by Aly Stiles
I hate how she turns to bore her stare into Ashton. Even worse is the way his expression hardens further before he lowers his head and slams his shovel into the pile of rocks. This show is entirely for him and she doesn’t even realize he’s not watching.
The others are, though. Yep, poor Lane is going to have a fun time keeping his employees on schedule.
Once she’s safely occupied with her aquatic show—and the rest are occupied with watching it—I maneuver cautiously toward Ashton to make sure he’s okay.
He has his back to the pool, his damp shirt clinging to his torso with every stroke of the shovel. Toned arms and shoulders ripple with even the slightest movement, and I can feel the tension radiating from his coiled muscles as I approach.
But now that I’m here, I don’t know what to say. I stand behind him for several seconds like a certifiable stalker again, waiting for some cosmic shift that will suddenly right this wrong. Again.
He startles when he turns to find me hovering. His gaze lands on mine for a split second before he shakes his head and returns to work.
“Ashton…” I say quietly.
We’re at least thirty feet from the others, but I still feel uncomfortable that we’re not alone, worried his co-workers will think I’m the same as my sister.
“I’m sorry about Ivy. She’s—”
“Stop apologizing for her,” he says, ramming his shovel into the pile without looking at me.
I wait as he deposits the load to its destination.
“I… we’re not all like that.”
“Whatever,” he mutters through another shovelful.
“I’m serious! We’re nothing like each other.”
“You don’t think I know that?” He turns his head just enough to side-eye me in his periphery. “I’m poor, Iris. Not an idiot.”
I smart from the blow as he shoves back into the rocks.
Another load.
And another.
“I know you’re not. Obviously.” I take a step toward him. “I guess… I wanted to make sure she didn’t hurt you. She was awful last night. I was afraid she’d be just as bad today.”
He sighs and rests his forehead on his fists at the top of the handle. After several seconds, he finally straightens and turns to me. “You really want to know what she said to me?”
I swallow, aching at the wounded expression in his eyes. No. I don’t. I really, really don’t.
“Yes?” It comes out as a whisper, so faint he can’t possibly believe it.
He must not when he softens and shakes his head again.
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Just, we can’t be friends, okay? My life…” He scans the elaborate space around us. “This is not my life. Flirting, petty games, fooling around by the pool. That’s not my world. Not even for one damn second, so thank you for being decent. Thank you for your tip last night. It covered the missing part of my rent, but trust me when I tell you, there is nothing about me that would interest someone like you.” He searches my eyes, begging me to understand.
I stare back, gutted by his words, and yes, maybe a little angry. What right does he have to tell me what I want or who I am? Even worse, how can he actually believe he’s not worth knowing?
I glare at his back as he dismisses me with another transfer of rocks.
“You’re left-handed,” I blurt out.
He freezes, angling back to me. “What? How do you know that?”
“Last night. I saw how you always carried the tray in your right and used your left for distributing the plates and drinks. You also kept clenching your left fist and entered our orders into the system with your left hand. Even now, you’re favoring your left in the way you stand and use the shovel.”
He blinks, his eyes changing as they scour me.
I hold my breath, waiting.
Finally, he shakes his head with a faint twist of the lips. “You realize that’s pretty freaking creepy, right?” But his contagious smile betrays his words.
I shrug, enjoying the effect of the light in his eyes. “You met the rest of my party. You can’t tell me you’re surprised I found what you were doing infinitely more interesting than anything going on at my table.”
His grin slips out, turning his face into a reward worth fighting for. He continues to scan me, those complex eyes hinting at so many secrets I want to know. He couldn’t be more wrong about that. He’s hypnotic in this moment.
“I’m not making a marriage proposal here. I just want to be friends, Ashton Shoveler of Rocks and Shit.”
This boy should always wear the shy, adorable expression he has when he shakes his head again.
After what feels like forever, he groans and runs a hand over his face.
“Fine,” he sighs out. My pulse races as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. This makes no sense. You know that, right?”
“Neither does my sister wearing a napkin around a construction site, but here we are.”
