24. Ashlynn
24
ASHLYNN
I come home after a long day of rehearsals, my muscles aching but my heart light. Other parts of me, not so much. It’s been five days since the Daddy incident — aka five days of torture, except it feels more like an eternity.
I like Gilbert. I like him a lot, and I know he likes me too.
When I made the Daddy comment a few days ago, he practically devoured me with his eyes, then changed the subject. I was relieved, sure, but I was also frustrated by it, and by him, in entirely different ways.
Do I want a Daddy?
No, I don’t.
Heck, I didn’t even want a guardian.
But I want Gilbert. Bad. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else in my entire life.
Then again, we’ve been doing this dance for months — if I can even call it that — and it is oh-so-frustrating!
How do I show him that I like him, that I want him? That I ache for him?
I’ve never done this before. I’ve never been in a situation like this before, liking someone like this. How do normal people navigate this? Do I seduce him? Or do I take out a giant billboard that says Ashlynn Crane likes Gilbert McKenzie?
As I walk through the front door, the familiar scent of jasmine greets me, mingling with the comforting aroma of something delicious baking in the kitchen.
“You’re home early,” Melissa calls out with a warm smile. Her eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief, and I can’t help but smile back.
Ah yes, it’s only been five days since she’s been back too. Five days of changes, of overhauling — mostly of the good kind. Normally, I don’t do too well with drastic changes to my routine, but in this case, it is for the best. Like a new life breathed into the house. Even Gilbert seems more at ease lately. Although, I miss our late night chats, amongst other things.
“Mrs. Jasmine had an emergency,” I say, dropping my tote bag by the staircase. “Something smells amazing.”
‘Strawberry tarts, your favorite,” she replies, wiping her hands on her apron.
My mouth waters. “Made from scratch?”
“You know it.” She picks up my bag, making a tsk-tsk sound. “But before you make a mess of it, I have a little surprise for you.”
I lift a brow, curiosity piqued. “The good kind, or the pull your hair out kind?”
“Depends. Follow me,” she says, her smile widening as she leads me up the sweeping staircase. I trail behind her, anticipation building with each step. When we turn onto hallway that leads up to the primary wing and the primary bedrooms, my steps turn heavy-leaden.
A small part of me hopes that she isn’t taking me where I think she’s taking me, until we stop where I equally dread and eager for.
Rachel’s room.
My heart skips a beat. “Did Gilbert put you up to this?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she says with a wink.
‘Why?”
“You’d have to ask him that.”
I don’t bother hiding my groan of frustration. “I’m asking you, Mel.”
“See for yourself,” she encourages, gently nudging me forward. “Go on.”
I hate surprises, so I dig my feet in.
She sighs, then places both hands on my shoulders. “Ash, just open it. I promise you, it’ll be worth it.”
With a deep breath, I turn the knob and step inside.
Not sure what I was expecting, but what greets me is not Rachel’s room.
At the same time, I feel a sense of peace wash over me, like a warm embrace. The room is bathed in the soft, golden glow of the early evening light filtering through the tall windows. I feel like I’m stepping into a dream, a beautiful blend of the past and the present.
The bare bones, the layout is the same, but it’s contents are not.
“What happened to Rachel’s things?” I blurt out.
“Gilbert asked me to swap it all out,” Melissa says behind me. “I put them in one of the guest rooms. Your Mom’s things too. He asked me to keep those there, in case you ever wanted to go through it, and decide what you would like to keep or donate.”
“He didn’t go through it himself?”
Her hand moves off my shoulder, and rests in the small of my back. “Neither could you, Ash.”
I can’t help but smile at the moniker. Rachel and Melissa were the only ones who ever called me that. Everyone else either called me Ashlynn or just Lynn.
Taking a deep breath, I walk inside. “It’s so…” I trail off, the words dying on my lips.
I can still feel Rachel’s and Mom’s presence in this space, like a warm embrace, a sanctuary that wraps around me. All of the furniture in the room has been replaced, it’s still the high-end, elegant, and timeless, just updated to reflect my tastes. A different four-poster canopy bed stands where the old one was, its intricately carved wood and luxurious drapes dominating the space, bringing back a rush of countless memories. The walls, once adorned with floral wallpaper, are now a soothing shade of lavender. The delicate lace curtains have been replaced with modern, sheer drapes that flutter slightly in the evening breeze, allowing more light to fill the space. A reading nook has been added by the bay window, complete with a plush armchair and a small bookshelf filled with my favorite novels and ballet history books — which Melissa must have moved from my old room into this space.
It’s perfect.
It’s too perfect.
It’s my sanctuary now, a beautiful blend of old and new, a space filled with warm memories and the promise of new beginnings.
New new beginnings.
My gaze drifts to the walk-in closet, its doors slightly ajar. I step closer, my heart swelling with a mix of emotions. It was once filled with Rachel’s ad Mom’s elegant gowns and dance costumes, but it’s now been cleaned out and organized to accommodate my wardrobe. My clothes now hang neatly on the racks, my dancewear carefully folded on the shelves.
