Chapter Seven #2
I must’ve not concealed my shock well enough. She started to backtrack. “Sorry—only if you’re comfortable. You’ve just…I know you’ve been through so much tonight.”
“You’re fine with hugging me?”
Her head cocked to the side, lips thinning. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
My answer was immediately logical. “Because we barely know one another.”
Margo was studying me over Carrie’s shoulder.
Margo was good at reading people, and I loathed how easily she could decipher me.
When I looked down at Carrie again, a rush of cold skated down my spine, cutting into the skin.
Her usual rosy cheeks had paled, her eyes wide, and her bottom lip was trembling.
She was about to cry.
“Oh my goodness,” I whispered, stepping onto the porch. “Are you okay?”
Tears fell down her face and dread sank onto my shoulders.
“Sorry,” she rasped, laughing at the end of it just as I felt Ash’s heat at my back.
“Don’t apologize,” Ash murmured, his voice intoxicating. “It’s been a long night.”
The sight of her tears caused my stomach to tighten, more guilt adding to the pile I’d collected.
I opened my arms and moved to her, giving her what she needed more than me.
Her arms wrapped around me tightly, and she held on longer than I expected.
She was a stranger to me, yet she was tied to my life through Margo.
We shared a friend. Her head on my shoulder, my hands on her back, I turned my eyes away from her lover and whispered, “You didn’t do anything wrong. ”
A choke sounded, and suddenly, I was wishing for the skies to open up again.
But the storm had paused, and her sob seeped into the walls of my porch, making me wonder how many others had stood in this exact spot and cried.
I could only withstand her embrace for a few moments longer, and when I released her, she thankfully took the silent hint and released me.
Stepping back, I cleared my throat and checked that my shirt wasn’t crooked.
As I did, Margo’s shoes butted into my line of vision.
“You sure you don’t need anything else from me?” she whispered, her lips turning up.
“No, I’ll be all right.”
She glanced at Ash. “Yeah, you’ll be all right,” she agreed.
Thirty-seven seconds later, they were gone.
Ash and I were finally alone, and my mind was seconds away from imploding.
I was off my routine. Every inch of me felt itchy, and I knew it would take me days, perhaps even a week, to recover from this lapse.
Still, there was no sense in dreading that right now.
Ash had a life of his own to get back to.
So keeping him for a long time while I silently tried to work through my own issues in my head seemed rude.
I didn’t want him to think I was rude.
Truthfully, I didn’t know what I wanted him to think of me. I just knew that if his thoughts were negative, I would never gather the strength to handle it.
“Would you like some tea?” I asked, my voice cracking because of the giant lump in my throat, as I turned to face him. He leaned against the doorframe—he nearly filled the entire space—with his arms crossed over his wide chest, mouth set in a firm line, his eyes working their way into my soul.
“I want to know what you have to say to me, Angel.”
I nearly flinched. “I have a lot of things I want to say to you, but if you don’t mind, I need to make some tea. This day has already thrown me enough curve balls, and my late-night tea is a ritual I refuse to give up.”
His reply was soft, devastatingly gentle. “Go make your tea.”
My eyes never left the steam rising from the small teacup I’d set out for Ash as I took a sip from my own.
The sweet but subtle notes of dandelion root floated across my tongue on a wave of raspberry and honey.
On instinct, my eyelids lowered, a sound of utter bliss and contentment leaving me as I let my body sink farther into my side of the couch.
Tipping the teacup back down, I let out a heavy sigh, feeling the aches in my neck and shoulders. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”
“You should’ve let the paramedics take you to the hospital,” he noted.
I stiffened. Having to go to a clinic once a week for my insulin was one thing, but a hospital? It would draw too much attention. A voice, one I hadn’t heard in two years, echoed in the back of my mind, triggering a memory.
You’re free to live your life but be cautious. This fight isn’t over yet.
A rough, low sound came from Ash. “You’re going to be sore for a week, at least. If your pain worsens, you need to go to your doctor.”
