Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Kat
When Asher and I finally break apart, my heart tugs toward him a little, missing the contact already.
I don’t let myself lean back in though, catching myself before I can close the distance again.
I need to remember that I’m going to have to get used to not having him around before long.
That I won’t always be able to count on his steady presence and the way he makes everything feel easier.
Keep this light, I remind myself. Just like we agreed to.
It’s getting harder to remember that though. Harder to maintain the careful distance I know I should be keeping when every instinct is pulling me closer.
I force myself to look away from him, focusing instead on the living room.
It’s even more of a mess now than it was before our impromptu ‘celebration.’ Wrapping paper is scattered across the floor, ribbon tangled in impossible knots, and the coffee table has been shoved several inches to the left from when Asher bent me over it.
Heat floods my cheeks at the memory. We really did that. With Daniel right outside.
“We really made a mess,” I say, gesturing at all of it.
Asher’s eyes heat as he follows my gaze. “I like making messes with you.”
My body responds even though I just came not that long ago, a flutter of warmth between my legs that makes me bite my lip.
We clean up a bit instead, gathering the wrapping paper into a manageable pile and straightening the furniture back where it belongs.
I’m tossing some mangled ribbon scraps in the trash when I check my phone and realize that time got away from me.
My mom invited us over for dinner tonight—the whole family this time, not just my parents—and I don’t want to be late.
“We should probably get going soon,” I tell Asher, already mentally calculating how long it’ll take me to make myself presentable.
He nods, pressing a kiss to my temple before heading toward the back door. “I’ll grab a quick shower and change. Should I meet you back here in like thirty minutes?”
“That works. We can stop for wine on the way.”
“Good idea.”
I watch him head out across the snowy space between the buildings, and something in my chest squeezes at how natural this has become.
How easily he fits into my life, into my routines.
He gets along with my family so well, slipping into their dynamic like he’s always been part of it.
My dad lights up when Asher’s around, excited to have someone to talk sports with, and my mom fusses over him like he’s the son she always wanted.
It’s nice having him there. Really nice.
But then I think about his relationship with his own father, how strained and awkward things still are between them. Edward lives alone in that small house with just Murphy for company, and Asher has probably been starving for this kind of family connection.
That thought makes my chest squeeze tighter. I hate thinking about him missing out on having a family after this ends, when he leaves Maplewood and goes back to his real life in Denver or wherever else hockey takes him.
It’s not really my business, I remind myself. That’s not part of our arrangement.
For some reason, it’s hard to really make that thought stick, but I shake it off and head upstairs to get ready.
An hour later, we’ve both cleaned up and changed, stopped at the local wine shop for a bottle of red, and are pulling up to my parents’ house.
The driveway is already crowded, so Asher parks on the street out front.
The porch light is on, warm against the winter darkness.
I can see movement through the living room window, which is framed in festive string lights.
We head up to the front door, and I knock, already hearing the chaos inside before anyone answers. The kids’ voices stand out, higher than the adults’ timbres, and I can hear my dad’s voice over the sound of what’s probably a football game.
Mom opens the door after just a few seconds, her face lighting up. “There you are! I was starting to get worried about the roads. They’re saying we might get more snow tonight.”
“They were fine,” I assure her, stepping inside. “A little slippery, but nothing bad.”
She immediately turns to Asher, fussing over him the way she always does. “Come in, come in. You must be freezing. It’s so cold out there.”
We step inside and the warmth hits me, along with the smell of something sweet baking and the savory richness of whatever’s cooking for dinner.
Dad calls out a hello from the living room where he’s got the game on.
Oscar and Megan are at the coffee table with an elaborate art project spread across every surface.
There are markers and construction paper and glue sticks everywhere, along with what looks like glitter.
“Aunt Kat!” Megan squeals, jumping up to hug me. “Look what we’re making!”
“Very festive,” I say, examining their handiwork—a Christmas scene with cutout snowflakes. “Are those reindeer?”