The familiar scent of lavender sachets fills the air, a subtle reminder of Mom’s love for the flower. I take a deep, steadying breath, letting the sense of peace it instills settle within me. I venture inside, running my fingers along the hangers, feeling a mix of sadness and gratitude.
Turning around, I see Melissa watching me with a tender smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Mine are too, and they sting.
“Thank you,” is all I can manage, my voice thick with emotion.
“You deserve a space that feels like home,” she says softly. “Rachel would have wanted that for you.”
I nod, blinking back tears.
“I’ll leave you to it.” She sets my tote bag next to the laundry hamper, then leaves.
Following her, I wander back into the bedroom and plop down on the bed. I close my eyes and let the peace of the room, of the space envelop me.
Thirty minutes later, a soft knock on my door pulls me out of my reverie.
“Ashlynn?” Gilbert’s voice calls softly from the hallway.
“It’s open,” I answer him, sitting up on the edge of the bed.
He steps inside, looking a little hesitant. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.” He glances around the room, his eyes softening as he takes in all the changes, a subtle nod of approval. “There’s something we need to discuss.”
I pat the space next to me. His eyes darken, and he gives me a slight shake of the head. “What’s the matter?” I can’t help but tease him. “It’s just a bed.”
His dark gaze roams over my face, then down my body. A warmth spreads through my veins beneath his scrutiny. “It’s not just a bed, Ashlynn.”
“No? What is it, then?” Why, oh why, am I poking the bear?
His eyes lift mine, the corner of his lip lifts slightly. “Could you join me in the sitting area? Please?”
And he turns without waiting for an answer. Just like that, the moment’s gone.
“Of course,” I mumble, curious about what could be so important. I follow him to the private sitting area that connects the two primary bedrooms. The area, though, might as well be in a galaxy of its own. The space is cozy, yet elegant, with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the sprawling gardens and the distant mountains, now bathed in the twilight’s glow.
The view is truly breathtaking, a serene landscape that always brings a sense of calm.
Gilbert gestures to a comfortable loveseat, and I sit down. Then he sits next to me, before placing a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of us.
I barely register it, though. “How is this any different from what I suggested before?” I ask, a flutter of nerves takes flight in the pit of my stomach.
He’s so close. Is this some newfound form of torture?
It must be, because he leans in, and tucks my hair behind my behind my ear. I can tell he’s trying to keep what little shred of control he’s got left. Butt his breathing is hard, just like the rest of him.
“I know you’ve had a lot to adjust to, since moving in,” he says, his tone is surprisingly gentle and reassuring despite the tension simmering between us, “but there’s one more thing I need to discuss with you. It’s long overdue.”
He leans back, taking his warm with him, before sliding the papers closer to me. “These are documents that, once signed, will officially make you co-owner of this estate.”
I blink, staring at the papers in shock. “Co-owner? But why?”
He takes a deep breath, his expression thoughtful. “Because real estate works in funny ways.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant. You can’t just give me a house.”
“I can and I will. And this house is not just any house. It’s a home, filled with memories, both for me and for you. Making you a co-owner is my way of showing you that this is your home too. You’re not just a guest or someone under my care. You are so much more than that. You’ve always have been, to me, to Rachel.” His voice cracks. “You and I, we are family now. I want to make sure you have stability and a sense of belonging. A home base, so to speak. A place to come home to, no matter where life takes you.”
His words touch me deeply, and I swallow around the lump that forms. “But this is your house, unless… did Bonnie put you up to this?”
“She didn’t,” he deadpans, his voice kind but firm. “She brought it up, though. All I’m doing is setting things right, something I should have done years ago. And, umm, it’s what Rachel would’ve wanted.”
I look at the papers again, the legal language blurring as tears well up in my eyes. “I… I just can’t…” I pause, taking a deep breath as I consider my next words carefully. “You really don’t have to do this for me, Gilbert. I don’t deserve it.”
I don’t deserve you either , I almost add. The hurt that barrels through me at the thought almost has me taking it back.
Almost.
Because, like it or not — Rachel’s husband or not — I don’t have it in me to give him up.
Gilbert reaches out, gently placing a hand on mine. “You deserve this, and so much more,” he says softly. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere. This is our house now.” At my stunned expression, he quickly adds, “This place is as much yours as it is mine. I don’t just mean that sentimentally, I mean legally too. I want you to feel that sense of ownership. I know it’s a lot, so I’ll go over each document with you. Although, technically, I’m not giving it to you, not yet. We’re going to co-own it for a few years while I untangle the legal stuff. That’ll take a few years, give or take. In the meantime, you decide what you want to do with it.”
We sit together in the shared area, the twilight deepening into night as he patiently explains each document. And… it’s not just about the house.
It would’ve been simpler if it were just that. But no, it’s everything Rachel owned.
Or rather, everything Rachel and Mom owned.
