Asher

  “So is this the touch base later and see how we feel about seeing each other again portion of the day?” I ask.

  “It is.” God, I love his voice and how it wraps around me. “Did you have a good day?”

  “I did. I worked on sorting some of Pop’s stacks. I took Gran some fresh lavender for her room. Then I came back here and surveyed the lavender with George to see how close or far we are on harvesting the different species.”

  “And what was the consensus?” he asks.

  “One is getting close. A few others have at least four more weeks.” I look out the window at a car that drives by the farm. Traffic on our road is few and far between, but the car keeps driving past. “What about your day? Were you busy conquering the world?”

  “Not all of it.”

  “Just a hemisphere then?”

  “Something like that.” He chuckles. “Any regrets?”

  His question catches me off guard. We’ve seen each other a couple times since that first night, so the fact that it comes out of the blue has me sitting up a little straighter.

  “Should I be worried why you’re asking me that question?”

  “No. It’s nothing. Callahan was giving me shit the other day about something and it led me to think, which led me to wonder if . . . I don’t know. If you had any regrets about . . . this.”

  “No.” It’s a question I can answer without hesitation.

  “No?”

  “You?” I ask.

  “Definitely not.”

  “Whew, glad to know we’re on the same page,” I say dramatically, followed by an awkward silence where I want to ask when I can see him again but fear coming off . . . needy? Too clingy?

  “I had every intention of asking you if you’d let me take you to dinner tonight, but I completely forgot that Hillary—my project manager—set up a working dinner with Espies.”

  “The owner of the Cedar Mountain Resort?” I ask, referring to the swankiest ski resort between here and Billings.

  “That’s the one. We’re trying to create exclusive packages for the guests. Luxury deals they can’t get anywhere else.”

  “Luxury,” I murmur absently.

  “Yes. Luxury. Decadence. A destination to lose yourself in. That’s our brand. That’s what S.I.N. is known for.”

  “It’s attractive marketing. Have you met Espies yet?”

  “No. What is it that I should know?” Ledger asks cautiously.

  “He’s a decent guy.” I almost say indulged trust-fund kid, but figure that’s an insult to Ledger as well, so I refrain. “Just steer clear of talk about hunting. Or trapping. Or anything to do with dead animals. It will unleash a conversation domination topic where he’ll show you a picture of every animal he has killed in the past twenty years, along with a very detailed story to go with each one. From spotting to shooting to skinning.”

  “Um . . .”

  “It’s okay, city boy. You don’t have to respond. The topic of hunting is commonplace here, but Espies takes it to a whole other level.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll definitely keep clear of that.”

  “And if you’re trying to win his favor, take a bottle of Don Julio. That will make him happy.”

  “Noted.” His soft sigh fills the line. “I’m sorry about . . . tonight.”

  “Don’t be.” I look around the office. “I have plenty of work to keep me busy.”

  We say our goodbyes, and I’m left staring at a blank computer screen with nothing but my own thoughts.

  It’s for the best. His meeting. Us being apart for the night. Some distance so that things are left with a little perspective.

  I laugh. Who am I kidding? I miss him.

  As ridiculous as that sounds, I do.

  “No time like the present to tackle more of Pop’s stacks,” I mutter to myself.

  But there is a thought that keeps coming back to me. A thought I haven’t been able to kick since meeting Sarah in Bear Valley the other day.

  I fell back on what I knew best, to save the day . . .

  I twist my lips and stare into the night beyond the windows. Those words repeating in my head. I study the lavenders’ silhouettes. The dark shadow of Pop’s unfinished barn. The craggy oak tree towering over the south quadrant.

  Ideas start to form. Begin to tumble. Take shape.

  Luxury.

  Decadence.

  A destination to lose yourself in.

  That’s when I see a light in the darkness. A way to make this work. A way to fall back on what I know best to save the day.

  Screw Pop’s stacks.

  I open my laptop and begin to plan.

  My dreams are wild. Lights strung from tree to tree. Lavender tied and drying in rows from the barn ceiling. Tables end to end between the lavender rows, adorned with flameless candles and woven fresh flowers. Laughter—so much laughter—floating on the night air.

  And love.

  Definitely an abundance of love.

  I awake with a start. My heart is pounding, but the smile my dream caused is still on my lips.

  My cell rings again.

  I scramble through the darkness, fearful something has happened to Gran, only to see Ledger’s name on the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “You’re sleeping. I’m sorry,” Ledger says. “I forgot you’re a farmer.”

  “Whatever,” I say and roll my eyes as I sink back into my bed, pulling my comforter around me that still smells of his cologne. “It’s okay. Hi. How was your meeting?”

  “It went well. Hunting was in fact brought up, but with Hillary’s help, I was able to steer the conversation as far away from it as possible.”

  “Thank God for Hillary.”

  “You can say that again. She’s a lifesaver.” He sounds tired, and the rasp to his voice tugs on parts of me. The lonely parts of me that love having him around.

  “Definitely,” I agree with a laugh.

  “So what did you do tonight? Flirt with random guys to make me jealous? Streak down Main Street to start more gossip? Think of me?”