“They’re supposed to be,” Oscar says, sounding discouraged. “But they look weird.”
“They look great. Art doesn’t have to be perfect, remember?”
He brightens at that, going back to his project.
Josephine appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Hey! Perfect timing. Grandma and I are just finishing up the last batch of Christmas cookies.”
Dad mutes the TV to greet Asher with a firm handshake, and Mike appears from down the hall and immediately makes a beeline in their direction, waving in greeting.
I give Asher a look, checking to make sure he’ll be okay if I leave him chatting with the two of them.
He catches my eye and smiles, nodding slightly, so I let myself get tugged toward the kitchen by Josephine.
“God, I think Dad’s favorite gift this year is the fact that you brought Asher,” my sister says quietly as we walk away, gesturing back toward where the three of them are already deep in conversation. “He hasn’t been this excited about anything in months.”
In the kitchen, my grandmother is arranging cookies on a festive platter with the kind of precision that makes each one look like it belongs in a magazine. She glances up when we enter, her face breaking into the warm smile that’s been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember.
“There’s my favorite artist,” she says, setting down a cookie to pull me into a hug. She draws back, looking me over with a sharp gaze. “You look good, sweetheart. Really good.”
Josephine nods in agreement, pausing in her cookie plating to eye my outfit. “I was going to say the same thing. I love what you’re wearing tonight.”
I look down at myself, flustered by the sudden attention.
I’m wearing my favorite dark jeans and a fitted sweater in deep emerald green that brings out my eyes.
The color is bold, the cut is form-fitting, and a few weeks ago, I probably would’ve been too self-conscious to wear something like this.
But tonight, I put it on without even thinking about it.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling heat creep into my cheeks. “It’s just something I grabbed.”
“Well, it looks great on you.” Grandma goes back to her cookies, but I can still feel her attention on me. “You seem different lately. Happier.”
Josephine and my grandmother share a look, something passing between them as they share a small smile.
“What?” I ask, suddenly wary.
They both wave airily as Josephine transfers cookies to another platter. “Nothing,” she says. “It’s just that being in love looks good on you.”
My heart skips, then starts beating double-time. “I’m not… we aren’t…”
The words tangle in my throat because I have no earthly idea how to finish that sentence.
My grandmother reaches over and pats my hand. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to explain anything. We all really like him. He’s definitely passed the family test with flying colors.”
“Passed it with extra credit,” Josephine adds with a grin. “I swear, Dad hasn’t stopped talking about him since you two left last time.”
My stomach swoops at the realization that they think I’m in love with Asher. That they’ve all discussed it, formed opinions, accepted it as fact.
But maybe that just means our lie has worked really well. That’s all. We’ve been convincing.
I tell myself that’s the only reason my heart is racing right now.
“Um…” I cast around, desperate to change the subject. “Should we bring these cookies out?”
“Good idea.” My grandmother hands me a platter, letting the subject drop.
We carry everything out to the living room where the kids immediately abandon their art project in favor of sugar.
Dinner is casual and energetic in the best way, everyone talking over each other and passing dishes around the table.
Asher fits right in, answering questions about hockey and asking his own about Josephine’s nursing job and Mike’s latest construction project.
He laughs at my dad’s terrible jokes, teases Oscar for eating five rolls, and compliments my mom’s cooking.
It’s so natural. So easy.
As we’re finishing dessert, Oscar starts complaining about how Christmas feels impossibly far away.
“It’s only two more weeks,” Megan points out with the superiority of being older.
“That’s forever!” Oscar slumps dramatically.
The adults laugh, and my mom comments that the days seem to speed up once you’re grown. How December always flies by with too many things to do.
“It really does go fast,” I agree, unconsciously glancing at Asher.
December flying by means our arrangement is running out. The holidays will end, and so will this.
My phone chimes with an email notification, distracting me from that depressing thought. I almost ignore it out of habit, but when I glance down to check the screen, I nearly choke.
Jones & Valen Publishing.