CHAPTER NINE
Kaia
My first thought was that Sharon had sent him because she couldn’t come herself—but then why the bewildered look on his face?
“What are you doing here?” I asked, scrambling to pull myself together.
“I had lunch with my agent across the street.” He pointed to a redbrick building with square windows and a terrace. “Then I saw you and thought it was weird you were sitting out here alone.”
“I see.” I pressed my folded arms against my stomach, as if that could dull the pain. “This is my dance studio. Your mom was supposed to pick me up at twelve and take me to work, but she must’ve forgotten. Her phone’s off.”
Asher’s eyes narrowed. “Forgotten.”
“Yeah. And I’m…” The words caught, but he needed to know. He was my only chance of getting home.
He tipped his chin, urging me on. “You’re?”
“On my period. And I left all my stuff in your mother’s car.”
He exhaled hard. “Fuck. It’s almost two. You’ve been here since twelve?”
My chin quivered. “Almost two?” Work was already shot. Helplessness tangled with anger, tightening my chest. I was furious at myself for forgetting my bag and at Sharon for forgetting me.
“Yeah. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
Asher shrugged off his leather jacket, tossed it onto the bench, then peeled off his shirt.
I tried not to stare and failed. Lean, sculpted muscles, skin still kissed by the sun—he was maddeningly perfect.
“Peque.” His voice carried a warning, like he’d caught me ogling and didn’t like it.
He handed me the T-shirt. “Wrap it around yourself and come on.”
My fingers fumbled, but I managed to knot the hem. It was long enough to cover me, and some of the tension eased as I followed him.
At his bike, he slid back into his jacket and grabbed a helmet from the handlebar. “Put this on.”
I scanned the Kawasaki. “What about you?”
He gave a dry chuckle, swinging his leg over the seat. “I’ve done worse. Get on and hold tight.”
I fastened the strap beneath my chin as the engine roared to life.
He glanced back; I nodded and slid my arms around his middle.
Pleasant warmth spread through my chest, and my heart beat faster.
Heat spread through me at the solid feel of him, the mix of leather, spice, and clean skin.
Holding on to Asher felt natural. Too natural.
By the time we rolled into our neighborhood, I felt slightly better. He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. I swung off, gripping the seat when my shaky legs hit the ground.
Asher glanced over his shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks for bringing me home.” I unfastened the helmet and hurried inside before he could say more. I sprinted upstairs, two steps at a time, plugged in my phone, and bolted into the en suite.
My clothes were a mess. So was Asher’s shirt. My head was the worst mess of all.
I stripped and stepped beneath the scorching spray. Fresh tears slid down my cheeks.
I’d already missed my shift at the diner, and the thought of calling Cynthia filled me with dread—but the sooner, the better. After my shower, I pulled on a black top and black leggings. Safe enough if I had another accident. Sometimes being a girl sucked.
Ignoring the tremor in my hand, I grabbed my phone and dialed her number.
She answered on the third ring. “Cynthia speaking.”
“Cynthia, it’s—”
Dishes rattled in the background. “No time for excuses, Kaia. You didn’t bother showing up, so I’m taking you off the schedule. Pick up your last check Friday.”
The line went dead. I stared at my phone, stunned.
Then it hit. I clamped a hand over my mouth.
She’d fired me. Without even letting me explain. I didn’t have a job anymore.
Burying my face in a pink throw pillow, I sobbed.
How could everything fall apart in just a few hours?
How was I supposed to save for a car now?
It had taken months to land this job—Stetbourg wasn’t a village like Asher teased, but for someone my age still in school, options were slim.
Grill&Go paid minimum wage, but the tips made it worth it.
Used to. Not anymore.
When the tears finally dried an hour later, I opened my desk drawer. Today deserved to be written down for all the wrong reasons. My fingers closed around my diary—then a knock at the door made me yank my hand back.
“Come in,” I called, praying my voice didn’t sound wrecked.
Sharon lingered in the doorway before crossing to sit on my bed. “Kaia, I’m so sorry. I got distracted and didn’t realize how late it was.”
