14. Ashley
Chapter fourteen
Ashley
Ashley ran her hand over dark jeans she paired with a forest green sweater as if straightening the denim would somehow straighten her life out. The light from Grandpa’s office filtered into the hallway, mixing with the natural sunlight coming in through the window at the end of the hall.
The smell of pine from the Christmas trees downstairs permeated the air.
Carter’s words kept playing through her head, “You have the same spirit as your grandmother.” It had been days since her return to Winterridge, but she still hadn’t had a one-on-one conversation with her grandfather.
While Carter’s words bounced around, the last words her grandfather had uttered to her eight years ago went toe-to-toe, battling for dominance.
“Interior design,” he had scoffed. “What a waste of your potential.”
“It’s what I want to do,” she’d argued.
“It’s shameful.”
Ashley squeezed her eyes against the memory.
At twenty-three, his words had devastated her.
She’d spent her entire life craving his approval.
Wanted him to look at with her pride, brag about her to his high-browed friends.
Instead a few words had cut her down so far, she almost didn’t leave for New York, then everything that happened with Carter…
He fucked up. No one is saying he didn’t. Especially him. But should that one moment when he was at his most vulnerable be the thing that defines his entire legacy?
“You plan on burning a hole in the carpet, or are you waiting to get up the nerve to knock?” Her grandfather’s voice burst out of his office like a gunshot, startling her. She came to an abrupt stop and peered into his office.
“I was never particularly fond of fire,” she said with a slight smile.
“I know. I never had to worry about you with the gasoline when the boys wanted to make a bonfire. You always hid behind your mother’s leg, and when you got older, stayed in the house until the fire was started and under control.”
“It’s a wonder anyone trusted Gabe, Cole or Nate with anything flammable.”
“There was always an adult present.”
“I wouldn’t call Clint or Wendell adults. They added more fuel.”
“Touche. Now what is it you came here for? If I know anything, it’s that my family doesn’t come to me unless they want something.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then you came here to chat?”
“Well… yes and no.”
He smiled, the lines pressing deeper into his face than she could ever remember. “What do you want, sweetheart?”
“I was hoping we could hold the Annual Winterridge Christmas Festival. I know it’s been years. The town has probably moved on.”
“Carter has kept it going.”
Warmth flooded her heart, circulating through her body. Ashley’s lips snapped shut, her body settling into the chair as the information processed.
“Your grandmother built traditions because she believed people needed something to come home to. Carter couldn’t let the tradition die with her.
” Grandpa’s voice cracked, but he scratched his chin as if it were nothing.
As if talking about the love of his life wasn’t the hardest thing for him to do.
Carter was right. Damn him. She couldn’t hold one moment when he was at his most vulnerable against him forever.
It was time she moved on, as well as the family.
They were here, and she wasn’t going to just go through the motions. She was determined to make this the Christmas they would all remember. Bring in the old traditions and possibly create new ones. They had eight years to make up for, and she was ready to make this a Christmas to remember.
“I’ll speak with Carter.”
“He usually handles everything around the estate, but the festival is too much work for him alone. He brings in a local event planner, Lena Hart. You will love her. Christmas basically oozes from her pores. Pretty girl, too.”
A strange stab of jealousy poked Ashley in the gut. Her mind drifted to the day in Greenwich when Carter shoved the bag in his coat. Were they condoms? Were they for Lena?
And so what if they were? She had no claim on him, even if they did get hot and heavy in the kitchen last night. She wanted to ask how pretty she was, but stopped herself. She was a grown woman, not some sixteen-year-old girl anymore.
“Great, I look forward to meeting her,” she said instead.
“How’s the interior design business?”
She inhaled, not expecting him to ask. “Good,” she managed.
His head tilted, his blue eyes focused on her. “Just good?” With a slight shake of his head, he opened the drawer beside him and pulled out a stack of magazines.
Ashley frowned. “Grandpa—”
Paper smacking the desk echoed through the space. Metropolitan Living was scrawled across the top of a photo of a sprawling Manhattan penthouse she’d designed three years ago. Her name printed in bold at the bottom.
Ashley Wetherby Reinvents Luxury for Modern Living.