  My smile widens—it seems to be a permanent fixture when I talk to him. “All of the above.”

  “That’s what I’d expect.” He chuckles. “So glad you haven’t changed.”

  “Never.”

  But I have. So much has changed over the years.

  Pieces of life that don’t matter. Events that changed me. A loneliness I could never put words to.

  Silence settles between us.

  “Talk to me, Ash,” he murmurs. “Tell me why you gave up your dream to move to the big city. Tell me about the boys who broke your heart. Tell me . . . everything.”

  “That’s a tall order.”

  “Perhaps. But I want to know.”

  So I tell him about college, Gran’s stroke, helping take care of her, and how the money ran out for me to return.

  “That was a big ask. To give up your dreams to care for her,” he says without judgment.

  “It was, but when you’ve lived your whole life and only two people have ever loved you, you don’t hesitate to sacrifice for them since they’ve sacrificed so much for you.”

  There is a brief silence, then he clears his throat. “Three people. I loved you too, Asher.”

  His admission has tears springing to my eyes. Maybe I’m just feeling vulnerable talking about all of this when it’s so much easier to shut down. When your own damn mother doesn’t want you, it’s hard to open yourself up to more hurt.

  “Don’t get quiet on me now. Don’t run away.”

  “I’m here.” I loved you too. Past tense. I’m not sure why that hits me so hard, but it does. “What else was on your list of questions? Oh. Yes. My love life.” His sigh is heavy in response. “You asked,” I warn.

  “I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have.” He chuckles.

  “Don’t worry. There hasn’t been a lot or anyone meaningful, if that’s what you’re asking. A couple of seasonal visitors, a few local guys—but none of them lasted longer than a couple of months.”

  “Is it bad if I say that makes me happy?”

  “Are you saying you thought I slept around?” I tease.

  “No. That’s not—I didn’t—”

  “Relax, Ledger. I was just teasing you.”

  “Talk about sticking my foot in my mouth. Jesus.” He snorts. “Why only a couple of months though? Is it because you’re picky or because you like the chase but not the after?”

  It’s because none of them made me feel how you did.

  “Maybe a little bit of both,” I lie. “First, it’s not exactly easy to date someone when you remember that he picked his boogers and wiped them on your desk in third grade.”

  “Jesus,” he coughs out.

  “Small-town life at its finest. And truth be told, I’m not exactly the easiest person to take home to Mom and Dad. I have no parents, and up until recently, I lived with my grandparents, and a lot of men can’t handle the fact that I have a mind of my own and freely speak it. They think it’s cute at first and then, after a month or two, try to tell me how things should be.”

  “I think that’s one of your best qualities.”

  I blush under his praise. “Enough about me.”

  “No. You haven’t told me nearly enough.”

  “You just don’t want to answer the same questions.”

  “You’re happy though, right, Ash? I mean you could always go back to school if you wanted. You could get out of Cedar Falls somehow. Dreams don’t have time limits.”

  “Do I always wonder, what if? Of course, I do. Anyone else would do the same. It’s like half of me would love to pursue what I once wanted, while the other half is completely content being right here where I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.”

  “I think you’re a lot of people, Asher Wells,” he says softly. “I’m pretty sure I like all of them.”

  I smile and snuggle deeper into my bed, allowing his words to wrap themselves around me. “Your turn.”

  He groans. “I guess I opened that door, huh?”

  “You did.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “How did you lose your father?”

  He blows out a breath. “Hitting with the hard stuff first, huh?”

  “It’s easier to get it out of the way. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “No. It’s fine.” He pauses. “In a sense, I lost him the same way you lost your pop—in his sleep. But the root cause was Alzheimer’s.”

  “I know for a fact that saying I’m sorry doesn’t ease any of the pain, but I am sorry you lost him, Ledger.”

  “True, but thank you. Especially after everything he did to you . . . I don’t expect you to be sorry.”

  “My feelings for him are irrelevant. I can still have compassion for you, your loss, and understand your grief.” I soften my tone. “Was it a long ordeal?”

  “No. Fortunately, I guess. If there is such a thing.” He exhales a weighted breath. “But his demise was jarringly quick. It started with him forgetting a few things at first. Then blanking on major life events. Then . . . everything.”

  “That had to be rough.”

  “It was. My brothers and I struggled with it. Still do.”

  “And how are you managing . . . with everything . . . with the lie he told you?” I don’t know how to phrase it.

  “Honestly? I wish I could block it out, pretend it never happened so I could keep that idyllic image I’ve always had of him in my mind, but it did. We’re proof of it.” He starts to say something and stops. I give him a minute to gather his thoughts because I can’t imagine how I’d feel if it were Pop who was the one who had done this. If his lies were the ones who tore us apart.

  “We would have broken up at some point anyway. Those are the years where you find out who you really are. Besides, you were heading to college that next month with a whole new array of cute co-eds to make your way through.”

  “You think so?” he asks.

  “We were from two completely different worlds, Ledger. Your dad was right in that respect. It’s a long shot to think we would have lasted.”

