Chapter 16
Asher
These dinners at Josh and Jenna's place are supposed to be simple.
A little noisy, a little chaotic, but always grounding.
Before I even park my truck, the smell of roast chicken drifts through the open windows.
The sun dipping behind the ridge, the sound of my brothers' voices carrying across the porch, this is what I look forward to every week.
Then I see her car.
I freeze halfway to the front door, my stomach tightening.
Kassi.
She's here.
Mom's smile is waiting at the door, bright as ever. "There's my Bear," she says, tugging me down for a kiss on the cheek before I can even greet her. "Hurry up, everyone's already inside."
Kissing Mom's cheek, I step past her and head inside.
I walk into the living room, where Zach and Finn are already sprawled out, trading jabs while Dad watches them.
The living room smells like rosemary and biscuits, Jenna's touch in every detail, from the candles flickering on the mantle to the throw blankets draped over chairs.
Jenna is in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the salad. Josh hovers over her shoulder, stealing croutons until she swats at him with the tongs. They look stupidly happy, and even though I'm glad for them, longing slips in uninvited.
But then I hear it. That voice.
Her voice.
Laughter drifts from the dining room, light and warm, and it hits me like a sucker punch.
I step through the doorway, and there she is, standing beside my mom, looking as if she belongs here.
Her hair is loose tonight, falling in soft waves that brush her shoulders, and she's wearing a pale blue dress that makes her eyes look brighter even from across the room.
She's holding a drink, smiling politely while Mom talks a mile a minute.
The sight of her here, in this house, is too much.
"Asher," Mom says, her eyes shining with the satisfaction of someone who believes she's engineered the matchmaking coup of the century, "look who I ran into at the market. I invited her to dinner. Isn't that nice?"
Nice. That's one word for it.
Kassi turns, and the moment our eyes meet, the whole room blurs. She says my name—steady, polite, like she's not been in my head every night this week.
"Asher," she says, her voice even, polite. "Good to see you."
I nod once, too sharp, too stiff. "Kassi."
My answer is stiff because it's either that or give myself away in front of everyone I love.
I don't know how I'm supposed to sit across from her and pretend like we haven't been sneaking texts late into the night, or that I don't know the sound she makes when she's caught off guard and laughing.
Mom beams, oblivious. "I thought it would be nice for Kassi to join us. She's new in town, and you boys are always working yourselves into the ground. I want her to feel welcome."
Kassi offers a small smile, the kind she gives when she's nervous but trying to play along. "Thank you for having me."
My jaw tightens. I should be angry—angry that she's here, angry that Mom doesn't know who she just invited into our circle—but what I feel most is raw and restless.
Because she's not just my enemy.
Not anymore. She's the woman who keeps me awake at night, who makes me smile at my phone like a damn fool, who kissed me last week as though she was drowning and I was air.
"Alright, let's eat," Jenna says, her voice warm and steady, drawing us all to the table.
Dinner starts with the usual clatter of dishes and chatter filling the room. I take my regular seat, thinking I'm safe, but Mom gestures to the empty chair beside me. "Kassi, honey, sit next to Asher."
Of course.
She hesitates, just for a beat, then slides into the chair, the skirt of her dress brushing my jeans.
"Sorry." She leans in and whispers as everyone is getting settled. "Your mom cornered me at the store, and when she found out Emma was at a birthday party, she refused to let me eat alone. I tried to get out of it."
"It's fine. I know how my mom can be." I say with as little emotion as possible.
She leans away from me, but her perfume, citrus and something softer, warmer, still wraps around me. I grip the edge of the table and try to focus on the roast chicken, on Zach's bad jokes, on Finn arguing about rodeo stats.
Josh's voice rises over the clink of silverware. "This calf—I swear it looked me dead in the eye before bolting straight through the fence post."
Zach snorts. "Like when Finn got dragged through the dirt last month, legs up like a damn cartoon."
Mom's hand swats at Zach's shoulder. "For heaven's sake, chew and swallow before you speak." The familiar rhythm of their voices washes over me like the creek behind the property--constant, predictable, home. It should ground me.
