Page 43 of Bleeding Hearts

“Are you gonna open it?” Asher asks from where he sits next to me on my couch.

I hold the envelope in front of me. The Portland Culinary Conference is listed as the return address in the corner, so I know it’s from them.

We’ve been sitting here for almost fifteen minutes now, but I can’t bring myself to open it.

“What if I don’t get in?” I look at him, feeling suddenly vulnerable in a way that I absolutely hate.

“You’re gonna get in,” he replies as if the answer is obvious.

“You don’t know th—”

“Yeah, I do,” he cuts me off. “You’re not only the best chef I know but also the best person I know. If anyone deserves a chance to learn, it’s you, and they would be fucking stupid not to see that,” he says, his voice full of confidence that I don’t feel for myself.

I don’t think anyone’s ever really believed in me the way Asher does. Maybe Logan, but it’s not the same.

I didn’t grow up with people that supported me. I never knew what it was like to have someone that thought I could achieve anything and everything in the world.

But that’s how Asher acts. Like he really believes I could touch the sky if I only tried.

“Okay.” I sigh, carefully tearing the envelope open, being sure not to rip any of the contents inside.

I slowly take out the contents. It’s three pages in total. I unfold it to read the first one and the first thing I see is congratulations.

“I got in,” I squeal, throwing the papers onto the coffee table in front of me and jumping up off the couch.

I dance around the room with excitement, not a care in the world for anything else. I laugh, feeling fucking giddy as I turn to Asher, who still sits in the same spot with a wide smile on his face.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, snookums.”

“I’m so happy that I’ll even let the nickname slide.” I laugh. “Asher, thank you for this. I needed this.”

“They’re just lucky to have you,” he says, and right now, I just feel lucky to have him.

“Shit, I should probably read the rest of that.” I walk back over to the couch, grabbing the papers before sitting back down.

I read through the first two, which basically just congratulate me, talking about what the convention consists of and what they stand for, and the details of the hotel and location. Then I get to the third one, which seems to be a tentative schedule of the event and I freeze.

“Fuck.” I look up to Asher. “The event is next week. I’d have to leave the day after the wedding. I’m not prepared for this.” I stand up to start pacing.

“It’s a three-hour drive to Portland, but I hate driving far distances alone, so maybe I could take the train? I’ll have to pack the day of the wedding so I’m ready to leave in the morning, but I’m going to be cooking all day, so I don’t know when I’ll have time. Shit, I need a hotel too. And my hair, fuck. I’ll have to go get it fixed tomorrow. I can’t go looking like this.”

“Hey.” Asher grasps my shoulders, stopping me in my tracks. “You don’t need to stress about all of this alone. I’ll come with you.”

“I can’t just ask you to drop everything in your life to come with me, Asher.”

“Well, good. Because you’re not asking, I’m offering.” He smiles down at me reassuringly. “You can repay me in sweets,” he adds.

“I promise to supply you with cake pops for life.” I laugh at him.

“Hey, I’ll hold you to that.”

“Seriously though, Ash, are you sure?” I ask.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. Let me be there for you, Demi.”

My name coming from his lips sends tingles down my spine. I don’t know why it has that effect on me, maybe because I so rarely hear it.

I never thought someone saying your name could be so attractive, but with Asher, it is. Then again, I think he could make anything sound good.

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