relax. I’m just quality-checking,” she says, tossing another blueberry up and catching it in her mouth with a triumphant smile. “Besides, I’m doing you a favor. What if they’re poisoned?”
“Oh, of course.” I flip another pancake, trying to keep up my serious demeanor, but she’s making it impossible. “So you’re saying you’re here to keep me safe. Is that it?”
She nods, mock-serious. “Obviously. Someone’s gotta look out for you.”
She grabs a spatula and pretends to start flipping the pancakes herself, but I reach out, covering her hand with mine to stop her.
Her eyes meet mine, a quick flash of challenge.
The warmth of her hand is impossible to ignore, but instead of pulling away, she grins, trying to nudge me aside to take over my station.
“Dove,” I say, a warning in my voice that’s softened by the smile I can’t hold back anymore. “You’re making a mess of my kitchen.”
She laughs, finally relinquishing the spatula and raising her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll let the master chef do his thing. But don’t expect me to sit quietly.”
She hops up on the counter across from me, swinging her legs, watching as I finish off the last few pancakes. She grabs the syrup bottle, holds it up like it’s a trophy. “How much syrup do you want on yours?”
“Enough to drown them,” I say, eyeing her as she tips the bottle, pouring a waterfall of syrup over both of our plates with an exaggerated flourish.
“Good answer,” she says, giving me a wink.
I bring the plates over to the table, where she’s already settling in, reaching for a fork and digging in with enthusiasm.
Her eyes close as she takes a bite, and a small hum of approval escapes her, which does strange things to my chest. It’s easy to be wrapped up in her energy, to forget about the things that usually keep my mind on edge.
“They’re actually good,” she says, surprise coloring her tone. “And here I was expecting to have to pretend they were edible.”
“Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence.” I shake my head, reaching for my coffee. “And you should know I don’t need any of your critiques this early in the morning.”
She laughs again, nudging me with her foot under the table. “Fine, fine. I’ll just enjoy the food, then.”
I glance at her, watching as she eats, her laughter filling the air. This feels… easy. Comfortable. Her messy hair, her unguarded smile, the sunlight that spills across her face. I realize I’m staring, and she raises an eyebrow at me, her mouth half-full as she looks at me with a curious smile.
“What?” she asks, her voice light, carefree.
I just shake my head, trying to play it off. “Nothing. Just… didn’t expect you to enjoy this so much.”
She swallows, a glimmer of something softer in her eyes now. “Maybe I just didn’t expect you to let me.”
And just like that, the laughter slips into something more, a gentle silence settling over the table. It’s strange, the way she looks at me—like she’s challenging me, yet inviting me in all at once. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself be pulled into it.
For a moment, we just sit there in that quiet, letting the unspoken words linger between us. She’s still smiling, but there’s something softer in her expression now, like she’s daring me to drop the guard I’ve kept up so tightly around her.
Without thinking, I reach out, letting my hand settle over hers on the table. Her skin is warm beneath mine, and she doesn’t pull away, only watches me with those intense, searching eyes of hers.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” I murmur, keeping my tone low, almost like I’m speaking to myself. “Any of this.”
She tilts her head, the glint of playfulness still there, but softer, thoughtful. “You didn’t expect breakfast? Or you didn’t expect… me?”
Her words hang in the air, and I take a breath, letting them settle, feeling that pull towards honesty with her that I can’t quite explain.
“Maybe both,” I say finally. “I’m not used to… sharing things like this. Letting anyone in.”
She watches me for a long moment, her gaze steady, unflinching. “I can tell,” she replies softly, her tone laced with a gentle understanding that catches me off guard.
I realize then that I’ve been holding onto her hand longer than I should, but I can’t bring myself to let go just yet.
Instead, I give her hand a slight squeeze, feeling the steady beat of her pulse against my fingertips.
There’s something grounding in that—something that feels like stability, like something I’ve been missing.
She shifts a little closer, her eyes dropping to where our hands are intertwined on the table. “You know,” she says, a small smile curving her lips, “for all your dark, brooding, ominous looks, you’re actually… kind of sweet.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Don’t go spreading that around. I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Oh, trust me,” she teases, leaning in, her voice a whisper that somehow manages to send a thrill down my spine, “your secret’s safe with me.”
The playful look returns, and before I can think of a comeback, she swipes a piece of pancake off my plate with her fork, grinning as she pops it into her mouth, watching me with that daring sparkle in her eyes.
I narrow my eyes at her, feigning annoyance, but a smirk pulls at my mouth despite myself. “Stealing food now, Dove?”
“I’m just quality-checking,” she says with a grin, echoing her words from earlier.
The way she says it, the way she’s able to let her guard down around me and coax me out of my own darkness—it’s like a balm I didn’t know I needed.
And as we sit there, eating and teasing each other in the quiet of the morning, I realize that this—her, here with me—is something I never thought I’d have, much less crave.
The weight of that realization settles into my chest, heavier and more solid than anything I’ve felt in a long time.
She reaches for another piece, smirking as she deliberately holds it up like a prize. “You know, maybe I should be the one cooking breakfast every morning. That way, I won’t have to resort to thievery.”
I arch a brow, watching her hold that piece of pancake just out of reach, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Bold of you to assume I’d let you into my kitchen unsupervised.”
She laughs, the sound like a light breeze lifting the whole room. “Oh, come on, Ashton. I might surprise you.”
“Maybe,” I say, and without warning, I reach across the table, catching her hand in mine before she can pull away. Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t pull back, watching me with an amused glint as I bring her hand—pancake and all—close enough to take a bite.
I keep my gaze on her, savoring the victory and the way her smile slowly fades into something softer, something that hitches her breath as she stares back at me.
“What was that?” she murmurs, eyes narrowing, but with that playful edge still there.
“That was me reclaiming what’s mine,” I say, smirking as I lean back, my fingers lingering on hers just a second longer than necessary.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling, her cheeks flushed, her thumb brushing the back of my hand in a way that feels… easy. Natural. Like we’ve been doing this for far longer than we actually have.
She lets her hand drift back to her lap, but her gaze stays on me, her eyes searching, like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle she can’t quite solve. “You know, you’re not as scary as you think you are,” she says softly, that teasing edge gone, replaced by something warmer, almost tender.
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “If you’re trying to ruin my reputation, you’re doing a hell of a job.”
“Maybe I am,” she says, grinning. “Maybe I like that. I get to see a side of you no one else does.”