But it doesn't.
Because Kassi's knee bumps mine under the table.
At first, I think it's an accident. The table's crowded, legs everywhere.
But she doesn't move away. If anything, she leans into it, just the slightest bit.
She knows exactly what she's doing. Heat spreads through me, pooling low and insistent.
I keep my face neutral, my focus on my plate, but every nerve in my body is tuned to that single point of contact.
She laughs at something Jenna says, her shoulder brushing mine as she leans slightly in my direction. I glance at her just quick enough to catch the secret smile she hides behind her glass. Not the polite one. The real one. The one that makes my chest ache.
I shouldn't look. I shouldn't want to. But I can't stop. Every little detail pulls me tighter—the curve of her wrist as she passes the basket, the way her hair falls forward when she tilts her head, the flush in her cheeks from the warmth of the room.
It feels like we're in our own current, separate from the family around us. Already a secret no one else at this table knows.
"So, how's your week been, Kassi?" Jenna asks, passing the green beans.
Kassi's hands flutter up, bracelets jingling as she describes seven-year-old Emma's kitchen disaster.
"Flour everywhere—ceiling, somehow—and Emma standing there with this wooden spoon, so serious, telling me, 'Mommy, the recipe said fold, not stir.
'" Her voice drops to a whisper I've never heard before, nothing like her clipped tone when she's working.
Josh leans forward, elbows on the table. "Did the birthday kid like them?"
Mom refills Kassi's water without being asked. "Oh god, the first batch?" Kassi's eyes crinkle. "Charcoal hockey pucks. Had to open every window." Zach's laugh booms across the table, his head thrown back. Where I should feel caution, I feel pride.
Zach points a fork at her. "So you are one of those people who measure with their heart?"
Kassi lifts her chin. "It works with salt and sugar. I haven't tested it with lumber."
Finn grins. "Careful. If you ask Asher, he will say lumber needs a tape and two approvals."
I keep my eyes on my plate. "Because I want the barn to stay upright."
Kassi leans nearer, pulled to me by an invisible thread. "Upright is good." Her knee presses into mine again, and I swallow, pretending I don’t notice.
Mom taps the serving spoon to hush the table. "Kassi, you must come to the rodeo next weekend. Finn is riding, and Zach is thinking about it."
"Thinking is generous," Zach says. "I’m committed to watching Finn from a safe distance."
Kassi turns to Finn. "What do I need to know so I don’t cheer at the wrong moment?"
Finn warms to the topic and explains the basics, and Kassi listens intently. She asks good questions and laughs at the right parts, and the more she does, the tighter something winds in my chest.
By dessert, my composure is hanging by a thread.
I push back my chair, desperate for air. "I'm gonna stretch my legs," I mutter.
Kassi stands too, smoothing her skirt, her eyes flicking to mine. "Mind if I join you?"
I nod once, afraid that if I open my mouth, I'll give everything away.
Zach's gaze cuts between us. "Bring in more wood when you come back," he says, casual but curious. I ignore the look he gives me and head for the side door.
We slip out the side door, the hum of family chatter fading behind us.
The night air is cool, carrying the scent of cedar and fresh grass.
We walk side by side, our hands brushing now and again, until the barn comes into view.
Dolly, Josh's horse, moves like a shadow in the pasture, her presence steady and strange as always.
"This place," she says barely above a whisper, leaning against the fence. "It's beautiful."
"Yeah," I answer, stepping close enough that our shoulders nearly touch. "It is."
She glances back at the lit windows. "Your mom is sweet."
"She likes to fix things," I say. "Sometimes people."
Kassi's mouth curves. "I figured when she blocked the grocery aisle and said she wouldn’t let me cook for one."
"You could have said no."
"I did. Twice. She told me she had already thawed the dessert and there was no going back."
I huff a laugh, and it eases the tightness in my chest. "That sounds like her."
Silence stretches thick with everything we're not saying. Then she turns, her eyes locking on mine, and I'm lost.
I cup her cheek before I even think, my thumb brushing over soft skin, and then I'm kissing her.