I opened my eyes, finding him in the same spot I’d left him in when I ventured into the kitchen a few minutes ago to put the kettle on. “I will,” I murmured, holding his dark eyes framed by even darker lashes. “I promise.”
His cheek moved, a muscle jumping under the skin. “How’s your tea?”
“Amazing. A cup of warm tea has never let me down.” I hummed, taking another sip. “Just what I needed after today.”
He shifted, leaning forward in my armchair, putting his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped between them. “Something else happen today?” he asked.
“My sous chef is quitting,” I said, blowing out a breath.
The conversation Felix and I had in Marg’s office replayed in my head, though now it felt as if it happened days ago.
That was something I noticed. When I was with Ash—at least during the three experiences I’d had with him—time always seemed to slow down.
“Which is horrible, but what makes it worse is that he recommended that I take his place.”
Something flashed over his features, but he recovered quickly. “You’re a chef?”
“Pastry chef,” I corrected. He said nothing, waiting for me to give him more.
With a sigh, I sat up, took another sip of tea, and cradled the cup in my lap.
“I went to culinary school and had every intention of going off and working under talented head chefs. Then eventually, maybe, opening my own restaurant. I had dreams, but then those dreams faded away and I had to settle.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
He lowered his voice. “Why did your dreams fade away?”
My chest tightened, old wounds threatening to be cut open. “You know why,” I rasped, watching his nostrils flare, his gaze turning cold. He broke eye contact, looking out the window beside him, staring in the darkness for some time.
“Ash?”
“Do you want to be a sous chef?”
Pressing my lips together, I bent my head, watching the ripples in my tea. “I don’t know. Everything has changed. I’m not the same woman I was ten years ago.”
To that, he gave me nothing, instead turning the conversation back to why I’d asked him to stay. “Tell me what you want to tell me.”
“Well—”
“I know you’re trying to be nice,” he said, tipping his head to the tea set on the coffee table, “and while I want to love it, I can’t. So please, Angel, say what you need to say so we can both move on.”
Right.
Of course.
My hand shook as I reached out to put my teacup on the table.
The firewood crackled and shifted in the hearth across from me.
“I should have never told you to stay out of my life.” His gaze collided with mine, the air in the room becoming charged, and his brow slowly furrowed as the words kept spilling from me.
“When I came into Astoria to start a new life, I did it at the expense of yours.”
Because I thought you weren’t allowed to be in mine.
My new freedom came with stipulations.
He started rising from his seat. “Angel—”
“You left town. You left…everything. You disappeared. For a while, I was scared to leave this house because of the risk of running into you, and then you were nowhere to be found. I thought…I thought I would feel relieved when I heard that you’d left.
But I wasn’t. Instead, I was hit with this horrible guilt.
I avoided your friends and their kindness because I knew, deep down, they blamed me for running you off,” I pushed out, looking up at him as he moved to the center of the living room.
“I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry for forcing you—pushing you away—when all you’ve done is save me.
” I could hardly breathe; the air was so thick.
The fire crackled, the glow of it dimming and brightening all around him.
“I just, I just wanted to live a life free of my past,” I pushed out. It was all I could give him.
He jerked and the heat of his gaze was suddenly too much. I turned away from him, looking into the foyer, silently trying to find the strength to get the rest of it out. “You aren’t a part of that. You’re just the man who saved—”
“Stop,” he begged.
I stood and shook my head. “No. I ruined your life.” Regardless of the rules set upon me, I had no right to force him to uproot his life for the sake of my freedom.
Holding my breath, I watched him look at his feet, muttering something I couldn’t hear before he gave me a confession. “You didn’t ruin my life.”
“You left it,” I returned, agony weighing on my shoulders. “Margo said you left the day of the book festival.”
He nodded. “Yes, to finish a job.”
“What job?” I held his gaze despite everything in my body telling me to look away.
A shadow fell over his features. “Don’t ask me that.”
Goose bumps reemerged. I pressed my lips together. I needed to honor his wishes. He’d done so much for me. “What can I ask you?”
He was still as stone, his eyes glimmering with heat. “Angel, please.”