Chapter 16
GRACE
Gilmore Girls plays in the background while I read a spicy mafia romance on my Kindle. I’ve watched every season multiple times at this point; it’s my comfort show that plays as background noise.
It’s late, but my brain is too wired to shut off, still thinking about the way Asher looked at me Friday night and attempting to silence my brain with short-form video dopamine hits.
For a moment in the elevator, I thought he was going to lean down and kiss me again.
And worse, I think I would have kissed him back.
And then he bought me a dozen of my favorite cookies as a “reward.” We proceeded to spend the entire weekend avoiding each other.
Or maybe that was just me? Either way, we successfully didn’t see each other from when we returned Friday night until now.
The clattering sound of something crashing to the ground is what finally makes me look at the clock to realize how late it is.
Past eleven p.m. Lisette is gone by now, and I’ve been up here since early evening.
Normally, Asher comes home late, and I only hear him as he passes by my door on the way to his room.
I try to think back to earlier in the night. Did I even hear him pass by my door?
Unsure if it’s Asher or an axe murderer downstairs, I decide to grab something to protect myself. I settle on the gold-plated lamp with the blue velvet shade on my nightstand, unplugging it from the wall and wrapping the cord around the base as I creep toward the door.
With my heart beating faster, I open it slowly, peeking out into the hall before making my way out of my room and down the stairs. I hear another crash in the kitchen, and I move that way, only briefly pausing to wonder if this is how I’ll die.
When I enter the kitchen, though, I don’t find a serial killer or even a burglar. I find Asher hunched over the kitchen counter.
“What–” My question freezes when I realize there’s blood dripping from the countertop and shattered glass on both the counter and floor. I set the lamp on the nearest surface, which happens to be the island, and rush over to him, avoiding the shards as best as I can.
Asher startles when I touch his shoulder, his head whipping around like a caged animal. For a second, I think he’s going to lash out at me, but then I see as recognition floods his face and he slumps once more. His eyes are glassy, and I can smell the alcohol from where I stand.
“Go upstairs, Grace.” He turns away from me, leaning against the marble as he attempts to use one hand to put pressure on the other, a red-stained napkin between them.
“What happened?”
Asher huffs at my question. “You should be sleeping.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Are you always like this?” Looking back at me, one eyebrow lifted, annoyance drips from his words.
“Are you?” I retort.
His eyes darken, and his good hand lifts, moving toward me until his palm is resting gently on my cheek. “What happened to my good girl?”
Warmth coats the area he’s touching, and my mind begins to short circuit. I think I’m leaning into his touch, my body humming with a new electric spark. And then I blink and snap out of it, reaching up to swat his hand away.
“She found her fiancé bleeding in the kitchen. Now, tell me what happened.”
“It’s just a cut.” He moves his hand, pulling back the napkin to reveal a gash across his palm.
“We need to clean it.” I carefully step over the glass to get to the kitchen sink.
“No. You need to go to bed, Grace.”
I groan, eyes rolling. “Oh my god, would you stop and just let me help you.”
That silences him, and when I glance over my shoulder, he’s just watching me, dark eyes following my movements as I wet a cloth and come back over to him.
I inspect his hand with a light touch, making sure there’s no glass in the cut before cleaning it with the washcloth. Asher winces when the fabric touches the cut, but I hold his hand still as I work.
“Do you have bandages?"
“I think Lisette keeps some in that cabinet.” He nods across the kitchen. I retrieve the bandages and come back over to finish.
“There we go. Now sit down while I clean up.”
“You don’t need to clean–”
I toss my hair over my shoulder and give him a look. “I’m not leaving glass on the floor for Lisette to get hurt.”
He lifts his hands in mock surrender and backs up, sitting on one of the kitchen island stools.
“What were you doing, anyway?”
He gestures toward the broken bottle. “Drinking.”
It’s only then that I piece together the glass from the whiskey bottle that’s now shattered everywhere with the amber liquid splashed on the counter.
“Are you drunk?” I ask as I sweep all the glass into a pile to relocate to the trash.
“Maybe?” It comes out as a question that makes me laugh.
I’ve never seen Asher drunk. When I have seen him drink, he always nurses the same glass for hours and never has more than two.
But I have a feeling this is him with way more than two glasses.
Asher watches me the entire time I clean up, drunken eyes focused on my every movement. It has my body heating under his gaze.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I say once I’ve finished.
“You’ll have to buy me dinner first.” Asher’s lips tic up into a rare smile.
“Oh, you have jokes now?” I laugh, and he joins in. The lightness makes me feel a way I shouldn’t. “Come on.” I wave him off the stool. “Don’t make me carry you.”
I walk him up the stairs and to his room, making sure he doesn’t fall or break anything else on the way.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly.
“I know.”
We pause at the door to his room. “I’ll be fine from here.” He watches me, waiting to see if I’ll argue this.
I don’t. If only because past this door is taking off his clothes and getting him into bed, and I’m not ready to breach that boundary.
“Goodnight,” I say, nodding and quickly turning away to put space between us.
“Goodnight, Grace,” he calls after me and then adds, “Thank you.”
I nod at the softness in his tone, hurrying into my room and closing the door behind me. Gilmore Girls still plays on the TV as I hustle into bed and try to push the thoughts of drunk Asher calling me his good girl from my mind.
It doesn’t work.
That night, I dream of him cupping my cheek and praising me in that husky voice.