Asher (Ashes & Embers 6)

The master bedroom was shot down by her when I gave her a tour of the house, making it the only room in the house she hasn’t ventured into yet.

“Can I bring my tea?”

“Sure, I’ll carry it for you.”

Once upstairs, she hesitates in the doorway of our bedroom, her fingers clenching and unclenching the carved maple handle of her cane.

“Are you okay?”

Her tongue skates over her lips and she inhales a deep breath. “It feels weird going in there,” she says. “Like going in someone else’s bedroom with their husband.”

Cringing inside, I put her tea on the nearest dresser and move to stand in front of her so she has to look at me. “We’ll work through it together, okay?”

Her bottom lip quivers as she nods. “Okay.”

“I’m your husband. This is our room. No one else’s.”

I reach for her hand, and she clasps mine, letting me lead her into the room. Her eyes sweep from left to right, taking in the span of the room, the dressers, the chaise lounge, the balcony, the door to the en-suite, and finally lingering on the bed.

“Can I look around?”

“Sure. Everything is pretty much exactly the way you left it. I couldn’t ever change it.”

Not sure if that makes me sentimental or creepy.

She offers me a weak half smile before she slowly moves across the room, her eyes transfixed on our framed wedding photo.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “We were so young.”

Minutes tick by as she stares at the wall of black-and-white photos—all our favorites over the years.

“Kenzi was a beautiful baby,” she comments.

“Yeah, she really was.”

“We look happy.”

“We were. We had our ups and downs, but we were happy. We were always good to each other. We never fought or yelled.”

Turning from the photos, she touches the lid of the large mahogany jewelry box on top of her dresser. “Can I open this?”

“It’s all yours.”

I hold my breath as she lifts the lid. Her wedding band and engagement ring are in there nestled in red velvet, along with many other special pieces of jewelry I bought her over the years. The only item no longer in there is her favorite watch that I gave Kenzi for her eighteenth birthday.

She reaches into the jewelry box, and I suck in a breath when I realize she’s pulled out the piece I was hoping would spark even a remote amount of interest.

The butterfly ring.

Holding it between her fingers, she studies the ring intently, turning it in the light.

“This…this means something.” She glances at me for validation, her eyes filled with excitement. “The butterflies…”

Taking the ring from her trembling hand, I gently slide it onto her ring finger. It’s a little big, but it fits.

“Do you remember?” I ask softly.

Her forehead creases, her eyes squint to slits.

“I-I’m not sure. Stone steps…and a door. A blue door. And…you.” She drops her cane to rub her temple. “It hurts…”

Leaning closer, I kiss her forehead. “Don’t try to force it. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice, and see if it helps.”

Her eyes peek up to meet mine. “Okay,” she breathes. “Tell me what I’m seeing.”

“The first day we met, we spent hours in a park talking. We talked about music, writing, family, our dreams. You were about a month shy of fifteen, and I was fifteen. You were wearing a purple sweater that curved off your shoulder, with a purple lace bra strap peeking out under your hair. You had jeans on with little zippers at the ankles, and white sneakers. I was wearing jeans with holes everywhere, work boots, and a black Guns N’ Roses T-shirt. Kenzi actually wore that shirt all through high school.”

When she smiles, I keep talking. “I took you to a diner, and we talked all night, eating cheese fries and drinking vanilla malts. We held hands the entire time. We wanted the day to last forever. I finally walked you home to your parents’ house around midnight. We stood on the steps in front of your blue front door, and I asked you if I could call you when I got home. You said yes. Then I kissed your hand just like this.”

I raise her hand to my lips, planting a long, soft kiss. She watches me with wide eyes.

“You looked at me just like you’re looking at me right now, and you said, ‘Asher Valentine, you’re—’”

“—giving me some major crazy butterflies,” she whispers.

My heart jumps up into my throat. “Yes…that’s exactly what you said.”

Tears spring into her eyes as she grabs on to my hands. “I remembered. I remember. I feel it.”

“Butterflies became our thing. You loved them. I found this ring in a gift shop—the wings are gems, and the little body is a diamond. I proposed to you with it two weeks after we found out you were pregnant. It was your first engagement ring. Years later, I gave you that one.” I nod toward the three-carat solitaire and matching diamond wedding band in the jewelry box.