A man who, for a small moment in time, I thought I had a future with. The man who publicly claimed me tonight, suggesting he was glad I chose him. And to think I believed it was all true.

  I’m going to let him go.

  I’ll enjoy the time we have left. I’ll love him within the confines of my heart alone.

  This time, I’ll end it on my terms.

  Because for once in my life, I won’t be taken by surprise when someone I love leaves me.

  This time, I’ll choose to be on my own again.

  Ledger

  “Tell me something, son.”

  I look over to my dad who’s sitting on the bow of the sailboat. The sun is bright in Sag Harbor today, but the ocean breeze has tempered the heat. He looks old. That’s my first thought. My second is how long will I have him with me this time?

  His episodes are more often than not these days. Bouts of forgetfulness followed by confusion over where he is typically rules our time together.

  But the water has always made him happy, and so my brothers and I have been trying to make a conscious effort to have him on it as much as work permits.

  “What is it, Dad?”

  “Have you ever done something you thought was for good reasons, that you meant well by it, but that never really sat well with you as time wore on?”

  I stare at my dad, his silver hair blowing in the breeze and his unrelenting eyes staring at me. “Are you talking about work? Sure, we’ve all done something we did and then second-guessed it. That’s how it goes sometimes . . .”

  “No, I’m talking about something I did to make sure you . . . I was scared you were going to make poor choices.”

  “Dad, I’m confused. What are you talking about?”

  “It’s okay, Callahan.” He smiles, and I let his confusion over him thinking I’m my brother stand. As we’ve learned in the past, correcting him only serves to agitate him.

  “What poor choices are you talking about?” I ask, knowing damn well Callahan sure as hell made many.

  “I should have trusted you, son. I should have known you had the best head on your shoulders of the three of you and that you would’ve made the right decisions.”

  “Okay.” I’m lost but just smile and nod because that’s the only thing I can do when he starts talking in the confused circles his damaged mind spins.

  “I’m sorry for interfering. I’m sorry for thinking I knew better than you did. I’m sorry for lying in order to make sure you didn’t make a mistake.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. Whatever you did, I’m sure it was with good intentions.” What in the hell is he talking about?

  “Thank you. I’m so sorry, Ledge. I just needed to say that to you.”

  I jolt awake with a pocket of turbulence, my heart racing, and my brain in overdrive. I’d completely forgotten that conversation with my dad in the months leading up to his passing. I’d chalked it up to confusion and the disease stealing his memory and him thinking I was Callahan.

  But he wasn’t.

  He was talking about me. About the lie he told. About what happened in Cedar Falls.

  I know this deep down in my soul. He was apologizing. Making amends. Righting wrongs before he passed.

  How does that make me feel? Relieved that he had a conscience? Upset that he had to have one over what he did in the first place? Content that his guilt ate at him over the years?

  I just don’t fucking know.

  Is it enough to forgive him? No. But maybe it’s enough for me to try and put it in the past and not let it eat a hole in my gut every time Asher smiles at me.

  And then there’s the woman lying against me. The one I brought with me tonight.

  How her face lit up when she realized we were in Manhattan.

  How I breathed easier knowing she still loves the city.

  Because it will make it easier when . . . when I what? When I ask her to move there with me?

  Is that what this was tonight?

  A test? A trial run?

  For her or for me?

  I look over to find her inches from my face. Those dark eyelashes against her pale skin. Those lips that all but break me when they turn up in a smile.

  I lean down to kiss her. She responds. Even in her sleep, she responds to me. But I know the minute awareness hits her. Where we are. That my hand is running up her thigh. That I’m kissing her.

  It’s in her sigh.

  In the way her hand reaches out and runs down my cheek.

  In the soft utterance of my name.

  “I need you, Asher. God, I need you.”

  And without another word, and with our lips still teasing one another’s, Asher shifts, pulling her dress up over her hips so that she’s straddling me. Her body fitting on top of mine, my cock pushing into her, as if we were meant to be.

  We kiss like that’s all there is left in the world. Her taste the only one I’ve ever craved. Her lips the only ones I want to feel.

  We make love in gentle movements charged with emotion as she grinds her hips over mine in the engine-hummed cabin of the airplane.

  We become one without words. Whatever needs to be said is done through soft sighs and measured actions.

  A kiss to her collarbone. A shudder of pleasure. A grind of my hips. Her forehead against mine as she bites back her moan.

  In the sky, on this plane, time doesn’t matter. It’s just her. It’s just me. It’s just us.

  It’s when we land that the clock will start ticking again. It’s when we hit the runway that this dream will begin to dissipate.

  I know this.

  I despise this.

  So I focus on her and fall under her spell. The scent of her skin. The demand in her touch. How her breath catches every time I bottom out inside of her. The way she grips her muscles around me as if she never wants us to be apart.

  A sentiment—a desperation—I feel too. One that also scares the shit out of me.

  And when she starts to climax, I thread my fingers through her hair so she’s forced to lean back and look at me as she does.

