Unfortunately, my punishment plan didn’t work out the way I expected. She was so excited about meeting Asher, she was willing to do anything to help, a theory I tested when I made her wash all the sheets and towels in the guest rooms and bathroom.
She hummed while she folded the warm, fluffed towels. Hummed.
“So school went well today?”
“Mmm hmm. Luke feels bad he got me in trouble, so he’s being extra nice.”
“What does that entail?”
Abbi chuckled. “It means he walked me to my classes and held my hand at lunch.”
“And the kissing?”
“Only between periods. And after school. And when he brought me home.”
“Is it good?”
“Puh-lease. Like I’d be with him if it was bad.”
“Take it slow. Please. I am not changing diapers for at least another decade.”
“There’s a long way between kissing and baby-making, Mom.”
“You know what I mean. I was sixteen . . .”
“Once, like, a million years ago.”
“And I remember how hormones rage. Your dad was a great kisser.”
Abbi made a face. “That is so gross.”
“I thought you wanted to trade stories.”
At her horrified look, I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “Ouch, that made my face hurt. Just remember sex means more than a quick release. At least I need it to mean more.”
She set the towel in the basket and pulled a small piece of fluff off the edge. Finally, she nodded. “I get it. But are you telling me that or reminding yourself?”
18
Asher
Jessica agreed to let me take Mason for the weekend. I was suspicious, but I wasn’t going to push my luck and ask her why she was caving on this when she was so primed to fight about everything else. I made her sign a paper, as per my lawyer’s advice, stating I had the right to take Mason on the trip, and then I hustled my son out of the house.
Nearly four hours later, I fidgeted in my seat while I waited for the captain to turn off the seatbelt sign. I hefted Mason’s red backpack and pulled my carry-on from the overhead bin. Last thing I grabbed was my Taylor guitar. It was an older model and the wood had long since lost its sheen. I’d had it for nearly thirty years, and I took it with me everywhere. Kind of like Mason used to do with his blanket.
“You ready to meet my friends?” I sounded almost normal. Good.
“Her daughter’s nice?” Mason asked. He was picking at the skin on his thumb.
“Yeah, very. So’s Dahlia. You’ll like her.”
I hoped he would. Mason had a great bullshit meter. Way better than mine. He wouldn’t lie to me about his reaction to Dahlia, and I wouldn’t stick around if he didn’t like her.
My kid and my sanity meant more than my pride. With my emotions going all intense, I needed someone with better perspective to let me know if I was caught up in lust, and the best I could come up with was my eight-year-old son. I was enough of a bastard to use my kid’s talent to help me out.
I took a deep breath and motioned Mason to go into the aisle in front of me.
“You seem worried,” he said.
“Me. Nah. I’m just thinking about the fact our plane landed late.”
“Flying’s a bitch.”
“What did you say?” I asked. The flight attendant and pilot standing at the exit had heard him, too. Their friendly expressions twisted into looks of shocked disapproval.
“Mom says flying’s a bitch. She told me that’s why she doesn’t like to tour with you.”
I nodded to the flight staff and hustled Mason up the air bridge.
“Probably not the best time to mention that,” I said. “And what’s up with the language?”
“You use bad words.”
“Yeah, well, I’m an adult.”
“So that makes it okay?”
My first reaction to seeing Dahlia was relief. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her until that moment. I hated the fact that she’d hurt herself, but I was thankful she seemed lighter and happier than when we’d walked on the beach. Maybe she’d gotten as much out of reconnecting as I had.
Dahlia felt something for me. Probably undeserved. But I was going to grab it with both my dirty hands. As long as my kid was on board.
I tugged Mason over to Dahlia and a teenager with reddish-brown hair and a pair of big, dark blue eyes. I assumed the girl was Dahlia’s daughter because they had the same posture, the same expressive mouth. They even tilted their chins the same way. But where Dahlia’s smile was guarded, her daughter’s was open. I liked the kid, and I got the impression she felt the same way about me.
“Hi,” I said, stopping in front of them.