  “Hmm.” It’s all he says but I’m wondering if he’s thinking the same thing I am. Would it be able to work now?

  “And what of the women who’ve broken your heart? Or rather the women whose hearts you have broken?” I chuckle. “I’m surprised you don’t have a penthouse in the city, a gorgeous and cultured wife with two-point-five kids to fill it up with laughter and love.”

  His sleepy chuckle vibrates through the line. “I have the penthouse, but no wife. No kids. Not yet. Not till I’m at least thirty-eight-ish.”

  “You say that like you have marriage on a schedule,” I joke.

  “Not a schedule per se, but a ten-year plan, yes.”

  “So, you think you can schedule when you plan on falling in love?” You didn’t schedule ours when we were teenagers. “Like it’s some task to conquer after a board meeting?” My tone is a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

  Not because I’m hoping to be that person he falls in love with (well, maybe), but because it sounds so clinical coming from a man that is more than passionate in other ways.

  “Look, it’s not like that. You make it sound so cold and calculating. I’m a planner. That’s what I do. I set goals and have to meet them before I can move on to the next ones. That’s all, and I have a lot of goals to check off before I want to settle down.”

  “You can’t plan for love, Ledger. It’s either there, or it isn’t. And sometimes it isn’t there and then it grows into love.” My comment is a stark reminder that there is so much about him I don’t know. The boy I once knew is still there, but like me, has been changed by his life experiences.

  “I don’t do well with unknowns and things I can’t control,” he says, and I can tell he’s frustrated that I’m not understanding him. “I was always somewhat like that, but after the events of that night—the threat I thought was real—I changed. For a while, I lived in a constant state of unknown where so many things were out of my control, and the only way to take that control back was by planning.”

  I try to put myself in his shoes, to understand the fear of the accusation and the constant threat of being prosecuted looming over a teenager’s head. Just like his father’s words scarred me, I know they scarred Ledger even deeper.

  So I’ll give him this. I might not understand it. I don’t have to agree with it. But I have to respect it because I wasn’t there during those years. I wasn’t witness to the aftermath of his father’s cruel deception.

  “So, no, love hasn’t been on my radar, Asher. I date. I see women for a bit like you do men. But I don’t tie myself down to someone with a label, if that’s what you want to know.”

  “Never? You’ve never let someone get close to you?” I ask, finding it impossible to believe that a man like Ledger hasn’t been in love time and again.

  “My heart was broken one time,” he says, and a small, selfish part of me hopes that he’s talking about me, while the other part is jealous of whoever it was if it isn’t. “I don’t even think she knew how bad she broke it, but truth be told, it was pretty well shattered. Maybe that influenced my dating decisions after? I don’t know. But I’d really love if we could move right along and off this topic.”

  I laugh. “You started this line of conversation. Not me.”

  “Hey, Ash?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember we used to do this all the time? Talk for endless hours on the phone about anything and everything? Talk until one of us fell asleep? Talk just so we knew the other one was there?”

  His words are like a warm blanket cocooning me. “We did, didn’t we?”

  “Mm-hmm. And you always fell asleep first.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yes, you did.” He laughs.

  “Tell me more about your meeting,” I say.

  And so we talk like the years have evaporated.

  There is an ease to our conversation.

  A comfort that is hard to find.

  And yes, I fell asleep first.

  Asher

  Sixteen Years Ago

  “Ledger?” His shoes crush the dead leaves on the ground as he makes his way into the clearing. I’m on my feet the second I see the angry red mark on his cheek. “Oh my God. What happened?”

  He shrugs his arm out of my grasp and walks to the creek’s edge. Hands on his hips, shoulders moving up and down with his anger-fueled breaths.

  I wince at his rebuff, uncertain what to do or what to say. Clearly, he’s pissed off. Obviously, he got in some kind of fight—or at least was punched.

  I’m not exactly good at dealing with bruised egos.

  “Did you get in a fight with one of your brothers?” I finally ask.

  “No.” He bites the word out, and I retreat a step.

  “Are you okay?”

  Another sharp, “No.”

  I shift on my feet. I twist my lips. I figure it’s best to just leave him alone. Obviously, something happened and, as much as I want to know what, I don’t deserve to be snapped at for asking.

  What wisdom would Gran give me right now? Give him space? Leave him alone? Feelings take time to verbalize?

  I decide to wait him out, so I take a seat at the base of the old willow tree and lean against the trunk.

  It’s our spot.

  He can’t be mad at me when I’m sitting in our spot, right?

  “Is this what you deal with here? In your own town?” he asks and then turns to face me, his eyes alive with anger.

  “What did you do?” I ask, dread filling my stomach.

  “I broke some fucking guy’s nose is what I did.”

  “You what? Ledger.” I struggle to find words. “What do you mean you broke someone’s nose? Who was it?”

  “Some prick talking absolute shit about you.”

  “What did he say?” I whisper and take a deep breath as I brace for an answer that I guarantee I’ve heard different variations of during the sixteen years I’ve been on this earth.

  His stare is unrelenting, and his clenched jaw only serves to highlight the red on his cheek.