We’re on fire. Weeks of biting back words, late-night texts, stolen glances—all of it explodes in the press of her mouth against mine. She gasps, then grips the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, until there's no space between us at all.
Her lips are warm and insistent, tasting of wine and sugar, and when she parts them for me, I swear the ground shifts beneath my boots.
I drag my hand down her back, settling at her waist, pulling her flush against me. She melts into me, soft curves and sharp edges all at once, and the heat between us sparks higher.
A low sound escapes her throat, half-whimper, half-dare, and it undoes me. I back her gently against the wall of the barn, kissing her harder, deeper, until she's clinging to me as if I'm the only thing holding her upright.
My hands roam up her spine, into her hair, down to the curve of her hip, and every inch I touch feels like claiming something I shouldn't.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, her body arching into mine, and for a dangerous second, I want more.
I want to lift her into my arms, press her closer, and lose myself in her right here under the stars.
"Asher," she whispers against my mouth, her voice trembling with equal parts warning and want.
I pull back just enough to see her face, her eyes wide, lips swollen from my kiss. She looks wrecked, beautiful, temptation itself wrapped in blue cotton and moonlight.
"This is dangerous," she says again, barely audible.
"I know," I rasp. My forehead presses against hers, my breath still ragged. "But I can't stop."
She exhales shakily, her fingers still fisted in my shirt. "Me neither."
For a heartbeat, I almost give in. Almost let myself take what I want, what I've been craving since the day she first set foot on my ranch.
But then I hear laughter drifting from the house, faint but enough to snap me back. My family's a few yards away. And if I don't slow down, I'm going to cross a line I can't uncross.
Her eyes search mine, wide and vulnerable, weighing every risk in a single heartbeat. Then she leans in again, kissing me softer now, slower.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight, knowing I shouldn't, knowing this only pulls us deeper into something we can't control.
But for once, I don't care.
Because tonight, in the quiet dark of Walker Lake, with Kassi in my arms, it feels like the only thing that's real.
We stay there for one long breath and then another. I press my mouth to her temple and feel her shiver. The night hums with crickets and the slow thud of my heart trying to calm down.
"We should go back in," she whispers. "Before someone comes looking."
"Yeah." I do not move. I trace a line down her arm with my knuckles, slow, careful. I’m learning a new boundary I will have to honor. "You fit in there," I say, and it slips out before I can stop it.
Her eyes soften. "That makes it worse."
I nod. It does. It makes everything harder and somehow clearer.
I grab some of the wood mom asked me to bring back and we start toward the house. Halfway there, she catches my hand. It is quick and small, a squeeze that says I’m not imagining any of this. She lets go when the porch light hits us.
Inside, Jenna is stacking plates. Mom is fussing with the foil. Zach is at the wood bin like he actually waited for me. He eyes the empty space in my hands and smirks. "Forget something."
I grab two logs because it gives me something to do with my hands. "Got distracted."
Finn bites back a grin. "By the night sky."
"Something like that," I say. Kassi thanks Mom and Jenna again, promises to bring a dish next time, and I feel that words land in my chest. Next time.
At the door, she looks at me once more. It is nothing to anyone else. To me, it is a line cast in deep water.
I follow her out, just to the edge of the porch. "Text me when you get home," I say. My voice sounds rougher than I want.
"I will." Her smile is small and certain. "Goodnight, Asher."
She walks to her car, and I stand there until her taillights fade down the lane. My phone is heavy in my pocket. My pulse is steady, slow, and stubborn. I know better than to hope for simplicity. Nothing about this is simple.
Zach whistles behind me. "You are terrible at stretching your legs."
"Go stack your wood," I say, and he laughs all the way back to the hearth.
In the quiet that follows, I decide to stay away. It’s the only way to keep the lines clean. Then my phone buzzes, and the resolve I just built collapses.
Sunshine: Home safe. Thank you.
Me: Get some sleep.
Sunshine: You too.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and stare at the dark pasture, the barn a black shape against the sky. I know the smart thing, and I know the safe thing.
I also know the way her kiss still burns on my mouth.
Tonight, I choose the burn.