7. I Will Light You On Fire
I Will Light You On Fire
Warm skin underneath my fingertips. Muscles shifting with each deliberate movement. Ash’s scent in my nose as I cling to every second of sweet bliss.
RING RING.
My phone ringing pulls me out of an entirely too pleasant dream. My dreams are the only place I can have Ash—the only place I can be with him and keep him safe and pretend like everything is easy—and I may actually murder whoever ended that dream too quickly.
Where the fuck is my phone? I slap my hand around, finally finding it in the mass of blankets.
“What?” I growl. Who the fuck calls people anymore? Pretty sure my generation replaced that with text messages.
“I’ve dreamed about how your voice might sound when you just wake up, but goddamn do you put my best dreams to shame, Goldilocks,” says the raspy voice that features in my dreams.
A blush travels up my cheeks and I thank God he can’t see me.
“Ash, why are you calling me at—” I check the time “—FIVE A.M.?”
Frustration boils over. The man has a death wish.
His chuckle floats through the phone, all low and smoky. “You promised to come with me this morning, and I need your address.”
“I did not promise a wake-up call before the sun comes up. Call me back in three hours.”
“You promised to let me show you something, and that something won’t be there in three hours. Text me your address or I’ll keep calling every five minutes.”
He’ll do it, too. The fucking nag.
“Oh my God, fine!”
I expect he’ll probably be here within the next thirty minutes, so there’s no point trying to return to my much-needed beauty rest. If I look like a zombie, that’s entirely his fault.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach at the thought of spending the morning with him. What will that be like?
I don’t know how to feel about this.
With feline quietness, I dress and make myself a to-go cup of chocolate earl grey tea. I will absolutely need caffeine to function like a normal human, and I prefer tea to coffee.
Fight me.
So here I am, twenty minutes later, standing outside my house with my sparkly pink to-go cup, my winter boots and coat, and a thick woolen hat.
Our first snow of the year was decent. If I had to guess, we got about five inches—and it’s still fluttering down in a soft cascade. The snowplows haven’t been down our little street for a few hours, so everything is covered in an undisturbed blanket.
It’s the perfect day to snuggle up with a cup of tea and a trashy TV show. But no.
As if the thought summoned him, a huge black pickup truck rumbles up to the house. ‘Cedar Woodworking’ is written on the side in big block lettering.
He jumps out, all chipper and happy. “Morning, Goldilocks!”
Even the winter-lumberjack porn—with his flannel, sherpa-lined jacket and heavy boots—doesn’t make up for the fact that he’s obviously a morning person.
I scowl.
“Are we compensating for something?” I ask, gesturing to the giant car.
“Want to find out?”
I roll my eyes. “That was horrible, even for you.”
He just smiles at me, all sexy beard and handsomeness. “You’re the one who brought it up. Let’s get going.”
Before I can get to the passenger-side door, he opens it and offers me a hand. To be fair, any normal person would need help getting into this thing, but I refuse to touch him. Instead, I scrabble and claw my way in, managing to climb inside with a relatively limited amount of embarrassment.
I don’t meet his gaze. I don’t want to see the smugness on his face at my struggle.
Noah’s words play in my head as Ash gets in the other side.
I want her just as much as she wants me.
Does he really? How do I protect him if that’s the case?
“You’re pretty serious for this early,” he remarks after a few moments of driving. I was so lost in my own head I hadn’t even realized we were moving.
“I’m a serious person.”
Lie. At least, I didn’t used to be serious. I have no idea who I am now. Ash snorts as if he’s thinking the same thing.
Silence falls like a blanket of snow over us again.
It’d be so easy to ask him about his passion for woodworking, or what the small tattoo I just noticed on the inside of his wrist means.
But I don’t want to keep opening the door further whenever he asks.
I shouldn’t have agreed to this little journey, even if he did threaten to take the tent away. Who needs a tent, anyway?
I turn to the window, watching the wintery morning pass by.
I should’ve told Grandma to stuff it when she made me man the booth. What was that old crone going to do? Beat me to death with her walking stick? Set her elderly cat on me?
I’m in a fucking hole of my own making.
“We’re here,” Ash says, turning the car off.
I turn to face him and . . . he’s right there. Every inch of him. This close, I can’t pretend he’s not the most brutally handsome man I’ve ever seen. A light beard covers a superhero chin and full lips. His nose is straight, leading up to shining emerald eyes draped in long black lashes.
I think I could stare at him for the rest of my life and never get bored. I could always find something new to focus on, to learn about.