  So I can watch what I do to her. So I can see the emotion in the depths of her eyes I think we both feel but haven’t spoken. So I can remember her forever, just like this.

  As mine.

  There is no greater pleasure for me than her.

  None.

  Asher

  “No news is good news, right?” the loan specialist at Cedar Falls First and Trust says to me.

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I say drolly.

  “I know, but just give it some time. You already have a large debt—”

  “But those loans—those mortgages—are under my gran and pop’s name. This one would be under my name, on my credit—”

  “—with their farm as collateral. So, they go hand in hand.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “I know. Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m just antsy and want to get started.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” she says.

  “Okay,” I say, sounding less than convinced. “I look forward to hearing back from you.”

  When the call ends, I place my head in my hands. I feel like I’m waiting on everything these days: the loan approval. Hillary’s answer. Each day to tick by so that we get closer and closer to the end of the month.

  But the brochures I had made look incredible and have even got the stamp of approval from a smiling-through-her-happy-tears Gran. The new signage has been ordered and will be ready to put in place by next week.

  I don’t know why I feel it is so critical for me to do this, for me to succeed at this, right now in my life, but it is.

  I’ve managed to sort Pop’s stacks, make sense of them, and organize them by how they make sense to me. I have a clearer picture of The Fields’s debt and have spreadsheets and a budget in place so I can start paying them down. I’ve made the house more my home than Gran and Pop’s.

  Now all that’s left is to officially make the next chapter of The Fields my own. Past and present combined.

  And maybe it’s more than just proving to Pop I can do it, proving to myself that I’m capable. Maybe I’m trying to be in control. Maybe I know I’ll need something to throw myself into when I’m faced with a heartache like I’ve never known before.

  . . . it’s nothing major . . . it’s just a fling that will be over in three or four weeks . . .

  Did I really think he was going to stay? Of course not. But maybe I figured that we’d make it work somehow. That we’d find a middle ground.

  But did I even think that would work? If I was about to throw myself wholeheartedly into a relationship with someone who clearly couldn’t divorce himself from New York City because of his business, would I have jumped headfirst into turning The Fields into a destination location like I am?

  Maybe I knew all along.

  Because realistically, this was never going to work before it even started, no matter how much I told myself differently.

  Ledger

  “Did you ever think you’d go back to college?” I run a finger up and down the length of Asher’s spine. She’s lying face down on my bed, her cheek on the pillow, and turned toward me. The early morning sun coming in through the blinds makes a halo around her hair. Her eyes are sleepy, her cheeks are flushed, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her more beautiful. At peace.

  She shrugs. “For a long time, I did. Of course, I’d love to, but I simply don’t think it’s in the cards for me. I mean, what would I go back for? It’s not like I still sketch, so I don’t have a portfolio to get admitted with and . . . there’s The Fields.”

  “Business? Marketing? I don’t know. There are a lot of degrees that would be beneficial in running The Fields.”

  “But in the end, does it really matter if I have a degree to run it? I mean, unless I apply for a job in the future that is. If that’s the case, then that means I’ve run The Fields into the ground.”

  “I know. But it was always something you wanted so badly. Maybe just simply doing it for yourself is more than enough of a reason to go back.”

  “Pipe dreams are for kids without responsibilities, Ledger. That’s not me anymore.”

  We stare at each other for a beat before she suddenly shifts in bed so that she’s seated and the sheet is pulled around her chest.

  There she goes again. Changing the subject off of her. I can’t help but feel like she’s trying to distance herself from me. I’ve felt like this for the past week or so. She’s suddenly busy when before she made time.

  But it’s more than that.

  And I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.

  “What about you?” she asks, breaking through my thoughts. “What’s on that ten-year plan of yours?”

  Shit. I’d forgotten I’d mentioned that to her a while back. I shrug. “It’s just goals, timelines, things I want to accomplish.”

  She nods. “Like . . .”

  “Like moving into the Asian market, which we’re currently in contract on a new project. Like getting a write-up in Forbes.” I twist my lips and then chuckle. “It’s stupid really, but it’s a goal . . .” my dad mentioned it, and I have always felt like I needed to live up to it. “It’s just one I’ve had since I was in grad school. To be noticed for my work and not just for being Maxton Sharpe’s son.”

  “I can understand that. What else is on there?” she asks, her fingers plucking at the sheet, her lips twisting.

  Why won’t you look at me?

  “I don’t know. I haven’t looked at it in a long time to remember,” I lie and don’t know why.

  Because you don’t want to talk about the personal side of it. The married at forty part.

  And why is that, Ledger?

  “Huh.”

  “Asher?”

  “What?” Her fingers don’t stop with the sheets.

  “Look at me.”

  “Hmm?” Her eyebrows are lifted and her smile is in place when she faces me. She leans down and presses her lips to mine. “I’ve got to get going. Work’s calling.”

  “Don’t go.” I reach out and grab her hand. “Let’s play hooky today. We can drive . . . I don’t know where, but we can drive somewhere and eat ice cream cones while sitting on the hood of the car and just be together.”

