Page 92 of From Asher, With Love

I twist, looking over my shoulder as Selene bursts through the opening leading to the backroom. She meets me by the display table I’m standing beside and passes me her phone.

I read the headline to the article she has pulled up.

UNCOVERED: YEARS OF LIES AND FRAUD UNEARTHED ABOUT NEW YORK REAL ESTATE MOGUL CYRUS TEMPER AFTER DEATH IN FIRE ONE WEEK AGO

My shoulders drop with a heavy breath, and I hand Selene’s phone back to her.

“No, but I feel like I’ve read a similar headline years ago.”

The news of Cyrus Temper’s death has captured the attentionof every headline in the city. It’s been plastered everywhere. Newsstands, TVs, radio, social media. Cyrus’s story is everywhere. My apartment set ablaze. Reporters and journalists have been hounding me and Asher for interviews, but we’ve turned down each one, unable to bring ourselves to explain the connection of why Cyrus was there that night, and why he tried to kill Asher and destroy me.

The only ones who know are the police and those closest to us.

“Have you finalized the insurance claim on your apartment yet?” Selene asks, picking up one of the loose flowers in front of her and stuffing it into the blue, glass vase sitting in the middle of the table.

“I did.” I inhale deeply and add another flower. “I’m just glad to get this over with and have a place to stay.”

She gives me a soft smile. “Even if you didn’t have Asher’s home to call your own, you know you will always have a home with Julianna or me. London even said she would have if she lived here.”

I give her a warm smile and place my hand on her arm. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She smiles back, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. “I’m going to head out. I have one last chapter to finish drafting up before I need to head over to the community home to see my grandmother.”

“Okay,” I say, looking back down at the flower in my hand.

Selene leaves, and I drag the stem of the flower between my fingers. Although its life source has been severed, it still lives. Temporarily, at least.

I close my eyes and bring the petals to my nose, breathing in. Despite losing my home, I am thankful to have Asher’s place to call mine. I’ve never felt more complete than I do with him, and even though I lost everything in the fire, I was ableto save Asher’s last letter when I stuffed it into the front pocket of his shirt.

The bell above the front door jingles, but it doesn’t stir me. I’m lost in the smell of the flower when I feel his body behind me and his voice hit my ear.

“Open your eyes, Little Flower.”

My mouth immediately lifts to a grin, spreading from one ear to the other. My heart leaps like it did when I was a teenager.

When I open them, Asher’s hand is in front of me, holding a black folder. His gold watch glints in the sunlight pouring into my shop.

I spin around and look up at him.

My breath is stolen when my eyes meet his golden flecked ones. His jaw isn’t as nearly clean shaven as it usually is. A light stubble is peppered along his angled jaw, and his brown hair is slicked back, revealing those eyes that make me weak kneed.

“Hi.” I melt.

“Hi.” He leans forward and kisses me. I can tell he fights to pull away, lingering a half second longer than a quick peck. He wraps his free hand around my lower back, gripping onto me before pulling away.

I feel his absence immediately.

“What is it?” I ask him, grinning.

He holds the folder between us, urging me to take it. I flick my gaze down to it, then back to his before taking the folder. I take a step back and open it.

The first page is a listing for the first shop Asher ever showed me—the one I never got to see from the inside.

When I look back up at him, I melt all over again. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him in the past week.

While I’ve worked over in my mind what happened with Cyrus, Asher hasn’t. It’s been more difficult for him, andafter admitting to me in the middle of one of his sleepless nights, he’s surrendered to seeking out a therapist. He’d confessed the fight with Cyrus brought up a lot of memories of the night he lost his mother, and the guilt he had for her death. And although Cyrus tried to kill him, he feels almost as guilty for his death as well, after leaving him there unconscious.

My attention falls to his neck, noticing the fading bruises of Cyrus’s fingers are nearly gone. But I know even long after today, they will remain, much like the night his mother died.

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