Page 67 of Faking All the Way
“I was thinking—” I start.
“I need to—” he says at exactly the same time.
We both stop, laughing awkwardly. The sound breaks some of the tension, and I shake my head wryly, gesturing to him.
“You go,” I tell him, taking a sip of my coffee.
“I need to go to my dad’s place again today. Gotta pick up his prescriptions from the pharmacy, help him with some stuff around the house.” He runs his free hand through his hair, messing it up more. “I’ll probably be gone most of the afternoon.”
Disappointment zips through me, sharp and unexpected. I was hoping he’d be around today, but I hide it, keeping my expression neutral.
“That’s nice of you,” I say sincerely. “I know it means a lot to him that you’re here.”
I know that helping his dad was the whole reason he came to Maplewood in the first place. Edward needs the help, especially with his injury.
“What about you?” Asher asks, his gaze intent on my face. “Plans for the day?”
“Probably some sketching for a while. I’ve been working on quick character studies lately.” I shift the mug between my hands. “Doing really fast versions of a character in different poses and expressions, trying to get better at capturing movement and emotion quickly.”
He nods, an impressed look passing over his features. “That sounds really cool. Could I see some of them sometime?”
“Oh.” I blink, then shrug, my heart kicking. “Yeah, maybe.”
The thought of showing him my rough sketches makes me nervous, but in a good way.
“I might go check out the Christmas market downtown later too,” I add. “The one by the courthouse. I used to go every year as a kid with my family. It’s usually fun, and they have good food and handmade ornaments and stuff.”
He grins. “That sounds like fun. I remember seeing signs for it when I was driving through town.”
We both make breakfast after that, and some of the awkwardness fades as we move around the kitchen together. He makes eggs while I toast bread and slice up an avocado. The shared resources part of our fake dating plan has worked out amazingly well, thankfully. We’re pretty good at co-existing in the same space.
But I’m very aware that neither of us has mentioned what happened last night. It’s like this thing hanging over us, this big unacknowledged presence in the room that we’re both carefully stepping around.
After we eat, Asher gets up to go. He rinses his plate and puts it in the dishwasher, then heads for the back door.
“Tell your dad I said hi,” I say as I trail down the hallway after him.
“I will.” He opens the door, letting in a small blast of cold air, then glances over his shoulder at me, giving me a look I can’t quite read. There’s something intense in his gaze, searching. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah. Later.” I try to smile naturally.
For a second, I think he’s going to say something else. His mouth opens slightly as if he’s about to speak. But then he just nods and heads out into the cold morning.
I lean against the hallway wall, blowing out a long breath before shoving my hair back from my face, frustrated with myself.Dammit. I totally chickened out. I should have brought it up, should have asked him what last night meant. But I didn’t, and now he’s gone for the day and the moment has passed.
Maybe this is better though. Less complicated, certainly.
But even as I have that thought, it doesn’t really convince me.
I spend the morning sketching like I told Asher I would. I settle into my art station by the windows, putting on music to help me focus. The soothing work helps quiet my restless thoughts, my hand moving across the page in familiar patterns.
I do character studies like I described, setting my timer and forcing myself to capture full figures quickly. Different poses, different expressions. Running, sitting, reaching. The time constraint actually helps, making me focus on the essential lines instead of getting lost in details.
But Asher lingers at the edges of my mind no matter how hard I try to focus. The memory of last night keeps surfacing, pulling my attention away from my work.
By early afternoon, I’ve filled several pages with sketches, but the cabin feels too confining. The walls are closing in, and I can’t sit still anymore. I need to get out, need air and distraction and people. Something to get me out of my own head.
I change into jeans and a sweater, then pull on my coat and boots. I decide to walk to the market even though it’s pretty far, maybe thirty or forty minutes on foot. But I figure the fresh air will be good for me, clearing my head and giving me time to think.
