Page 12 of From Asher, With Love

A broken heart never fully mends itself. Even if I’m the one who caused the wounds in the first place.

“I’ll think about it.”

FOUR

CHARLEIGH

It feels like embers have been smoldering inside my chest since the night I saw Asher.

I’m staring at my phone on the nightstand. The screen is black, yet there’s an invisible thread pulling me toward it. I haven’t been able to shut out the endless thoughts. The way my hand felt against the sleeve of his expensive coat. The rich and powerful scent of cedar and pine surrounding me. The flicker of resentment and aloofness in his golden eyes. Unjustified.

Turning onto my side, I pick my phone up and swipe to unlock it.

It’s late—nearly three in the morning. The bright lights of the city are blocked out by the blackout curtains of my window that I fitted when I first moved into my apartment three years ago. There’s an unread text from my mother, but I ignore it and click on the Google tab.

Asher Egan.

I type his name so fast I surprise myself. I’ve spent the past ten years working to forget him, yet here I am, lying in my bed in the middle of the night, Googling him. I’ve thought of it before only once. It was the year I graduated from NYU. Ithought of him as I walked across the stage, my degree handed to me. I mostly thought of him because it had once been a dream of ours to go to NYU together. I wondered who he had become. At that point, I hadn’t seen him in four years. Had he moved on? Had he met someone else and gotten married? Was he better off without me? Later that night, after graduation, I considered seeking Asher out through social media but decided against it. He’d had been strong enough to break our relationship off when he moved to California. I knew I needed to do the same.

It was also the time when I learned dreams are fleeting. One minute, you believe you have everything you’ve ever wanted, and the next, it’s ripped away, and you’re left with nothing. You’re forced to build a new dream, a new way to move on. That’s what the night of my graduation had transformed into: a new dream. One Asher was no longer a part of.

Once my phone has brought up the list of results for Asher’s name, I rest my head back down on my pillow and place my phone beside me. I take a few breaths and stare at the wall, reconsidering. Why do I even care enough to search his name?

He probably hasn’t thought about me even once. Not until he saw me standing in front of him last night.

A knot forms in my chest when I realize I do care, and I hate that I do.

Curiosity gets the better of me. I pick up my phone again. The light casts a bright blue beam across my face.

The first result is a link to his Instagram account. I ignore that one and continue down the list. The second link is an article forFortuneMagazine’sTop 100 Fastest-Growing Companies.My eyes widen when I read the small paragraph beneath the link.

#2: Egan Realty—Asher Egan, 29, Los Angeles-based real estate executive. Up 93% due to organic growth and marketable investments.

I don’t click on the article. Instead, I stare at the text, dissecting each word letter by letter. I’m happy Asher became successful in his career. There’s an ache in the pit of my stomach, though, and I can’t quite shake this uneasy feeling. Why would it matter to me that Asher was satisfied and fulfilled in a career I knew he’d always wanted?

Because even with all of Asher’s faults, his ambitions to dive into high value real estate never wavered.

My thumb hovers over the link to his Instagram account. With my other hand, I bite down on my thumbnail and roll onto my back. I raise the phone in the air and suck in a sharp breath between my teeth before I click on the link, unsure of what I’ll find. I expect to see a page full of Asher and a woman—possibly his wife—or maybe several women. My shoulders drop, and all the air in my chest deflates. I don’t realize I was holding my breath until I feel my lungs filling with air again.

His account is set to private. It surprises me, yet it doesn’t. Maybe it’s for the best that I can’t see the kind of pictures I assume he has on his profile anyway. I roll onto my other side and open the text from my mother.

Mom: Are you coming down for Memorial Day weekend? Your father would love to see you.

I sigh, closing out her text without responding and dropping my phone back onto my nightstand. This time, I don’t feel that invisible pull anymore.

“Hey,Selene. How’s today going so far?” I walk through the front door of my flower shop to find my best friend Selene. The one who also happens to work for me. At least temporarily, according to her.

We’ve been best friends since the day she stumbled into my shop, looking for a job but insisted it was only temporary until she could find one in her field of work: writing.

But it’s been years since that day, and she still hasn’t left me.

Selene is finishing up typing something on the computer when I finally make it to the counter. Her fingers frantically dance across the keyboard. She waits until she’s finished before she finally answers me.

“Charleigh.” She sighs, looking exhausted already. It’s only nine in the morning. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Her mouth dips into a frown.

I slide her one of the coffees I picked up on the way over. I may have taken a few extra minutes to soak up the warm, spring sun, hoping to start my day fresh, free of thoughts about Asher.

Finally, it’s starting to feel like spring. My favorite season.

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