I put my finger under Dahlia’s chin and tilted her face up to catch the light better. She hadn’t tried to cover the bruises with that concealer stuff most women used. That shit never really worked, just made a woman’s face look funny.
“Quite the knocks to the face. You feeling all right? No headaches or blackouts?”
Unable to resist the temptation, I bent and brushed my lips across her bruised cheek. Her breath hitched, and when she pulled back, her eyes were a brighter, deeper gray. Good to know I affected her as much as she affected me.
“Hi back at you,” she murmured. More like purred. Damn, that was sexy. “I feel fine.” She dropped her gaze to my son. “You must be Mason. Nice to meet you.”
Dahlia stuck out her hand. Mason looked at her face, then put his hand out with cautious politeness. My heart thumped hard as I tried not to be too hopeful for the meeting.
“Dad said a policeman hit you with a door.”
Dahlia inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her pursed lips. “That’s true. The cut bled a lot. You ever had one?” she asked Mason.
She was used to talking to kids and seemed interested in Mason’s answer. But then, there wasn’t much Dahlia wouldn’t be comfortable doing. I frowned. Except being happy. She really sucked at that.
“Yeah, I busted my chin a couple years ago. Had to get, like, a million stitches.”
Dahlia opened her eyes wide. “A million! That must have hurt. I got two stitches because the doctor didn’t want me to have a scar. My cut’s kind of crusty and gross. Was yours?”
Mason nodded with more enthusiasm. “Real crusty. I liked to pick at it, but my mom made me stop.”
Dahlia shrugged. “Might’ve made a cooler scar, though.” She turned to her daughter who was watching the interaction with interest.
“This is Abigail. Abbi, meet Asher and Mason.”
“Hey,” she said. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her denim skirt. “So what do you like to do for fun besides bust your chin open, Mason?” Abbi asked.
Mason sidled closer to me. I placed my hand on his shoulder, letting him know I was there if he needed me.
“Um, I don’t like to bust my face open,” he said.
Abbi smiled. “Didn’t really think you did. Pain sucks. I broke my foot skiing last year. That hurt.”
“Did you get a cast?” Mason asked, his cheeks reddening with excitement.
“Sure did.”
“Did people get to sign it?”
“Sure did,” Abbi said with a smile. She had a pretty one with lots of straight white teeth and a small dimple in her right cheek. If she wasn’t a cheerleader, she ran with the popular crowd.
“Aww. I wanna cast,” Mason said, looking at Abbi’s sandaled foot with longing.
“Signing a T-shirt is pretty cool, too,” Dahlia said. “With less pain and blood.”
Mason pursed his lips. “I don’t like blood.” He looked up at me and said, “I’m hungry.”
“All right, champ,” I said, shouldering our bags. “I’m sure we can find something to tide you over. What would you ladies like?”
Abbi and Dahlia exchanged looks and started laughing.
I frowned, wondering what I’d said was so funny.
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry, Asher,” Dahlia said, still giggling quietly to herself. “We’re not laughing at you, just the circumstances. There are exactly three places to eat in Rathdrum, and you’ll be recognized wherever we go. So will I,” Dahlia said with a shrug as she tugged at her hair. I was learning that was a self-conscious gesture she used to try to control her anxiety.
“Still not seeing what was funny,” I said. I tried not to sound defensive, but I must have failed because Mason stepped on my foot.
“Be nice,” he whispered. “They’re pretty.”
“Thanks, Mason,” Abbi said, slinging her arm around his shoulder. “I love hearing compliments. Be sure to compliment your girlfriend when you get one.”
“You could be my girlfriend,” Mason said.
I blinked, shocked at how quickly my son was making the moves. I didn’t hear Abbi’s response because they’d moved off toward the double doors and out into the cool night air.
Dahlia looked up at me, her large gray eyes waiting with patient promise. For what, I didn’t know. Nor did I care. I was just thankful to be here, with her, in this moment.
“I’m buying you dinner. As a thank-you for having us out here. And because I want to. So where are we going?”