A smile curves the top of his mouth on one side. On anyone else it would be cocky, and maybe it is a little bit, but there’s an underlying care there. “Fuck, if you could see the way you look at me.”
My heart stutters at his tone.
“It’s probably good I can’t,” I huff, pulling back. “Watching other people gag makes me want to throw up.”
He opens his mouth to reply and I lift my hand. “If you make a joke about gagging, I swear to God I will light you on fire.”
His deep, rumbling laugh fills the car. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I slide out of the car before he can make it over to my side. We’re in the middle of the woods—surprise to literally no one. His big lumberjack boots crunch on untouched snow as he carves a path through the trees. His hand is there, just waiting for me.
I don’t take it.
I follow behind his broad shoulders, trying to ignore that even under the layers of shirt and sherpa-lined flannel I can see the muscles shift.
I’m obviously doing a great job of that.
“All right, Goldilocks.” He turns abruptly and I barely refrain from slamming into him. “This is it.”
I take a quick glance at the entirely nondescript area. Am I missing something? “We’re in the middle of the woods, in the dark. Have you been horribly flirting with me all this time just to kill me?”
I don’t think my soulmate would kill me. But, hey, you never know.
“You’re here, so I don’t think I’ve done that bad of a job.” He winks.
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms.
When I don’t reply, he steps closer. “Close your eyes.”
If anything, I hold them open wider. “I’m good, thanks.”
“You’re lucky I like brats.”
“And you’re genuinely lucky I haven’t set you on fire.”
“That’s the second time you’ve threatened to light me on fire.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Fire witch?”
“None-of-your-business witch.”
“Just come and look.”
The sky is a blend of blues, pinks, oranges, reds, and yellows.
Sunrise.
It makes the snow on the tops of the trees glow, reflecting the light back. Every second it changes just a little, some color overtaking the others as the sun rises beyond the horizon line and over the forest in front of us.
In moments, it’s over.
“My father and I used to come out here in the morning on the weekends when I was learning the family business. We’d drink coffee, watch the sunrise, and then pick a new tree to fell,” Ash says softly.
I stand in silence as he speaks. He’s sharing a private, special place with me. He’s being selfless and vulnerable with me in a way I’m not sure anyone ever has been.
And he does it with ease. With confidence. Despite how we bicker back and forth, how I push him away. He shows this to me with the confidence that in his most vulnerable moment I won’t slash and wound him.
It’s a trust I don’t deserve.
Thoughts of my own father flood my mind. I don’t think we ever watched the sunrise together. Would he have ever taken me somewhere like this? Was it in his plan to share sunrises together?
I guess it doesn’t matter what he planned, because he’s gone. Just like Mom. Hazel has Noah, Grandma has her entire community of friends and the shop. Who do I have?
A soulmate I can’t bear to endanger.
No one.
“Hey,” Ash says in that gentle voice. “You okay over there?”
“Yep. Just fine.” He may be willing to expose his own vulnerabilities, but I’m not. I push a lock of hair behind my ear and change the subject. “Your father is sick?”
He nods, sunlight dappling the slightly lighter brown highlights in his beard. “Cancer.”
“Is it bad?” I ask quietly. It doesn’t seem right to speak louder than a whisper, to disturb this tentative truce we’ve acquired in the morning light.
“That’s a hard question to answer.” He rocks on his feet, a heavy breath escaping him. “It’s cancer, right? So, it’s not a great diagnosis. But we caught it early, so his doctors are optimistic.”
I wipe furiously at my face, at the tears that escape. I know what it’s like to lose a dad, but I don’t know what it’s like to have a sick one.
“He and I became a lot closer after my mom left. I barely remember her, if I’m honest, and that’s okay. I never felt like I was missing anything with him around.”
I listen quietly, collecting these little pieces of him he gives freely.
“Shit.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “I didn’t mean to trauma dump on you. Especially knowing everything with your own dad and now your mom. I get talkative when I’m out here in the trees, among the woods and dirt.”
“Mhmm. I’m not sure why you would tell me, though. All I’ve ever done is call you an overgrown brute.”
His smile is big, genuine. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve thrown in some other flattering words.”
“As if I could find flattering words to describe you.”
The words have lost their bite a little bit. He sees through me in a way that makes me shiver in the cold Ohio morning.
I step back from him, from the view of the woods. “Should . . . Should we head back? The market will be starting soon.”
His smile falls just a smidge, but the kindness never leaves his eyes. “Sure, Goldilocks. Can’t have you being late.”