Distracted. What a pathetic excuse. “I waited for hours,” I said. “My job fired me for not showing up.”
She fiddled with the thin gold watch she wore every day—one of Dad’s many gifts. Clearly pointless if she never bothered checking the time. “Oh.”
Oh?
“Yeah.” My voice cracked with anger I couldn’t swallow. “My supervisor didn’t even let me explain.”
“You know…” Sharon tucked a few blond strands behind her ears. “Maybe it’s for the best. It’ll make your dad happy. He wants you focused on school, and work just distracts you. Besides, he can give you what you need.”
Heat burned my cheeks, my eyes. Dad could give me everything but what mattered—his time, his attention. A car. Sharon had those things instead, and she didn’t even see how this was her fault.
Her apology wouldn’t fix anything. But at least it would’ve meant she cared.
“I’ve got a headache,” I said. “Please just bring me my bag when you can. I left it in your car—that’s why I called.”
“I’ll let you rest, then.”
She rose quickly and slipped out.
Uncomfortable moments always made her bolt. Nothing new.
I drew in a shaky breath and let it go. Finally alone, I opened my diary, ready to spill everything and stay miserable for the rest of the afternoon.
***
Another knock came two hours later. I’d stopped crying and abandoned my diary long ago. Now I just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Yeah?” I called.
“It’s me.”
Flutters replaced the cramps at the sound of Asher’s voice. I should’ve still been mad after the club, but what he’d done for me today erased the anger.
I padded to the door and opened it. “No locks, remember?” That had been one of his first complaints about Dad’s rules when he lived here before.
He leaned his forearm against the frame. “Doesn’t give me the right to walk in without permission.”
I stepped back. “Come in.”
As he crossed the threshold, I cursed myself for the clothes draped on my chair and books scattered across the desk. It wasn’t a disaster, but I hated the mess. He’d already taken it in, eyes sweeping the room like he was checking for changes since last time.
Asher sat on my bed. “Come here. I wanted to talk.”
Nerves stiffened my steps as I lowered onto the pink comforter beside him. His dark eyes lingered on my face. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know.” My voice cracked. “I lost my job.”
“What?” His frown deepened. “Why?”
“I didn’t show up.” I shrugged. “My manager didn’t care why.”
“I know why.” Asher dragged a palm down his face. “Because my mother forgot to pick you up. She went out—I think to dinner in town with your father. I’ll talk to her when she’s back.”
“What for, Ash?”
It was the first time I’d called him that, and I could’ve sworn he noticed—his gaze softened.
“What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there?”
I had no clue. Seeing him had been a lucky accident, but I didn’t want him fighting with his mother over me. I shifted on the bed. “I don’t know. I’d have figured something out.”
“I know you would’ve. Doesn’t change that she let you down.”
He rose and crossed the room. At the doorway, he glanced back. “Hungry?”
I wet my lips. “Yeah.”
“Let’s go to the kitchen.”
I followed him downstairs. He opened the fridge while I perched on a stool at the island. He studied the shelves for a long moment before pulling out potatoes, an onion, and eggs.
“Are you going to cook?”
“It’s faster than ordering takeout. Honestly, I figured Russell would’ve hired a cook by now.”
He grabbed a small knife and began peeling potatoes. My gaze snagged on his hands—steady, skilled—and my stomach flipped.
I cleared my throat, breaking whatever spell he always seemed to cast. “My mom used to cook before she got too sick. After that, we just got by until Sharon offered to handle meals. Dad hardly eats at home anyway.”
“I see.” He set the peeled potato aside and reached for another. “So, you clean the house too?”
“No. Berta comes three times a week. She’s on vacation now, but the rest of the house isn’t as messy as my room.”
He turned on the faucet with a huff. “Funny you think I’d care about the mess.”
He’d seen the blood on my clothes earlier and hadn’t said a word, which I was immensely grateful for. No wonder an untidy room didn’t faze him either.
“What about you?” I asked once Asher rinsed the potatoes and began dicing them with practiced ease. “When did you learn to cook? Didn’t you have a housekeeper or something?”
