Asher (Ashes & Embers 6)

“I know so.” He stops strumming to peruse my painting. “It’s beautiful. I’m still blown away you’ve had this talent hidden in you all this time.” He winks at me, then starts up his slow melody again.

There’s a cool fall breeze today, but it’s still warm enough for us to comfortably hang out on the back deck. For the past two weeks, it’s been my favorite place to paint, while Asher plays guitar and keeps me company. Teddy joins us too. Today he’s gnawing on the squirrel toy I bought when I went shopping with Kenzi a few days ago.

I grab my brush and add a few little touches of amber light. This is my favorite of all my paintings to date. The image is of a sunrise—all orange, pink, and purple—reflecting on a serene lake. A girl with long, flowing dark hair sits on the edge of the lake, looking out over the water. Two butterflies flutter in the air around her. It matches the vision I saw in my head perfectly. I’m not sure where it came from—perhaps a memory? But the more I look at it, the more my gut tells me the scene is from my time in the coma.

I think the girl in the painting is me.

Satisfied, I clean up my brushes and paints then join Asher on the wicker love seat.

He leans over and kisses my cheek, slowly moving his lips down to nuzzle into my neck, under my hair. Warm tingles jet up and down my spine, and I close my eyes, loving the affection. His lips and beard tickle me in that sensual but might-make-me-giggle way.

“I couldn’t resist you,” he says with a sheepish grin when he lifts his head up. “Back to your painting—it’s beautiful. I feel like I could crawl right into it. I think we should get it framed and hang it in the bedroom.”

“Really? You wouldn’t mind?” It’d mean a lot to me to have something that feels like mine in the master bedroom.

“I wouldn’t mind at all. I like the sense of peace it has. I’d love seeing it every morning when I wake up. After I look at you, of course.”

Smiling, I lean my head against his shoulder. “You’re sweet.”

“Did you sign it?”

“The painting? No.”

“You gotta sign it, babe. It’s your art.”

I chew my lip, contemplating if I want to do that or not. “I feel weird signing my name,” I admit.

“I heard. Kenzi told me about the people in the parking lot.”

I turn slightly to face him. “It was awkward. It felt really wrong to me—signing that name.”

“It is your name,” he says softly, taking my hand in his. “I understand, though. It can be overwhelming when someone wants a piece of you.”

“It felt like they wanted a piece of the wrong person. I’m not a rock star. I have no right posing for pictures or signing autographs. I can’t even answer their questions. I’m just a fake.” I stare down at our hands, focusing on his wedding band. He never takes it off. I’m wearing the butterfly ring, but I’ve never put the wedding band on.

“Hey.” He tips my chin up. “You’re not a fake. Nothing about you is fake. I don’t like when you’re so hard on yourself.”

“I felt fake giving my autograph to that woman. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel comfortable with that. Just thinking about it right now is making me feel like I never want to go shopping again.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think you should give up shopping. Especially since I was hoping to take you to get a car this weekend.”

I jolt with excitement and grab his arm. “Oh my God…are you serious?”

“Yup. I had a little talk with our daughter, and she said I better take you to get your own car right away, or else she’s gonna take you herself to get one. She may have threatened me with a pink Lamborghini.”

“I’ll take any car,” I say happily. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You can test drive a bunch and pick your favorite.”

I throw my arms around him and give him a big kiss. “I’m so excited!” My own car! This is a big milestone for me.

While I mull over car models and colors in my mind, he lifts the guitar off his leg and holds it out to me.

I frown at it. “What’s wrong?”

He gestures toward it with his chin. “Try it.”

“Oh… I don’t know about that, Ash. I can’t—”

He urges with excitement flashing in his eyes. “See how it feels in your hands.”

Awkwardly, I take the guitar and hold it the way I’ve seen him hold it. It’s much heavier than I was expecting, and I have no idea what to do with my hands.

Moving closer to me, he puts his arm around me and places his hands gently over mine, guiding them over the strings.