Her breath caught, and he dropped another magazine.
New York Home and Design, featuring a six-page spread on a historic brownstone she nearly killed herself completing.
It disappeared as another dropped on top.
Architectural Elegance.
And another.
Style and Space.
And another.
East Coast Interiors.
Each magazine, showcasing her hard work and dedication.
Work that she’d been extremely proud of.
Rooms she’d obsessed over, projects she poured everything she had into.
One after another, preserved in time in glossy print with pretty photos.
All the awards she won mentioned, the recognition she craved, as if she were trying to prove to everyone she’d made the right choice…
Interior design wasn’t shameful; it was respectable and honest work.
He had every single one of them. She lifted her eyes from the stack, lips parting, but words wouldn’t come.
“I’ve also got the article from the New York Times about that hotel renovation in Soho,” he said casually. “The one where they called you one of the most influential designers under forty. As you can tell, my stack is quite high and that one wouldn’t fit in the drawer.”
Ashley blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.” He opened another drawer and pulled out a binder.
He handed it to her, and she reluctantly took it from him.
She opened it, and there, in clear plastic protectors, was the article along with smaller articles from when she was just starting out.
Newspaper clippings that barely deserved a place in a paper.
“I thought…” her voice cracked. “I thought you didn’t care. That interior design was shameful.”
He reclined in his chair. “When you were twenty-three, I thought you were making a mistake.”
Ashley swallowed the burning of his disapproval. “I know.”
“I was wrong.”
Her head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
“I thought I knew what was best for you. I kept expecting you to fail and show back up asking for a job. And not because I thought you would fail, but because my own arrogance couldn’t except that you knew more than me.
You knew what your calling was, and every few months a new article popped up, proving me wrong.
” He tapped the stack of magazines. “Then another. And another. Then suddenly my granddaughter was no longer the little girl with bangs and pigtails. She was designing penthouses, hotels, restaurants, and estates worth more than Winterridge.”
Tears burned her eyes, but she laughed.
“For what it’s worth, you didn’t waste your potential.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swiped it away.
“And I hope you have it in your heart to forgive an old geezer who was too stubborn to admit he was wrong until the evidence was stacked three feet high on his desk.”
“I just—” She blinked, trying to ward off the tears, but they spilled over in a steady stream. “All I ever wanted was to make you proud.”
“Proud seems pale in comparison to what I feel, but if you need to hear it… I am so unbelievably proud of you.”
Years of fear of disappointing him vanished in an instant. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and her lips curved into a genuine smile. “Thank you,” she managed.
“Don’t thank me. I had nothing to do with it. It was all you.”
A slight knock at the door made Ashley turn her head.
Carter stood there looking sexier than ever in a navy blue cashmere sweater layered over a crisp white button-down.
The collar peeked out while the sleeves of the shirt disappeared beneath the sweater's cuffs. Dark charcoal slacks hugged his long legs, and polished brown leather loafers completed the look. It was far more casual than the tailored suits he usually wore around the estate, yet somehow it only made him more attractive. The sweater skimmed broad shoulders and a powerful chest, hinting at the body beneath. He looked less like the estate manager of Winterridge and more like the man she’d fallen hopelessly in love with.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Carter said as he stepped into the office away from the doorway. His eyes met hers, and though he didn’t say a single word, she knew he was thinking about last night. Heat blossomed on her cheeks, making her feel like the teenager she once was.
Grandpa cleared his throat, and she snapped her gaze away.
While Ashley felt like a girl getting caught looking through her presents, Carter was unruffled when he spoke.
“You wanted me to let you know when Lena would be arriving. She just texted. She should be here shortly.”
Who was Lena? Ashley tried not to let the green monster of jealousy emerge, but texting seemed so casual and unprofessional. A call would be more we’re just business associates. Then again, she texted plenty of clients and contacts.
She inhaled, letting the deep breath calm her nerves. She was being ridiculous, and she was fully aware.
“Perfect!” Grandpa said. “Ashley was just telling me how she would love to help with the festival this year.”
“She did?” Carter exclaimed.
“I did.” Ashley’s lips curved upward as she met his gaze. “Grandpa was telling me how you’ve kept the festival going all these years.”