  Who am I right now? When have I ever cut out from work to play hooky? When have I ever wanted to do something without a set purpose?

  Her eyes darken. “I’m sorry.” Another press of her lips to mine. “I can’t.”

  “Tell me why not?” I ask, my hand on her neck, pulling her back toward me.

  “Because . . . I can’t.” She looks at me, and I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking. There’s something she’s just not telling me.

  “Asher?”

  And this time when she meets my lips, she doesn’t stop. She silences my question as she straddles my hips and then slowly kisses her way down my body until her lips wrap around my cock and suck me into forgetting.

  Each lick of her tongue, every suck of her lips, each scratch of her fingernails against my balls, all drug me with desire and push the worry to the back of my mind.

  But forgetting only lasts for so long.

  I’m not about to complain about the incredible blow job she just gave me, but as she walks along the path to her car in nothing but my T-shirt down to her mid-thighs, my mind won’t stop.

  Not because I have to go to work.

  Not because I have meetings.

  Not because I have to meet with Hillary or any other person on the face of the earth, but rather, because I can’t.

  Asher was always generous with affection. With kissing. With touching.

  It’s everything else she guards like a fortress.

  And right now, she’s building walls faster than I can knock them down.

  She starts her car and gives me a little wave before driving off. I watch till I can’t see her anymore and then jump when I see Tootie standing at the edge of my driveway. Her arms are across her chest and a lone eyebrow is raised in dismay.

  “Jesus, kid. You scared the hell out of me.”

  “I thought you weren’t the type to have a woman who comes over and then sneaks out about the time that school starts.”

  “I never said that.” I run a hand through my hair, not really ready for Tootie. I haven’t had my coffee yet.

  “Momma calls that the walk of shame.”

  “It’s not a walk of shame when you plan on seeing the woman again.”

  She makes a mock puking sound in her hand. “Oh, please.”

  “Please what?”

  “People only say that when they’re in love. Gag. Gross. I’m gonna puke.” She coughs. “Are you in love with Asher?”

  I stare at her for a beat, my heart pounding, my eyes darting, and then begin laughing. “You should be in the theater. You’re a great actress.”

  She straightens up and smiles. “I know. I’m a real Bette Davis. At least according to my grandma, but I have no idea who that is so I just smile and pretend I do.”

  Whew. Subject changed. Topic over.

  Why does that bug you so much, Sharpe?

  She shrugs. “So, you plan on seeing her again then? The lavender lady?”

  “Yes. Not that I have to give you an answer to that question.”

  “Did you not get enough sleep?” she asks, cocking her head to the side. “You seem a little grumpy.”

  I scrub a hand over my stubble. “I’m fine. Just need coffee.” And more Asher.

  “Momma’s a dragon before her coffee too.”

  “Most adults are,” I say to make conversation and lift a hand to wave to her mother who’s watching the two of us from their kitchen window.

  “But not Asher, right? Because she didn’t look grumpy.” She holds something out to me. “Here.”

  “What’s this?” I ask taking the thumb drive from her.

  “This is a thumb drive,” Tootie says very slowly and loudly as if I’m senile and can’t hear her.

  Little brat. I give her a sarcastic glare. “What’s on the thumb drive, silly? Remember, no coffee yet. I’m still in the dragon stage.”

  She giggles. “It’s the links to all of the library items. I didn’t know your email, so I couldn’t shoot it over to you that way.”

  Shoot it over to me?

  I smile and nod. “Thank you. You’re awesome. You did a great job.”

  “How do you know that when you haven’t opened it yet? It could be nothing, and I could be incompetent.”

  “I highly doubt that, kiddo.”

  “So, there. You have it. And I’m thinking naming it after me could be my payment for all my hard work.”

  This time I laugh. “Do you now?”

  “Yep.” She puts her hands on her hips and offers me a huge grin as a selling point.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Good.” She takes a few steps away and then turns back to face me. “Do you know who Jason is?”

  “Jason?” I shrug. “No clue. That’s a pretty common name. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  “What are you not telling me, Tootie?”

  “He was bragging at the café the other day about finally getting you back or something like that. I thought it was weird.” She looks back to her house. “I gotta go before Momma gets mad. She’s burning toast for breakfast again. Pray for me. Later, Sharpe.”

  “Later, Tootie.”

  Jason?

  Who the hell is that?

  Asher

  “Wow.”

  I look over and see Ledger pulling up to the curb on the street behind me. His elbow is propped on the open window, and a smile is wide on his face as he takes in the cherry picker that is currently hanging a new sign over the entrance to The Fields.

  “You like it?” Pride warms me. Especially because it’s praise coming from him.

  “It looks incredible.” He parks his car and walks over to where I’m standing. “This is starting to look like a whole new place with all the changes you’ve been making.”

  I so desperately want to tell him the why behind it but still haven’t heard from Hillary. It’s imperative for me to get this partnership on my own merit. I’ve always been looked at through a different lens in this town, and the last thing I want with this first venture of my own is for it to be assumed I slept my way into it.