“Pin the girl down and kiss her. Weren’t those Gran’s words?” he murmurs.

  The space closes in all around us. I shift to get out of the confined space and his undeniable presence that eats it up.

  He’s close.

  Too close.

  I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Feel the warmth of his breath whispering over my lips. Feel his fingertips as they release my lock of hair and trail ever so softly down my bare arm.

  My nipples harden.

  He’s the one who walked away and didn’t look back.

  My fingers itch to touch.

  He’s the one who broke your heart.

  My mind wants to forget.

  Walk away, Ash.

  He leans forward. The hitch of my breath fills the room. “This isn’t over, Asher. Not by a long shot. I’m not a patient man, but I’ve waited fifteen years to kiss you again . . . what’s a few more days?”

  A lifetime.

  He cups the side of my face and runs his thumb over my bottom lip. It’s a simple act and yet his touch alone ignites every nerve ending in my body. His eyes are on mine, asking, wanting, pleading.

  “Ash,” he whispers, and my heart leaps. My name on his lips. Is it possible to miss a sound? If so, I didn’t realize how much I did until right now.

  He leans in as time suspends and—

  “In the game closet.” We jump apart seconds before the orderly, who I presume made that statement, clears the doorway and walks into said closet. Ledger coughs into his hand to hide his smile.

  “Mr. Sharpe?”

  “Yes,” he says, turning to face her as I continue fussing with the box of checkers as if the lid of the box isn’t on properly. My heart’s hammering rapidly, and I’m not sure if it’s because of him or my fear that one of Gran’s caretakers might think I’m fooling around in here.

  “Helen wanted to ask you a few more questions since she saw you were still here,” the orderly says, referring to the facility director.

  “Great.” He smiles. “I’ll be happy to answer them.” He takes a few steps toward the door before looking back at me. Mischief sparks in his eyes. “Community outreach.”

  “What?”

  “What I’m doing here. Community outreach.” His eyes run up and down the entire length of my body, and I swear I can almost feel his gaze as he does.

  And without another word, he walks out of the closet leaving me staring after him.

  My fingers automatically go to my lips wishing he’d kissed me. Wishing I knew what he tasted like. Wanting to be reminded what it felt like again.

  Ledger Sharpe was a caring lover the first and only time we were together.

  Was that just because it was the first time? Is he still like that with the added finesse of years of practice?

  I lean against the wall and bury my head in my hands.

  When have I ever thought shit like this?

  Go away, Ledger.

  Go away and leave me to my boring life and unpredictable, sometimes fulfilling sex life.

  I’m supposed to be angry at you.

  I’m supposed to stick to my guns.

  But, Jesus.

  You’re better than the memory of you ever was.

  Ledger

  With a sigh, I pull into the driveway of my rental. It’s simple, with its basic gray clapboard siding and flowers lining the path to the front door, but like I told Ford, it could be way worse.

  But there’s a reason I’m sitting in my car staring at the house. And it happens to be the same reason I drove back and forth down Main Street twice on the way home.

  Asher.

  The woman has eluded me. I went to the farm the other day, but when I knocked on the door, there was no answer. Then on the way home just now, I thought I saw her walking on the sidewalk and talking to someone in front of the hardware store. I figured I’d make a convenient stop and “accidentally” run into her, since I can’t get her out of my head. But on the second pass by, I was clearly seeing things that weren’t there.

  You’re losing it, Ledge.

  “Clearly small-town life is making you crazy,” I mutter as I climb out and around to my passenger door to grab my laptop and files.

  “Hi.”

  I jump at the sound of the high-pitched voice behind me. When I turn, I’m met with a little girl about seven or eight—fuck if I know since kids aren’t exactly in my wheelhouse. She has a pair of uneven, blond pigtails, black-framed glasses over a freckled nose, a box in her hands, and jeans with holes in the knees.

  She stands and stares expectantly at me as if she’s waiting for me to speak.

  “Uh, hi.” I look around to see if her mom or dad are around. “Can I help you?”

  She twists her lips and narrows her eyes for a beat. I’m being sized up by a kid. Fucking perfect.

  “I brought you cookies,” she finally says, pushing the box toward me. “But I’m not sure if you like cookies because they are made with flour, chocolate, sugar, and real butter. You know, non-organic, gluten-filled crap.”

  Stifling a chuckle, I take the box from her and lift the lid to look inside. Not bad. “I’m from New York. Not California. I like all that crap. Thanks.” I tip the box at her in a thank-you gesture, but she doesn’t get the hint and move out of the way.

  “New York, huh?” Her hands go to her hips. “Exciting stuff. Is it true there are rats in the sewers the size of alligators there?”

  “Probably. It’s the people you have to watch out for more than anything. They’re the real rats who will eat you alive.” Come on, kid. Move along.

  “My mom told me you might be brusque and rude.”

  I do a double take. “She did? Why’s that?”

  “She said you wear a suit, are from the city, and probably don’t have a personality worth talking to as a result of having the life sucked out of you from sitting behind the glass walls of a skyscraper all day.”

  I cough over my laugh. “But you’re talking to me, right?”