Dahlia bit her lip, her eyes searching my face. “I live in a small town,” she murmured. “If we drive there to eat . . . well, locals consider it their right to ask questions, make sure you have honorable intentions toward me.” She wrinkled her nose at the last words. “We were laughing because Abbi was sure you’d want to go out to eat, and I was sure you’d want to take a break from your fame. I find the little bit I have—and I’m not recognized anywhere near as much as you—exhausting. Abbi wins our bet. We could eat here in Spokane, but then the interruptions will be worse. I think.”
She tipped her head toward a small group of people nearby, taking my picture on their phone.
“Will it be bad? The interrogation, I mean.” For some reason, I wanted to please Dahlia’s friends, wanted them to want me around.
Mason could sit still through a whole meal without doing something insane. Usually. He had way too much energy, even compared to other boys his age. Jessica said he had hyperactivity disorder or some other shit. I considered him more like an eager puppy. He needed to be run hard, then he slept even harder. Perfectly normal kid behavior. Sure, it was exhausting, but that’s what parenting, in general, was.
“I don’t think it’ll be as bad as trying to eat in Spokane. But it’s a forty-minute drive. That okay for Mason?”
“Should be. He ate a sandwich on the plane.”
Dahlia smiled, and before I realized what I was doing, I’d slipped my hand against hers. I calmed at the touch, but she inhaled sharply, her eyes snapping up to mine. I dropped her hand, immediately missing the warmth of her palm even as hers slid from mine. As my hand hit my side, my mind bursting into action at her rejection, Dahlia slid her fingers back through mine, our skin recalibrating.
I loved touching this woman. I didn’t want to consider why. I just wanted to accept that it was so.
“You wanting to touch me shocks me,” she said, her voice pitched low.
“I’m good for a few shocks.”
Her lips flipped up. “I bet you are.”
I tugged her toward the double doors.
19
Dahlia
Panic flared in Asher’s eyes as we stepped outside.
“Abbi took Mason to the car.”
I waited for his brief nod, watched the tension drain from his face. I didn’t like how my heart warmed at his concern. There was too much I already liked about Tristan Asher Smith.
I scooted closer, loving the way my skin shivered and zinged.
Abbi and Mason stood on the sidewalk nearby. The little boy, whose brown hair and hazel eyes reminded me so much of his father, was practically dancing around Abbi, love shining in his eyes. Abbi’d clearly made quite the impression. My daughter was a beautiful, funny young woman. She tended to collect trophies without realizing it. Mason was her newest in what I assumed would be a much longer line of admirers.
Abbi’s eyes zeroed in on our clasped hands, but she didn’t do anything, and Asher’s skin felt too good against mine to let go. He squeezed my fingers just a little, a tiny curve to his lips. I felt mine lift in response.
“Mason wants to hit the diner back in Rathdrum. I told him they serve buffalo burgers. He claims never to have tried one.”
“The diner it is,” Asher said, but his voice had lost a bit of confidence, and he was sucking on his lower lip. This show of vulnerability did something to me, creating a warm, gooey slide in my chest.
“The car’s over here.”
Asher stowed their bags while the rest of us buckled into the seats. I’d borrowed a booster from Rhonda—that woman never got rid of anything. Mason sat next to Abbi in the back, asking her about the diner, the town, what she did for fun. I smiled at their easy banter.
Asher slid into the passenger’s seat, stretching out his long legs, crossing his sexy motorcycle boots at the ankle. He was so at ease sitting there. Doug always drove us around, whether he knew where he was going or not. I appreciated the small nod to my autonomy Asher provided.
We drove to town and pulled up in front of the diner, which was busy even though it was still early. I felt the stirrings of nerves but shoved them down. I wasn’t doing anything more than having dinner with a friend and his child.
That would be fine if my friend wasn’t a rock star and didn’t look like he could, and had, graced the covers of many magazines for nearly twenty years.
