Page 93 of From Asher, With Love

Asher’s smile hasn’t faltered, not even when he nervously adjusts the dark forest green tie wrapped around his neck. “What do you think?”

I look down at the listing with confusion. “I don’t understand. I thought this one sold.”

“It did.” He clears his throat. I can practically feel his body humming with excitement when he looks down and flips the first page. “The contract fell through right before closing. The buyer backed out, and it went back on the market this morning.” He points to the second page. “This is the inside.”

I quickly glance back down at the listing.

The first picture is of the front of the building, just as I remembered it: two large wooden doors with windowpanes, rustic yet classy and upscale. The next picture is of the inside, featuring a large, open floor plan; at least triple what I have now. The following images are taken from different angles, but when I flip the page and see the backroom, there are several large coolers and enough space for four of my prep tables. It has everything I could ever need.

“What do you think?” Asher asks, his voice hushed.

“I love it. It’s exactly as I hoped it would look on the inside.”

“Well, we can go look at it whenever you want.” He rubs his chin. “You may change your mind when you see it in person.”

I swing my gaze up to his and lower the folder. “I don’t need to see the inside.”

His smile falls. “You don’t?”

I laugh, clutching the lapel of his suit. I jerk him against me, rolling on my toes. “Have you ever just seen something or met someone and known it or they were meant to be yours?”

His eyes flash, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a knowing half-smile. “Only once.”

“Well, it’s happened to me twice,” I confess, stepping back and sitting up onto the edge of the table. I scoot back and tug on Asher’s tie until he’s standing between my legs. My thighs vibrate and hum with him between them, and I’m already soaked. I’m thankful I’m wearing a skirt, sans panties. Makes for easier access.

“Tell me about the first time.” His velvety voice lingers between us as he leans forward, bringing his mouth to mine.

I smile, and my teenage heart returns. “Why don’t I show you?”

THIRTY-ONE

CHARLEIGH

Two Months Later

I had just signed the last document to close on my new flower shop when Asher received the phone call. Without hesitation, we packed our overnight bags, and Asher arranged his private jet to fly out as soon as we made it to the airport. A few hours later, the wheels of his jet land on the West Coast.

The Californian sun presses against my skin differently than it does in the north. It’s warm and inviting, never wavering in its welcome. It doesn’t threaten to leave or suddenly vanish.

We haven’t stopped long enough to take in the change of scenery before we slide into Asher’s waiting car and race to his father’s house.

Asher is quiet on the drive over, and when we pull in front of the enormous Beverly Hills mansion, he grabs my hand and leads me inside.

I’m wondering what thoughts must be going through his mind when we step through the front door. One of the housekeepers holds it open for us, and I watch on as a nurse appears in the hallway, ushering us through the massive house. I take in the wrought iron, grand staircase, the marble floors, and theglass chandeliers. I squeeze Asher’s hand as we leave the grandiose entrance and head toward the back end of the house. We’re moving quickly, but I can’t help smiling at the pictures hanging on the wall.

Asher and his father wading in the water on surf boards.

Asher’s UCLA graduation photo.

Asher laughing as he lifts a piece of sushi to his mouth.

Asher mid-cannonball into their backyard pool. Although his face is scrunched, I can tell it was taken not too long after he’d left Connecticut.

But when Asher’s hand slips from mine the second we meet the threshold to the backroom, my eyes fall to the picture on the end table, beside Christopher Egan’s bed. One of him and his son smiling at the camera, with the same tilt to their grin and the same gold-flecked eyes.

“Asher,” Chris croaks. He lifts his fist to cover his mouth, coughing into it. An oxygen canula is connected to his nose, and he takes a few seconds to catch his breath before speaking again. “I wasn’t sure when you were landing.”

“We left as soon as possible,” Asher says, leaning down to give his father a hug.

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