Page 26 of Her Ohio Old Flame

The front door creaked open, and Mr. Williams stepped onto the porch, a hand braced on the railing. Zane cut the engine, the abrupt silence making the sounds of the yard seem louder. He straightened, wiping the back of his hand across his brow.

Mr. Williams eased down the steps, favoring his left leg as he moved. “Don’t know if I should thank you or scold you for doing my work.”

Zane grinned, resting his hands on the mower’s handle. “Somebody’s gotta keep this place looking good. Might as well be me.”

Mr. Williams chuckled, nodding toward the yard. “You’ve got a good eye for straight lines, I’ll give you that.”

Zane’s grin widened, a flicker of pride stirring in his chest. He gestured toward the porch, where the steps sagged slightly on one side. “That step over there looks like it could use some attention, though.”

Mr. Williams sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That old thing’s been on my list for months now. Always something needing fixing around here.”

“You point it out, I’ll take care of it,” Zane offered without hesitation. “No sense waiting when I’ve got the time.”

Mr. Williams’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer than expected, his expression softening. “You remind me of someone,you know. The kind of man who just steps in and takes care of things without being asked.”

Zane tilted his head, curiosity sparking. “Good or bad thing?”

“Good,” Mr. Williams said, a smile tugging at his lips. He lowered himself onto one of the lawn chairs beneath the shade of the old oak tree, his movements slow but deliberate. “Mind you, son, there’s something I should tell you.”

Zane crossed his arms, leaning against the mower. “What’s that?”

The older man hesitated, drifting his gaze toward the house. He lowered his voice. “My heart’s not what it used to be. Doc’s been after me to take it easy, and I’m trying, but you know how it is—there’s always work to be done.”

Zane frowned, a ripple of concern threading through him. “You should’ve told me sooner. I wouldn’t have let you lift a finger.”

Mr. Williams waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t need a nursemaid. But… Asha doesn’t know. She’s got enough to worry about without fretting over her old man.”

Zane nodded, though a pang of unease settled in his chest. “I hear you. But if you need anything—anything at all—you call me. No excuses.”

The older man smiled faintly, his eyes warm. “I appreciate that, Zane. I really do.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the breeze rustling the leaves overhead. Mr. Williams broke it first, quieter now. “You know, she used to be such a bright spark. Always had a plan, always knew where she was headed.”

Zane’s throat tightened, the image of Asha’s younger self flashing in his mind. “She still does,” he said, though the words felt more like a hope than a certainty.

“Maybe,” Mr. Williams murmured, his gaze distant. “But there was a time, after she left here, when she wasn’t herself. Idon’t know what happened, and she never said, but for a while, it was like… like she’d lost that spark.”

Zane’s stomach twisted. There was more to Asha’s story, more to the years she’d spent away from Peaceful, but hearing it from her father added a weight he hadn’t anticipated. “She’s strong,” he said after a moment. “Whatever it was, she came through it.”

“She is,” Mr. Williams agreed, “but even the strongest need someone to lean on now and then.”

Zane’s jaw tightened, a flicker of determination igniting in his chest. “She’s got me. Whether she knows it yet or not.”

Mr. Williams chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “I thought you might say that.”

From the kitchen, Asha heard the low murmur of voices drifting through the open window. The lawnmower was silent, but she couldn’t follow their conversation—only overhead snippets. Her father’s deep baritone was steady, a familiar anchor, while Zane’s confident voice carried like he was used to creating order amid chaos. The cadence was enough to make her chest tighten.

Zane’s voice seemed to deepen. “She’s got me. Whether she knows it yet or not.”

Asha froze, the words landing like a physical blow. She gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles whitening. Her father’s chuckle followed, soft and knowing, and it felt like the two of them were conspiring against her. She hated that thought—hated how it made her stomach twist.

Zane and her dad, talking about her like she was some project to figure out. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t have enough time to figure herself out, and now Zane was swooping in with hiseasy charm and those damn hazel eyes that saw too much. She straightened, her breathing shallow.

The screen door creaked as she stepped outside, her heart pounding louder than her sandals against the porch. Zane looked up first, his gaze locking onto hers like a magnet, his expression unreadable. Her father followed, his face softening in that way it always did when he tried to placate her.

“Hey, honey,” her dad said, shifting in his chair. “We were just talking?—”

“About me?” Asha’s tone was sharper than she intended. She folded her arms across her chest, cutting her gaze to Zane. “Seems like you’ve got a lot of opinions about my life.”

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