Page 14 of Her Ohio Old Flame

Afterward, she’d locked herself in a bathroom stall, shaking and bleeding. She hadn’t known what to do. Had used a period pad to stop the blood, her fingers trembling so badly she could barely open the wrapper. She’d sat on the closed toilet seat, staring at the tiled floor, swallowing sobs she didn’t understand.

She hadn’t even told her friends. Not her parents. Certainly not Zane.

She hadn’t understood it herself—not then. He was respected. Admired. Beloved. And she… she must’ve done something wrong. Worn the wrong dress. Smiled too much. Misread everything.

She ran. And she never looked back.

Her throat tightened, and she forced herself to look at him again. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steadier now.

Zane gave her hand a small squeeze before releasing it. “Anytime.”

But as they stood and began heading back toward her father’s room, Asha couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d left something important unsaid. Asha’s mind churned with unspoken truths and simmering tension. The way Zane looked at her, like he could see right through her and down to her soul, shook her. He had always been able to read her too well, and that made spending time with him dangerous—far too dangerous for the secrets she carried.

And that was a bad thing.

Her parents were both hospitalized. Her mother would need surgery, recovery and rehab, and her father’s condition still felt fragile and uncertain. She couldn’t leave Peaceful, not now, not for the foreseeable future. Staying meant more run-ins with Zane, more moments like this, where his steady presence and quiet determination chipped away at the walls she’d spent years building.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The stubborn set of his jaw and the glint in his hazel eyes—more green than brown under the harsh hospital lights—told her he didn’t intend to leave her alone.

Straightening her spine, Asha forced a smile onto her lips, one she hoped passed as confident. She’d have to deal with him,deal with his relentless care, without letting herself make the mistake of falling for him all over again.

She couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not ever.

Chapter Seven

After Zane had driven her back to her parents’ house—despite her protests—Asha had declined his offer to stay with him, insisting she could manage on her own. She employed a contractor to repair the worst of the damage, although it took her several calls and all her courtroom convincing skill to get one fast. They hadn’t been cheap, but it was worth every penny. They replaced the shattered windows, repainting the smoke-stained walls, and installing new upper cabinets. Sections of the countertop had to be cut out and reworked, and though the finishes didn’t match perfectly, the kitchen was functional again. What remained now was the grime and soot the cleaning crew hadn’t quite gotten to, and the lingering sense that the fire had left more than just physical scars.

Asha sighed and pushed herself into motion. Standing there wouldn’t fix anything. She grabbed a roll of garbage bags from under the sink and yanked down the scorched curtains, the fabric crumbling as she stuffed it into the bag. She turned to the counters, where she attacked the streaks and grime with purposeful, methodical strokes, the repetitive motion grounding her as she scrubbed.

The floors came next, each sweep of the mop feeling like a small victory, even as sweat gathered at her temples and her arms ached. While she worked, her thoughts ticked over the list of what might still be salvageable—the sink only needed a deep clean—but the stove was a total loss.

By the time she paused to catch her breath, she already had her phone in hand, scrolling through appliance options. A sleek, modern stove with a stainless-steel finish caught her eye, and without hesitation, she hit the order button. Progress, however small, felt like a lifeline.

Asha leaned back against the counter, exhaustion pressing down on her like a physical weight. She drew a slow breath, letting her gaze drift to the streaked glass of the window above the sink. Her hands rested on the edge of the counter, fingers curling against the cool surface as she tried to center herself.

She hadn’t slept much the night before—not with her parents in the hospital and the oppressive weight of Zane’s presence pressing into every corner of her mind. He’d always had a way of getting under her skin, but now, after everything, it was different. More complicated.

The sharp knock on the door startled her. She reacted with a faint jump, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she moved to answer. Crossing the living room, she peeked out and felt her stomach flip at the sight of Zane standing on the porch, toolbox in hand.

“What are you doing here?” She pulled the door open a fraction, more abrupt than she’d intended.

He narrowed his gaze and glanced past her shoulder toward the faint scorch marks near the kitchen doorway. “Fire tends to leave a mess. Thought I’d take a look if you need help.”

She tightened her grip on the door, unsure whether to feel annoyed or grateful. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said evenly, calm but unyielding. “Let me in, Asha.”

Her instinct was to refuse, to tell him she had it under control, but the way he raised one eyebrow at her—the quiet resolve that had always managed to both comfort and irritate her—made it impossible to argue. With a sigh, she stepped aside to let him in.

Zane moved past her, his broad shoulders brushing the edge of the doorframe, and set his toolbox on the counter. He surveyed the kitchen with a critical eye, his brow furrowing as he muttered under his breath. Running a hand over the scorched paneling near the stove, he appeared to assess the extent of the damage with practiced ease.

“You’ve been scrubbing at this, haven’t you?” he asked without looking at her.

Asha crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway. “I’m trying to get rid of the smoke smell.”

He turned, sliding his gaze over her. “You’re doing too much.”

Her jaw tightened, and she mirrored his scrutinizing stare. “I’m fine.”

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