Loaded doesn’t even come close in describing their combined net worth.
When Gilbert said he was setting things right because it’s what Rachel wanted, he meant that quite literally. Rachel had been in the process of getting Mom legally added to her assets before she died. It is a lot. After we finish with the legalities of the house, he goes through their financial investments — all of Rachel’s reverted to him as her husband — and I get cross-eyed at the numbers, simply signing as he explains what is what.
Even though I can’t touch any of it until I turn twenty-five — or after the settlement from Clement Blackwell expires, whichever happens first — Gilbert insists he would rather do this now because he knows all too well just how short life is. And also that, in the event something happened to him, he doesn’t want to take any chances that everything he and Rachel built in the last two decades will fall into the wrong hands.
That cryptic statement makes sense once we get to the paperwork adding me to the corporation that houses all of their combined real estate and miscellaneous businesses. Aspen Groove Psychiatry is the only business tied directly to Gilbert. Just as Rachel’s online choreography business was the only one tied directly to her. The rest fall under the corporation, and he explains that they did it that way to ensure anonymity, and a degree of separation between their personal and professional lives. Once I see the properties on the list, it makes sense.
There are the usuals one would expect: commercial real estate, apartment buildings, etc. But what surprises me the most is the fact that Rachel owned Brookfield Performing Arts Academy, plus around thirty other dance studios across the country. Only a handful are as recognizable as Brookfield, and the rest small-name studios that have produced incredible talent over the years. That was her thing — not so much collecting studios, more reviving them.
And Gilbert is just adding me to all of them, like it’s no big deal. So I stop questioning it, I just sign. And afterward, I’ll have a ton of questions for him. Starting with that has been weighing heavily on my mind. The one everyone keeps tiptoeing around, because they either think I didn’t know or didn’t understand. Namely, why did Dad punch him at the funeral? How could he hate Gilbert so much, when their wives were best friends? More than best friends? Dare I say, soulmates?
I might have been thirteen years old at the time, but I wasn’t blind.
And now, like a moth to a flame, I can’t keep my eyes off my dead teacher’s husband.
When we’re done, he packs it all up. The papers, that is. He’s saying something as he does so, something about Mr. Greenfield and more lawyers, and accountants and the like. I don’t say anything, just offer the occasional hum in acquiescence, so he knows I’m following along. Which I am. Mostly.
The weight of the evening settles on me, the significance of it all registers as the dots connecting. He didn’t just have me move into the other primary bedroom next to him, and he isn’t just adding me to all of their stuff. It’s more than that. It’s the significance of it all. He doesn’t just want me close to him, he’s putting us on a level playing field.
So I do just that. I simply look at Gilbert, really look at him, and something flutters in my chest.
It’s warm. Foreign.
Refreshing.
Familiar.
Is this what it feels like? Happiness?
My throat feels thick with emotion. My heart ricochets in my chest.
His hand stills mid-action. “Ash?”
The air grows thick and heavy between us, as Gilbert’s dark, piercing eyes bore into mine. I feel woozy and hot, pinned in place. His gaze shifts to my lips, and his gaze darkens.
I lick my lips, and he draws in a sharp breath. He moves closer, lifts his hand to rest on my cheek, his thumb rests on my bottom lip.
For one breathless moment, it’s like we’re both weighing our options. There’s no denying this any longer. Nowhere to hide. No well meaning pun to dispel the tension simmering between us.
All either of us has to do is lean in.
Do I want him to?
My core clenches, and I know that I have my answer.
“Gilbert.” His name sounds like a plea on my lips, my voice so husky with need I hardly recognize it.
The world stands still for a beat, and then he mutters “Fuck it,” under his breath, his rough voice vibrating between my legs. He closes the distance between us, slides his hand into my hair and seals his lips over mine, and I’m a goner.
Because Gilbert doesn’t just kiss me.
He devours me like there’s no tomorrow, and I help it along.
I mean, how could I not?
My brain goes utterly blank, my body moves of its own accord as I climb onto his lap, my legs straddling either side of his thighs, bringing my sopping core flush against his erection. My hands go to his hair, clenching fistfuls as I eagerly grind against him. He chuckles huskily into my mouth, his fingers tightening in my hair, and his tongue slides over in a passionate dance that reset my entire being. I’m thrumming in his hands, utterly putty. I forget to breathe, every part of me comes alive as a simple kiss that is anything but simple short-circuits my brain. It’s as though my blood is on fire as it runs through my veins.
All from just a kiss.
I have so many questions. Oh, so many.
After what feels like an eternity, I reluctantly pull away. The kiss, as incredible as it is, might have just complicated things. And, since I suck at schooling my features, he sees it too — whatever it is — written all over my face. His lips are utterly swollen, his brow furrowed as he lifts my body off his lap and sets me down on the loveseat. He spears his hands through his disastrous hair, and another step, and ‘fuck’ slips past those delectable lips that were devouring mine just seconds prior.
Then he’s gone.