That eyebrow of his goes even higher. “You want to … talk?”
“Umm, yeah. If this isn’t a good time, I can come back later …”
“No, this is fine. This afternoon seems to be pretty slow around here.”
“Great.” I smile a little in relief. This is turning out to be easier than I thought it would be. I mean, as long as I remember to breathe. And not to look him in the eye for longer than a second or two. And don’t swallow my own tongue. If I do all that, then it should be easy-peasy. Or at least, that’s the story I’m sticking to.
But before I can get anything else out, the bell on the door rattles and a young couple comes in with their two small children.
Ash straightens up from the counter, and after directing a smile and a wink—a wink!—my way, he asks the parents, “What can I do for you?”
“We were hoping to rent a boat,” the father says. “But we’ll need life jackets for the little ones and anything else you think necessary.”
“Life jackets should do it,” Ash says with a lazy smile. This one actually reaches his eyes and I feel my knees tremble a little at the power of it. “You’ll also get your oars here, then when you get to the dock, they’ll give you a motor and point you to a boat. Sound good?”
It must have, because money and oars change hands, as well as two of the most garish life vests I’ve ever seen. Bright orange and neon pink at the base, they’re decorated with wild patterns in a variety of fluorescent colors. They’re a little blinding, if I’m honest, but then I figure that’s pretty much the point. No one’s going to miss the kids if they’re wearing those.
By the time Ash is done with the family, two other groups have lined up for service. Ash glances at me as he waits on them, almost like he’s checking on me, making sure I’m still there. The thought warms me for completely unprofessional reasons, and I spend the extra time reworking my spiel into one that even an idiot could remember. I’m determined not to fall victim a second time to Ash’s intense indigo stare.
It takes about fifteen minutes before the shop is empty again, and then Ash is back, lounging indolently against the counter as he rubs a strand of my hair between his fingers. My hair is short—really short, thanks to the last round of chemo—so his hand is only a few inches from my scalp. The knowledge that he could easily brush his knuckles over my forehead or down my cheek makes the proximity even more exciting.
“You stayed,” he says.
“Yes.”
“That surprises me.”
I narrow my eyes at him, confused. “Why?”
“You don’t seem the type to wait around for something like that.”
I’m really confused now, but I’m determined not to let him see it. I’ve already made a big enough idiot of myself in front of him. It’s past time for me to act like a rational person. “I told you I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah.” He lifts his arms palms up, gesturing to the empty room as if to say, talk away.
“I—” I pause, duck my head. “I was actually hoping we could talk somewhere a little more private.” The shop isn’t packed, but it’s definitely busy. Already I can see someone waiting next to the door, as if he’s thinking about coming in.
Ash’s brows hit his hairline this time. “Somewhere private?”
“Is that okay? Like I said, I can come back later if that’s better.”
“It’s fine, but—” He breaks off when his cell phone buzzes. He doesn’t look at me as he pulls it out of his pocket and reads a text. For a second, just a second, his face seems to crumple. Just as quickly, a blank mask settles over him and he’s typing something back, rapid-fire.
I want to ask if everything’s okay—if he’s okay—but it seems inappropriate. So for long seconds I don’t say anything and neither does he. Silence stretches taut between us.
“You still up for talking?” he asks, a strange emphasis on the last word as he ducks out from under the counter and walks toward the door.
“Yes!” God, Tansy, eager much? “I mean, of course.”
He nods, flipping the small sign on the door so that the side that reads “Will return in ten minutes” and has a picture of a clock on it, is facing outward. Then he’s grabbing my hand and all but dragging me behind the counter and into a room in the back.
“Wow,” I say after a second, my eyes struggling to adjust to the dimness. “It’s really dark in here.”
Ash doesn’t answer. I start to turn around to see what’s going on—I’m beginning to feel like I’m the only one not in on the punch line—but then he’s there, right behind me. His chest resting against my back, his palm flat against my stomach.
“What—” I squeak and I know I sound about three years old, but holy shit! Forget jokes, I feel like I’ve tumbled down the rabbit hole. “What are you doing?”
“I thought that was obvious,” Ash answers, his voice low and amused. His hand is rubbing soothing circles against my abdomen and part of me wants nothing more than to melt into him. To let him touch me however—wherever—he wants to.