He set the knife aside and pulled a glass bowl from the cabinet. “We did in Madrid. I learned while living with my grandma in El Puerto.”
“El Puerto,” I echoed. “It’s in the south of Spain, right? I think your mom mentioned it once.” I remembered because I’d soaked up every detail Sharon ever shared about Asher and Spain.
A grin spread across his face as his dark eyes held mine. Heat flared in my cheeks.
“What?” I muttered.
“I still haven’t gotten used to this—how much you know about Spain. It’s rare. And you’re right. El Puerto de Santa María’s a small town on the Atlantic, near Cádiz and Jerez de la Frontera.”
“So, your grandma was born there?”
“Yeah.” He cracked an egg into the bowl, then a few more. “She met my grandpa when he came to Rota—the only American military base in Spain is there. After they married, they settled in El Puerto.”
“I guess that explains your last name. Williams isn’t exactly Spanish.”
Asher whisked the eggs. “Yeah. Neither’s my first name. My mother chose it.”
I almost told him I liked it, but stopped myself just in time. No way I wanted him thinking I was flirting.
“What about your name?” he asked, tipping the diced potatoes into a pan of sizzling oil. “Kaia isn’t common either.”
“I guess not. Mom told me she picked it as soon as she knew she was having a girl. It means pure.”
“I like it,” Asher said simply. “It suits you.”
The ease with which he complimented me left me feeling flustered, and a little important.
We fell into a comfortable silence. I let him focus on cooking while my stomach clenched with hunger. Twenty minutes later, he flipped his creation in the pan. Golden, thick—like a giant omelet.
“La tortilla,” he said, switching off the stove. “Want some salad?”
I shook my head. “La tortilla is enough.”
He slid it onto a platter and cut a slice. “Try it.”
As soon as he set it before me, I speared a bite. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
He dished himself a much smaller portion. “Only so you don’t eat alone. I had a big lunch.”
He sat across from me. The first bite hit my tongue, and my eyes fluttered shut as a low sound slipped out. Who knew potatoes and eggs could taste like this? Light, not greasy, perfectly salted. The tender potatoes melted in my mouth, and before I knew it, my plate was bare.
When I looked up, Asher hadn’t touched his food. He was watching me, unreadable.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing’s wrong.” He cleared his throat. “Want more?”
“Only if you eat too.”
He smirked, standing. “I was waiting for you to try it first—just in case it sucked.”
So cocky. No way he didn’t know he was good.
I finished the second helping just as quickly, this time with Asher eating beside me. When I reached for his empty plate to stack on mine, a sharp pang twisted my stomach. I tried not to wince and failed.
His expression shifted instantly. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah. My periods are kind of awful.”
He hopped off his stool and held out his hand. “Give me your plate. I’ll clean up.”
“You cooked.” I hesitated. “I can help.”
Asher rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stubborn. I didn’t have a shitty day, and I’m not on my period.” He took my plate and fork but left the knife. I carried it to the sink. “Here—you forgot this.”
His fingers brushed mine as he took it, warm and deliberate. His eyes lingered on my face, steady, searching. It felt like he was really seeing me for the first time.
My heart thudded against my ribs.
“Peque,” Asher whispered. “About last night…I’m sorry, okay? You were right to be mad. I just—damn.” He exhaled. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. I acted like a fucking hypocrite.”
I shrugged. “You did. But you’re forgiven. I’m not angry anymore. My friend ditched me for a guy, and I had to be home before midnight anyway. My father would’ve grounded me if he’d known I went out without permission.”
“And if you go out tomorrow? Will he ground you then?”
“It’s Sunday, so I guess not. Why?”
“I want to take you somewhere. As an apology for last night. The beach, if it’s not too cold. What do you think?”
My throat went dry. It sounded like a date—even if it wasn’t—but I didn’t care. I wouldn’t miss a chance to get out of the house with him.
Ash stood waiting, rooted in place until I answered.
“The beach would be amazing,” I said softly. “I’d love to go.”