Page 58 of Faking All the Way
“She’s so talented. Always has been, even as a little girl.” Beverly comes to stand beside me, pointing to different pieces along the wall. “This one’s from when she was eight years old. You can already see her developing skill. And this is an illustration from her first published book. This one here was when she was practicing creating vignettes. She was almost going to throw it away, can you believe that? I told her I’d take it if she didn’t want it!”
I move closer to examine them properly, taking in all the little details. They’re not just good in an “oh, that’s nice” way. They’re genuinely impressive work. The kind of illustrations you see in books that win awards. Detailed and expressive, with a style that’s distinctly hers but also versatile. Each piece tells a story, drawing me in until I’m leaning closer.
“This one is my favorite, I think,” I say, pointing to the picture of the fox in the woods. It’s realistic with just a hint of something otherworldly, as if the fox could turn to the viewer and start talking at any moment.
“I love that one too. It’s magical, isn’t it?” Beverly comes to stand beside me, tilting her head to take in the drawing. Then she suddenly brightens, reaching out to pluck the frame off the hook on the wall. “Here. You should have it.”
“Oh, no. I can’t take your art,” I protest, even though part of me really wants to. “That’s yours. She gave it to you.”
“Nonsense. I have plenty of Kat’s work. She gives me something new every few months, and I have a whole portfolio of pieces in storage.” She presses the frame into my hands. “And I can see that you really appreciate it. That matters more than having it on my wall.”
I take it, feeling awkward but also truly pleased. The drawing is beautiful, the kind of thing I’d never think to own but now want to look at every day.
And it will give me something to remember her by when this is over.
That thought makes something twist in my chest, an ache I wasn’t expecting and am not quite sure what to do with.
I swallow hard, clearing my throat. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”
“I know you will, dear.”
“Almost ready to go?” Kat appears in the doorway with an armful of bed sheets, and I’m grateful for the interruption. For something to focus on besides the weird tightness in my chest.
“Yeah,” I say, tucking the framed picture under my arm. “Let me get those.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kat
When Asher strides over to take the linens from me, I notice that he has to set down the picture frame he’s got tucked under his arm, and my heart stutters a little as I realize it’s one of my art pieces that my grandmother has collected over the years.
Did she give that to him?
I don’t say anything about it, even though I’m dying to know what prompted that. Instead, I thank Asher and give him directions to her laundry room in the basement where he can deposit the linens.
My grandmother bustles around the kitchen, humming to herself as she puts away the last of the breakfast dishes.
“Are you two heading out?” she asks after Asher comes back upstairs, emerging from the kitchen to give me another hug.
“Yeah, we should get going.” I squeeze her back. “Thank you so much for everything. For letting us stay, for breakfast, for all of it.”
“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here, sweetheart. Both of you.” She turns to Asher and hugs him too, which seems to surprise him a little. “You take care of my girl, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and there’s a note in his voice that makes my stomach flutter.
Outside, the cold hits us immediately. Asher gets me into the car first, starting it up and cranking the heat before going around to scrape the snow off the windows. There was a decent amount of accumulation overnight, a thick layer covering the windshield and back window. The roads look passable now though, just slushy where other cars have already driven through.
I watch him work through the cleared windshield, his movements efficient as he brushes the snow off with long strokes. Once the car is cleaned off and he’s back inside, knocking the snow off his boots, we pull away from the curb.
I fidget a little in my seat, not quite sure what to say to him. Last night was unexpectedly intimate in a way I’m still trying to process. Lying there in the dark making those sounds, the way he looked at me, and everything we talked about afterward. Then this morning at breakfast, what he said to Daniel. I still can’t quite believe he actually told my ex I used to fake it with him. Part of me wants to bring it up, to thank him maybe, but I don’t know how to do it without making things weird between us.
Beside me, Asher mutters a curse under his breath, drawing me out of my thoughts.
I look over at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I should go check on my dad.” He glances at me briefly before focusing back on the snowy road. “After the storm last night. Make sure he’s okay, that he doesn’t need anything.”
There’s worry in his voice, a genuine concern that I can hear clearly. Something squeezes in my chest at the sound of it. Despite everything his dad did, despite all the years of hurt and anger between them, Asher still cares. Even if he doesn’t want toadmit it, even if he tries not to. He’s a good man under all those walls he’s built.
