Page 45 of From Asher, With Love

I place my lips to her, sending her another promise. Once she pulls her lips away from mine, we crawl under the sheets of her bed, tangling our limbs together. With her body sidled against mine, and her arms and legs draped over my body, we lay in silence, watching the snow fall outside her window and the clock turn to midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Little Flower,” I whisper, with my hand over hers, holding my keychain against my chest.

“Merry Christmas, Asher.”

Once Charleigh falls asleep, I stay for a few minutes. She always reminds me that this is her least favorite part of the night—when I have to leave. It’s my least favorite too, for multiple reasons. Most of all, because I don’t want to leave her and go home to my drunk mother, but also because of her parents. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’m terrified there will come a time when her parents come to check on her and find me lying in her bed.

Charleigh has her thigh bent over my leg, pinning me beneath her. Her arm is across my chest, and her head rests on it. I press my lips to the top of her head, and her hair still smells like flowers. I breathe her in, willing myself to remember this feeling before I start my walk back home in the bitter cold. My trailer smells of stale alcohol and mold. I kiss her one more time, then carefully slide out from underneath her.

I tiptoe across the room to her desk, opening the drawer to grab the things I need. I get the scissors, cutting the piece of paper into a small heart. Taking the pen next, I press it to the paper and glance over my shoulder.

Charleigh is still sound asleep, only her hushed breathing making any noise. The moon shines on her skin, the shadows of the falling snow dance across her body, and for a moment, I imagine a life where we’re both at our happiest. I can’t imagine a life without her in it. I’d be a fucking idiot to lose her. An absolute fucking idiot.

Here’s another heart for you to surround yourself with, Little Flower.

Flowers andpaper hearts.

I flip the paper over and write the same message I always leave for her on the back.

From Asher, With Love

I fold the heart in half and tape it to the bottom of her window. I gently slide it open and get my footing on the trellis before stopping to look at Charleigh again. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. My mother is wrong about her.

Charleigh could never ruin me.

THIRTEEN

ASHER

The wind whips against my face as soon as I step out of my helicopter. My feet drop to the landing pad, and I don’t even make it to the elevator doors of my penthouse building when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

The city sky is blanketed in black with the golden lights of New York stretching out as far as the eye can see. But all I can think about is the woman I watched walk out the door a week ago. Ten years ago, I was the one who left. Although I was a coward and didn’t give Charleigh the opportunity to watch me leave, instead, choosing to vanish on her like some sort of sick magic trick. Still, the ache I felt inside after watching her walk away only made me all too aware of how Charleigh must have felt the morning after I’d left her. The morning she’d found the last note I’d ever write to her taped to her window.

I’m a fucking idiot.

I ignore the growing pit of concern in my stomach and answer Janette’s call.

“Janette.”

“Oh, good, Mr. Egan.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re back.”

“I just landed,” I tell her, nodding to my valet, Hank, who holds the door to the elevator open for me. He pushes the button for my floor and waits patiently as the lift descends.

“How was your meeting upstate?” Janette asks.

“Fine,” I tell her, not caring to dive into the details of my meeting with another client who was interested in looking for properties up near Saratoga Springs. “Were you able to work on that research I asked you to do for me earlier?”

“Yes.” Her voice hitches, seemingly surprised with my abrupt shift in the conversation. “I have all the information pulled up and ready to email over to you now. Do you have another meeting or closing date you’d like me to put in your calendar for Saratoga Springs?”

“No. And don’t bother sending me the email. I want to know what you found. Read it to me.” I give Hank another curt nod as I step out of the elevator and into my apartment. My entryway and living room are blanketed in darkness aside from the under cabinet lighting my housekeeper leaves on for me every night before she leaves.

I loosen my tie and make a beeline for the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water and sit in the large, leather chair facing the window, overlooking Midtown.

“Okay.” A few clicks fill the silence while I wait for Janette. “I found a slew of articles, and it was a little difficult to sift through them, but I found one in particular that seemed to have the most accurate information. This one is dated July of 2015.”

Fuck. A few months after I left Connecticut.

“Go ahead,” I urge, my heart pounding in my chest.

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