Chapter 22
LEAH
Asher’s overnight bag sat by my apartment door, unopened, until the evening class let out.
Friday afternoon I taught my usual session at the community arts center; he spent the time at the coffee shop on the corner working through his set list, then came to pick me up at five-thirty, right when we’d agreed.
I wiped down the whiteboard and slid the new draft of Tess’s lyrics into my folder.
The black clothbound notebook was still at the far right of the table, two pages I’d written the night before tucked inside.
After Asher came in and put the twelve chairs back in place, his gaze paused on the notebook for a moment, then moved to me.
“Where to next?” he asked.
“Grocery store.”
The supermarket was crowded on weekends. I walked ahead with the list; he pushed the cart. We got pasta, mushrooms, bread, and a reasonably priced bottle of red, then had to get back in line at checkout because we’d forgotten eggs.
We’d been back at the apartment less than ten minutes when Marisol stopped by to pick up the class sign-in sheet she’d left with me. She spotted Asher washing vegetables in the kitchen and raised one eyebrow.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked.
“Only if you stay longer than two minutes.” I handed her the folder.
Asher leaned out from the kitchen. “Hey, Marisol.”
“Don’t burn her pots.”
“I’m just on washing duty.”
Marisol didn’t leave right away. She glanced toward the kitchen, then lowered her voice. “Do you want me to ask?”
I walked her to the door. “I still love him.” Saying it out loud, I realized I’d been avoiding those words for a while. “I was the one who asked him for coffee, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him. Sometimes I’m afraid what I miss is just the old habit.”
“So what do you want?”
“Part of me wants to marry him again.” I stared at the strip of light coming through the gap in the door. “Another part is afraid that the moment he’s back, the life I’ve worked so hard to build will disappear.”
Marisol squeezed my hand. “Then tonight, decide only what you want for tonight. After that, see whether he can fit into your life instead of turning it back into his.”
Before she left she invited me to dinner at her place next week and said I could bring someone. I put the date in my phone.
For dinner I made the sauce; he cut the mushrooms. He didn’t know where the salt was, that the oven needed five extra minutes to preheat, or which plate had a chip on the rim. I didn’t set things out for him in advance, and I didn’t take the knife from him just because he was slow.
We’d cooked together before, but it had always happened between his commitments.
His phone would ring, he’d step away from the counter, and I’d finish the rest of the steps and keep his portion warm.
Tonight his work phone stayed by the door with his overnight bag, screen down, and it didn’t get turned over once during the entire meal.
That quiet made me more uneasy than I’d expected.
We had kissed many times by now. I knew the temperature of his hand at my waist, and I knew his breathing slowed before he actually lost control.
The body remembers a person faster than trust gets rebuilt.
One night could bring all the familiarity of thirteen years together—nine of them married—back into this bed and make it seem as though the time apart had never happened.
My apartment key, my work desk, my bank account, my name—none of them had moved. The overnight bag was still by the door, not occupying any of my space.
I wanted him. Tonight only needed to be tonight.
After dinner Asher stood at the sink washing dishes. I set the last wine glass on the drying rack, and instead of going back to the living room I stepped behind him and wrapped my arms around him.
He went still. “Leah?”
I pressed my face between his shoulder blades and listened to the water running into the sink. “Turn off the water.”
He did, dried his hands, then turned around. I lifted my face and kissed him—brushed his lower lip first, then deepened the kiss. One of Asher’s hands settled at the small of my back and slowly tightened as I leaned in.
I brought him to the bedroom. As the door closed, I could still see the lesson plan spread open on the living room table and the black notebook beside it.
I had him sit on the edge of the bed and stood between his knees. Asher raised a hand to my face, his thumb tracing along my jaw. I pulled off his shirt and pressed my palms to his familiar chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under my hands.
He kissed the side of my neck and paused just above my collarbone. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” I gripped his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
His hands slid from my waist to my back and drew down the zipper of my skirt. When the fabric dropped to the floor and the air touched my skin, I shivered briefly. I held on to him and pulled myself closer. He unhooked my bra and brought his lips to my chest.
Desire is more immediate than memory. I tipped my head back, fingers sinking into his hair, arching into his mouth. He followed my pull and held me tighter.
I pushed him down and straddled him. Asher’s hands closed around my hips.
“Leah, I want you,” he said.
“I want you too.” I drew him toward me.
I leaned down and kissed him as I stripped off the rest of our clothes. His palms moved up along my thighs. My body’s familiar response returned, this time inside a choice I was making with clear eyes.
I reached over and pulled open the nightstand drawer, took out the condom I’d bought beforehand, opened the packaging, and handed it to Asher.
Once he’d put it on, I gripped his shoulders and lowered myself slowly, at my own pace. My breath caught at the fullness I hadn’t felt in so long, and my body tensed instinctively. Asher stayed still, his hands steady at my waist.
“Look at me,” he said.
I met his eyes and took a moment to adjust. Then I began to move again on my own, gradually finding the rhythm.
Asher tilted up and kissed me, one hand traveling up my spine, the other covering mine where it rested on his shoulder.
The sheets bunched under my knees; breath and the soft sound of our bodies filled the room.
The old familiarity hadn’t disappeared—it had just been rewritten by tonight.
As release drew closer, I pressed my forehead to his shoulder. Asher said my name quietly and asked what I needed.
“Hold me tighter.”
His arms closed around me. I lost the rhythm against him, my body tightening in waves.
He stayed with me until I came down, then rolled us over, laid me back against the pillows, and continued.
My second climax built more slowly and ran deeper.
He kissed the sounds from my mouth, and when my fingers dug into his back he let go with me.
When the room went quiet, Asher took care of the condom, brought water, and came back to lie beside me. I stared at the ceiling while my breathing settled.
“Stay,” I said.
Asher turned his head toward me. “Until morning?”
“Until morning.”
His fingers laced through mine. “Okay.”
In the middle of the night I turned over and he woke for a moment. I moved closer; he draped his arm across my waist and fell back asleep.
The next morning we fried eggs in the kitchen. Asher broke the first one—the yolk ran down the spatula. I watched him try to flip the mess and laughed hard enough that I nearly knocked over my coffee.
“You could pretend you didn’t see that,” he said.
“I already saw it.”
He put the most intact egg on my plate.
Halfway through breakfast, I said what I hadn’t finished saying the night before. “I want to keep seeing you. Only you—and I want the same from you.”
Asher set down his fork. “I want that too.”
“This doesn’t mean I’m ready to get married again, and it doesn’t mean we’re moving in together. My work won’t go into your projects, and being together doesn’t mean we go back to writing together.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t have a timeline.”
“Then no timeline,” he said. “We only decide what we’ve actually decided.”
“We’re having dinner at Marisol’s next Thursday,” I said. “I’d like to bring you. As my partner—not as a featured guest.”
“I’ll bring wine.”
“Something ordinary.”
“Nothing fancy.”
After breakfast I opened the wall calendar and wrote in the next round of classes, two days of recording work, and Marisol’s dinner.
Asher’s theater rehearsals were in another city; we compared schedules and found only two weekends that were genuinely free for both of us. On one of the Fridays I wrote his name.
Next month held no wedding, no joint album, no announcement of any kind—and yet there was already, naturally, a place in it for him.