I pulled into a spot, and I caught Abbi’s eye. She shrugged a little and opened her door. This was new territory for both of us. I wouldn’t have told Asher, but I was glad we were being seen together here in my town. This, these people, I could handle. I hoped. I straightened my spine and stepped out.
Mason and Asher did the same. Mason darted forward, slamming himself into his father’s jeans-clad legs. My heart tripped. If what Briar had said about him was true, this little boy had it rougher than he deserved.
I was still waiting for Briar to send the pictures she’d promised. She’d said it would take some time to retrieve them from the server. While I hated prying further into Asher’s life, I’d do what I could to help him.
The sun was low, banking against the horizon, and the temperature had dropped.
“Cold?” I asked Mason.
“Nah. I don’t get cold. My mom says that’s because I won’t keep my butt in its place.”
I kept my eyes on Mason’s face, willing him to look at me because I wasn’t sure I could handle Asher’s expression at hearing Mason’s words. From what little he’d said, Asher was just learning about some of Jessica’s neglect and thoughtless comments. Those bright hazel eyes, his dad’s eyes, tripped up to my face. I smiled, and Mason grinned back.
“Abbi was the same way. Now she runs track, dances, and is a cheerleader.”
Mason grabbed his dad’s large hand. Even from here, I could see the calluses on Asher’s fingers. His hand was devoid of any rings, just like mine.
“Wears me out enough to fall asleep pretty quick,” Abbi chimed in.
“I couldn’t be prouder of Abbi. Do you like sports?” I asked Mason.
“Sure do. Baseball’s my favorite, and I play on a team. I’m gonna learn to pitch maybe next year. But I really wanna learn how to ride horses. Dad says he’s gonna be around more and get me lessons.”
I tucked that little nugget away as we entered the diner. Abbi beelined over to some of her friends. I was thankful Luke wasn’t there and Abbi’d kept her promise not to tell him about our company this weekend. She waved Mason over. He trotted up to her, the lovesick puppy expression back on his face.
I gestured to a booth and waited for Asher’s nod. He placed his hand on my back as we wove through the tables. I loved that little gesture, the warmth it evoked. He smelled good, like I remembered.
“Hey ther
e, Lia. Watching doors?”
I nodded to Mike, who guffawed at his joke. “I shouldn’t have to watch them in my own house. Ralph needs to be less quick with those hands.”
“I’m sure Rhonda wouldn’t agree with that.” Mike laughed again.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Instead of introducing Asher, I walked forward to the booth and slid in. He sat opposite me, his brows drawn down just a little. His lips, slightly chapped, were pulled into a tight line.
“You don’t want to introduce me to your friends?” His voice was low, filled with hurt.
I leaned forward. “Mike isn’t a friend. He’s been trying to get into my pants since Doug’s funeral.” I turned when Wendy, the waitress and co-owner of the diner, popped over. “Hi. This is my friend Asher. He and Mason, his son, are visiting for the weekend.”
Asher smiled, showing off the dent in his chin, and Wendy rocked back on her heels, her mouth falling open to show off her cracked front tooth. Yeah, I felt the same way.
“Y’all want something to drink?” she managed to ask.
“Four waters to start,” I said, gesturing to Abbi and Mason who were still with Abbi’s friends a couple tables over.
“Got it. And glad you have a man-friend, Lia.”
I turned back to Asher, the humor still tugging at my lips. “I am, too.”
“That makes three of us,” Asher said.
I felt warmth spread to my face, so I picked up the menu to cover my flushed cheeks.
“So Abbi’s making Mason feel included. Thanks for talking to her about that.”
“I didn’t. She’s used to hanging out with Jeremiah, Simon’s son. He’s almost the same age as Mason.”
“Good job with the whole sensitivity thing, then,” Asher said, that little furl pulling at his brow. He moved the menus so Wendy could place the water in front of us. “I hear the buffalo burgers are good.”
“They’re pretty good when Frank doesn’t cook the hell outta ’em. I keep telling him we’re a ranching community and most of us like our meat just after the moo-stage.”
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