Page 47 of Faking All the Way
“I should’ve moved to Philadelphia to find a man,” Tracy jokes. “Small town pickings are slim these days.”
Asher’s arm slides around my waist, and I feel the warmth of his palm through my dress. “Well, if I hadn’t met Kat in Philly, I like to think I would’ve had to come to Maplewood to find her anyway.”
Amanda actually sighs. “That’s so sweet.”
“So what do you guys do for fun?” Lyla asks. “I mean, besides the obvious hockey stuff. Do you go to all the fancy Philadelphia restaurants? The theater district?”
Asher looks at me, then back at them. “We like going to art galleries, walking around our neighborhoods when the weather’s nice. Honestly, some of our best nights are just staying in, cooking something together, playing board games, putting on a movie we can talk through.”
My heart does this weird little skip. Those areexactlymy favorite things to do. The kind of quiet, low-key evenings I’ve always preferred over crowded bars or expensive restaurants. Did he just make that up on the spot to sound relatable, or would those actually be his ideal ways to spend time with someone he was dating?
“That sounds so nice.” Amanda presses a hand to her chest. “So cozy and sweet. David and I used to do stuff like that before the kids came along.”
“Board games are underrated,” Asher says. “And Kat here is ruthless at Scrabble. I’m still recovering from last week’s defeat.”
I blink at him. We’ve never played Scrabble, but the way he says it, with that rueful shake of his head, makes it sound so real that for a second I almost believe we have.
“What’s your favorite game?” Tracy asks me.
“Um…” I scramble for an answer. “Scrabble is fun. I like word games in general. And Asher’s gotten me into some strategy games that I’d never tried before.”
It’s not entirely a lie. Idolike word games. And I can picture him being good at strategy games, the same way he probably analyzes plays on the ice.
We chat for a few more minutes before my old classmates drift away to mingle with other people. As soon as they’re out of earshot, I turn to Asher.
“Scrabble? Really?”
He shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “You seem like someone who’d be good at Scrabble. And it made the story more believable.”
“What if they ask for details later?”
“Then we’ll have to actually play a game so you can beat me.” His eyes have this teasing glint that makes my stomach flutter. “I’m terrible at spelling anyway.” He glances down at my empty cup. “Do you want another drink? I could use one.”
“Sure.” I swallow and nod. “Thanks.”
He takes my cup from me, then heads over to the drinks table to get us more cider, and I watch him navigate through the crowd. Even in a room full of people who have no idea who he is professionally, he commands attention. There’s something about the way he carries himself that seems to draw people in, confident but not arrogant, approachable but with an edge that suggests you don’t want to cross him.
As Asher reaches the table that’s laid out with a variety of beverages, a woman walks up to stand beside him. Although I know pretty much everyone at this party, I can’t pull her name and I don’t really recognize her face, which probably means she moved to Maplewood sometime after I left. She’s pretty in a polished way, wearing a black cocktail dress that shows off her stocking-clad legs. She positions herself right next to him at thedrinks table, leaning in a little as she says something to him with a friendly smile.
A spike of something sharp shoots through my chest. Jealousy? That’s ridiculous. He’s not actually mine to be jealous over.
But before I can get lost in a mental battle with myself over what emotion I’m even feeling, Asher steps back slightly, creating space between them. His smile is polite but distant as he gives her a curt reply and then fills up our cups before heading back with our drinks.
“Here you go,” he says when he reaches me, handing me my cup carefully. Then he frowns, his brow furrowing. “What?”
I blink, realizing belatedly that I’m grinning like an idiot as the sharp feeling dissipates from my chest. “Um, nothing.” I hold up my cup in a little cheers. “Thanks for this.”
“Anytime.”
We go back to making the rounds, and honestly, I’m having more fun than I expected. With Asher beside me, I feel like I fit in here for the first time in my life. People are actually interested in what I have to say, asking real questions about my work instead of treating it like a cute hobby I’ll eventually outgrow.
Winifred Garrett, who taught my second-grade class, wants to know if I ever do school visits. “We’d be thrilled to have you come talk to the children about illustration. Show them how books are made.”
“I’d love that,” I tell her with a smile. “Let me know when you’re thinking, and we can set something up.”
The conversation flows easier than it ever has at these town gatherings. I often feel like I’m defending my life choices, explaining why I haven’t followed a more traditional path. Tonight, with Asher’s presence giving me some kind of social legitimacy, people seem genuinely interested in hearing about my work.
We chat with Josephine and Mike for a while, and when they step away to go check on Megan and Oscar, I glance across the room and spot Daniel near the fireplace with Maya. She’s chatting with another couple, but Daniel’s attention isn’t on the conversation. He’s got that pinched expression he gets when things aren’t going his way, and I realize he’s been watching us work the room.
