Page 43 of Faking All the Way
“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” He unlocks the doors and holds mine open for me, then slides into the driver’s seat. “I’m looking forward to meeting your grandmother, actually, after everything you’ve said about her.”
My heart does a little stutter in my chest as I buckle my seatbelt. “I’m sure you’ll like Grandma Beverly. Everyone does.”
“She sounded impressed that you were out ice skating,” he says, starting the car and backing out of the parking spot.
I grin wryly, leaning back into the leather seat. “She probably thinks it’s a miracle I didn’t break something. I’m not exactly known for my athletic prowess in my family.”
“You did really well for your first time. Well,basicallyyour first time.”
“Were you as wobbly as me when you first started?” I ask curiously. “Or were you one of those natural athlete types who just picked it up immediately?”
“Oh, no way. I wasmuchworse than you.” He chuckles, something nostalgic in his voice as he remembers. “The first time my dad took me to a rink, I couldn’t even stand up. He basically had to carry me around the entire time, his hands under my armpits. I’m not sure my skates were even touching the ice most of the time.”
“Really?” I find the mental image of tiny Asher falling all over the place kind of adorable. “How old were you?”
“Four, maybe five. I don’t really remember it that well, but he told me that story for years.” There’s something in his voice when he mentions his dad, but it’s not as heavy as it usually is. Almost wistful instead of bitter. “It took a long time before I could make it around the rink without falling at least once.”
“But you kept trying?”
“Yeah. Because despite all the falls and bruises, I loved it.” He glances over at me briefly before focusing back on the road. “I rememberthatpart for sure.”
There’s never really much traffic to speak of in Maplewood, so it doesn’t take us too long to get back to the cabin. We roll to a stop in the driveway, and Asher engages the parking brake. As we get out of the car, I find myself wanting to invite him inside. I had such a good time today, and the thought of going intothe cabin alone and spending the evening by myself feels oddly disappointing.
But I’m not sure how to ask without it seeming like I’m overstepping. We’ve already spent a big chunk of the day together, and he might be tired of my company or just want some space to decompress.
“Well,” I finally say. “I’d better head in. I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah. See you later, Kat.”
He heads toward the guest house while I walk to the main cabin, unlocking my door with fingers that are still slightly cold from the skating. I give him a little wave before I go inside, and he raises his hand in return before disappearing into the other building.
Once I’m in the cabin, I stand in the entryway for a moment, second-guessing myself. Should I have been braver? Should I have just asked him to come in? Would he have said yes if I had?
I shake my head and try to let it go, heading to the kitchen to make coffee. No point dwelling on what I should have done. He’s probably glad to have some time to himself anyway.
After grabbing a quick bite to eat, I settle in at my makeshift art station by the living room windows where my sketchpad and pencils are spread out and waiting for me. Drawing has always been my refuge, the place where everything makes perfect sense when the rest of the world feels chaotic and unpredictable.
I lose myself in working on a new character that’s been kicking around in my head for a while—a beagle with a bowtie and an intelligent expression on his canine face, his droopy ears giving him an adorably hang-dog look. I grin as I work, mulling over names for him. Hector, maybe. Or Hugo.
The familiar scratch of pencil on paper settles my mind, the creative flow taking over as I lose myself in my work. This is my happy place, my element.
Just like the ice is clearly Asher’s.
Chapter Sixteen
Asher
Coming to Maplewood wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
The thought hits me as I’m standing in the guest house bedroom, getting ready for Beverly’s party. The past few days since Kat and I went skating have been nicer and easier than I ever would’ve imagined when I decided to come to this small town to help out Edward. When I booked the flight, there was pretty muchnothingI was looking forward to about the trip. The awkwardness with Edward, the isolation of being stuck in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, the constant reminder that my career is in limbo.
But it hasn’t been like that at all.
Kat and I have seen each other every day, meeting up in the main cabin’s kitchen for coffee and breakfast before heading off to do whatever we’ve got planned. It’s become a routine that I didn’t expect to develop, didn’t plan for, but now I can’t imagine my mornings here without it. I like the way she shuffles into the kitchen still looking half-asleep, her hair messy and her eyes not quite open. How she makes a beeline for the coffee maker beforeshe can form complete sentences. The little hum of satisfaction after she takes her first sip.
I find myself looking forward to it every morning. Looking forward to seeing her, to hearing about whatever art project she’s working on or what she’s planning to do that day. I glance over toward the main cabin as soon as I wake up to see if her curtains are open yet, which tells me she’s awake. In the evening before bed, I check to see if her lights are still on, wondering if she’s sketching in that little notepad or reading or brushing her teeth.
There have been a couple more nights where we’ve texted until it’s late, lying in our separate beds messaging back and forth. We’ve talked about books we’ve read, places we want to travel, and weird childhood memories that seem funnier now than they did at the time. Last night, we texted until almost two in the morning, and at one point I almost said fuck it and just called her instead. I wanted to hear her voice, to be able to talk without the lag of waiting for the next message to come through, to hear her laugh in real-time instead of just imagining it.