  “I am . . . but I haven’t decided if I like you yet.”

  “Good to know.” This kid is pretty spectacular. She’d fit in perfectly in Manhattan.

  “Apparently the clean air we have here, plus getting a little dirt on your shoes, will make you nicer. Maybe.” We both glance down at my shoes. “No dirt.”

  “I guess I’m still rude, then.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she whispers and offers me a grin with a missing front tooth.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “I’m Tootie.”

  “Tootie?”

  “Yep. It’s short for Trudy because who names a kid Trudy these days? So I made up my own version of it that suits me better.”

  I feel like I’m talking to a thirty-year-old with her matter-of-fact statements, but that little giggle she gives reaffirms I’m not. “I think Tootie fits you perfectly.” I smile at her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some work done.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks as I step past her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, a woman that comes over and then sneaks out about the time that school starts, and Mom tells me not to stare at her or ask why she’s not wearing any shoes.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “If I can’t say fuck, then you can’t say Jesus Christ.”

  I open my mouth to speak but am at a loss for words as I glance around again for any parent concerned where their child is. “Um, Tootie? Does your mom know where you are? Shouldn’t you be doing homework or something?”

  “First, homework is a thing of the past. Some brilliant person declared it to be busy work and decided to free us kids from its shackles.” She flashes a grin. “And second, Mom is inside on the phone telling all of her friends about you.”

  “Yay for no homework.” It’s all I can manage to say before Tootie continues.

  “She said you have a nice butt, but you seem a little uptight. That she wouldn’t mind kicking your tires—whatever that means.” But her ghost of a smile tells me she thinks she knows exactly what it means. And regardless of how much I want to laugh, I’m a little uncomfortable having this conversation with a kid. “Oh, and she gives you two weeks before you run back to the city because you can’t handle things here.”

  “Two weeks? That’s all? Good to know.” I glance at the house next door where Tootie pointed and see a woman standing in the window with a cell phone to her ear suddenly move out of sight. “It’s probably best if you don’t tell her that you told me that part about kicking my tires.”

  “Okay. Then I guess I should also leave out the part where I tell you that we didn’t really bake these cookies ourselves. Mom bought them from Cedar’s Bakery so she had an excuse to come over here and talk to you herself. Guess I ruined that plan.”

  “I’m glad that you did.”

  “Is it true you’re here to fuck up our town?”

  Christ. I cough over my laugh. “Who told you that?”

  “Everybody who means nothing.” She shrugs and, somehow, I completely understand what she means. “It’s like adults can’t ever make up their minds. They want more jobs in town but complain when someone like you tries to make them. They want more people to visit but then complain when there’s traffic, or they have to wait too long for a table to eat at Bessie’s Diner. You adults are super confusing.”

  “We are, aren’t we?”

  “For sure.” She gives a definitive nod that has her pigtails bouncing. “So, are you?”

  “Am I what? Messing up the town?”

  “No. I don’t care. It’s not like it matters to me. I meant are you going to Connor’s too?”

  “Who’s Connor?” My head spins with her constant change in topics. And also, why is everything in this town named after somebody?

  “The man who owns Connor’s,” she says as if I’m an idiot.

  My patience for talking to little people is about done. My sigh says as much and she just puts her hands on her hips to say the same. “What is Connor’s?”

  “It’s where all the adults go to act funny and dance and . . . kiss.” She shudders. “Sometimes when Mom has to pick up friends from there, I get to go inside for a second. I can’t wait to be a grown-up.”

  “Huh.”

  “Yep. Huh,” she repeats. “Time to go cause more trouble.”

  She skips down the sidewalk toward her house. “Hey, Tootie?” I ask so that she stops and turns to look at me. “Do you know an Asher Wells?”

  Brilliant, Ledger. Ask an eight-year-old about her.

  “Why?” She narrows her eyes at me.

  “It’s a long story.” I give her a half-smile while feeling like an idiot. “I was just wondering if you did.”

  Tootie angles her head to the side as she thinks. “The purple lady?”

  “Lavender?”

  “Same thing.” She rolls her eyes. “Yep. I know her.”

  The kid runs at the mouth and the minute I want her to talk, she clams up. Fucking par for the course for me today.

  “That’s all you’re going to give me?”

  She squints at me as if she’s figuring out if she wants to tell me more or not. Almost as if she’s protective of the people who live here from outsiders like me.

  I can respect that.

  “She’s nice if that’s what you want to know. And super pretty. My momma is jealous of her legs but not jealous about what people say about her.”

  “What do people say about her?”

  She shrugs as if she doesn’t know, but I do. Christ. Even after all these years it still seems Asher Wells is still being judged for her mother’s promiscuity and reputation.

  “We had a field trip to her pop’s farm last year to learn about growing and stuff. Peter Doocey didn’t listen and got in trouble for trying to pants Dylan Abernathy. There was a big to-do over it. Pop was nice. He even gave us ice cream and didn’t care if it dripped when we ate it.”

  “Ice cream is always good.”

  “He’s dead, you know. Died around C.J.’s birthday. That made me sad so I can’t imagine how it made Asher feel. Probably way more sadder than me. Momma sent flowers to her but was angry over what she paid for on the Internet versus what was actually sent. It was a whole thing that I don’t care to get into.” She rolls her eyes and gives a shake of her head. “I wonder if we have another field trip there if Asher would be the one to give us the tour?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Mom said hi to her in town the other day, but don’t worry, they’re not close enough for her to call her on the phone and talk about how fine your butt is. She only does that to Lacey.”

  “Good to know.” I give a quick shake of my head. “Thanks.”

  “Connor’s.”

  “What about it?”

  “Are you going? She’ll probably be there tomorrow night. It’s the place to be on music night.”

  “Thanks for the info.”

  “Yep. No problemo.” She flashes a mischievous grin and a wave before skipping away.

  Really, Ledger?

  You just asked a kid you barely know about a woman you want to know more.

  You do seriously need help.

  Asher

  I no longer study the face of every man in Cedar Falls.

  It took me a long time to get to that point, where I stopped comparing my nose with theirs, the shape or color of my eyes, or the curve of my mouth.

  And I’ve learned to live with the silence and cold shoulders from the older women in town. The ones who wonder if I’m the bastard child their husband had when he cheated on them or had a torrid affair with the town floozy before they were married. The ones who fear my mom will someday come back, fill in the “father” portion of my birth certificate, and ruin their happily ever after.

  Then there’s the notion of siblings. Do I have a half-sister or half-brother? Do I have more than one? Am I friends with them? Do I dislike them?

  I learned to stop obsessing over it a long time ago.

  And yes, the odd stares and quiet murmurs have dissipated over the years, only to be stirred up when someone new moves into town and the Cedar Falls Stepford Wives step in to fill them in on everyone’s business. But it doesn’t make living life in this small town any easier. Reputations stick to last names even if you were simply born into it without a choice.

  The upside to it all? It’s freeing in a sense. People already have their opinions about me, so why not live my life and enjoy myself while I’m at it?

  If I flirt openly with a man, then looks are exchanged suggesting I’m just like my mom. If I hide from the world and keep to The Fields, then it appears I’m ashamed of who I am.

  I’m neither.

  I’m simply me. The me that Gran and Pop loved and cherished and tried to be parents, grandparents, and friends to so I wouldn’t do without.

  And fuck the assholes of this town for judging and ostracizing me for something I had no control over. It’s been thirty-two years, people, so get over it.

  Just like Judy Jensen needs to right now from her seat on the other side of the bar in Connor’s Tavern. It’s not my fault her boyfriend pursued me last year. I told him no, time and time again. But the trouble he caused gave me the stigma that I’m a homewrecker against all rational logic.

  Like mother, like daughter in their eyes.

  The music is low and the chatter is loud, so I just smile and wave cattily to Judy to let her know I see her shooting daggers my way.

  “She’s such a bitch,” Nita says as she slides onto the barstool across from me.

  “She is. Her problem, not mine.”

  “You want to know what else is a problem?” Nita asks, but the mischief in her eyes tells me something is going on.

  “What?”

  “You sitting here, checking the door every few seconds to see if a certain someone is going to walk through it.”

  “You’re so full of shit.”

  “You didn’t deny it,” she says with a knowing smile.

  She’s right. I didn’t, because I have been checking the door every time it opens, both wanting and not wanting Ledger to walk through it.

  Our almost-kiss from the other day is etched in my mind, replaying on a loop.

  “It’s not a crime to want to see him.”

  “Clearly,” I say.

  “And it’s okay to wonder if the chemistry is still there, which . . . for the record, it is.”

  “Thank you for the observation.” I take another sip of my wine and stare at Judy until she looks away again. “I have chemistry with a lot of people. Besides, isn’t it normal to still have it with someone you’ve been attracted to in the past?”

  “Not so sure on that one. Nice try, though. In my personal experience, I’d rather stab my exes with a fork in their eyes when I’m done with them, not stand in a game closet and lie when you tell him you don’t want to be kissed.”

  “It was not a lie.”

  “Whatever you say,” she says, clearly not believing me.

  And she shouldn’t. Because no matter how many times I tell myself I don’t want him, I’m still pulled right back into that connection with Ledger we had years ago when I see him.

  “Look, it’s completely okay to forgive him for whatever his father did that night. We don’t blame kids for their parents’ actions, right?” She lifts her eyebrows, unknowingly tapping into the thoughts I was just having.

  All I can do is shake my head. “Touché.”

  “And if you believe the flip side of the coin and that Ledger did, in fact, cheat on you, play you, what have you, you can always chalk it up to the past and forgive him.” She smiles wide and waves to someone over my shoulder before turning her attention back on me. “You guys were young. Naïve. I don’t know. People change with experience. They mature and become more considerate.”

  “Are you sure we live in the same town because a lot of these people here haven’t gotten any better—in any respect—with age.”

  “True.” She laughs and holds her hands up in acknowledgment. “I stand corrected.”

  “At least you admit it,” I say.

  “I do, so long as you understand that it’s completely okay to want to take Ledger up on his offer to catch up. To talk. The two of you can be Cedar Falls outcasts together.”