His soft laugh charges the air around us as he relaxes his shoulders and taps on his screen. “What’s your number, Iris Friend of Servers and Shovelers of Shit?” he asks with wry amusement.
A grin erupts from my heart and rushes to my face.
Five seconds after I recite my number, my own phone buzzes in my back pocket.
I finish tying my shoes and jog out the door for a run. The crew just left for the day, so I decide it’s safe to come out of hiding. It would’ve been nice if Ivy had taken the same approach, but while I’d done my best to stay out of their way for the rest of the afternoon, my sister seemed intent on making sure one worker in particular was constantly aware of her presence.
Honestly, she’s probably only interested in Ashton because she suspects I am. That, and her need to be noticed and adored by any good-looking male in visual range. I would have been embarrassed for her if I wasn’t so annoyed. He clearly didn’t want the attention, but if she ever showed concern for another person over herself it would be the first time.
Just as I start down the driveway I hear, “Hey, friend.”
My heart stutters at the familiar voice behind me, and I turn to find a crooked smile and distracting hazel eyes. So much for a head-clearing run.
“Sorry, did I scare you?” Ashton asks with a chuckle. “Do friends not say hello? Oh wait, is it because…” He leans close, casting a fake nervous look behind him. “Are we only allowed to be friends in the back of the house?”
I scrunch my nose and shove his shoulder. “Hilarious.”
He grins, sucking the air from my lungs. Because it turns out Ashton Morgan in playful mode is stunning. His genuine smile is the kind of thing you capture and hold onto for later. Even now, I sense I’m witnessing a rare event. There’s a sadness to Ashton, a heaviness that makes this moment feel fleeting. One of the many contradictions I want to understand about him.
“Our pact only lasts to the gate,” I warn. “Once we’re outside, all bets are off.”
He falls into step beside me, and I try to ignore the strange urge to hold his hand. A perfect stranger, really, and all I want to do is lace my fingers in his and walk him to his car like a teenager on a first date. I shake off the weird thought.
I haven’t even had a real boyfriend since Todd Addison my senior year of high school. After one or two dates with everyone since, I was bored by the same pretentious script or convinced the guy was only interested in my last name.
“You need help with that?” I ask, motioning toward the items he’s carrying. Anything to give my mind—and hands—something normal to do.
He looks over at me with a wry smile. “With my lunch cooler and thermos? I mean, I lift fifty-pound bags for a living, but sure, if you’re offering.”
I kick myself. “Right. Um…”
Without looking at me, he flips the thermos to his other hand and holds it out. I laugh and take it, bumping my shoulder into his side as we walk. I grip the handle awkwardly, snaking my fingers around i
t in a tight coil. As we approach his truck, I realize it’s because I’m holding it how I’d hold him.
So weird, Iris. What is wrong with you?
“Well, this is me,” he says, slapping the door of an old model black pickup.
My pulse pounds wildly when he leans close, but he only plucks the thermos from my hand.
“Thanks for your help, but I think I can handle it from here,” he says with a straight face.
I snort a laugh and smack his arm. He flinches playfully before tossing both items in the passenger seat.
“Just wait. One day you’ll be glad you have a skilled thermos carrier in your life,” I point out.
He smirks as he slides into his seat. “You might be right. Have a nice run, Iris Professional Thermos Carrier.”
“Have a nice drive, Ashton Professional Rock Carrier.”
“Touché,” he says with a smile while shutting his door.
He waves out the open window as he drives away, and I stand frozen on the street, watching his truck fade out of sight.
It’s not until I’m back in my room, hopping in the shower, that I realize I never went on my run.
I stare at the text for the hundredth time over the last two days.
Ashton Morgan.
His name looks so lonely in the empty box connecting us. How long should I wait for him to start the conversation? I’ve already pushed this friendship farther than I ever have with a person, so I don’t want to pressure him any more. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that, I just… I don’t know. There’s something about him I can’t explain. Some reason I can’t let go.
I’m not the kind of girl who obsesses over boys and dating, so I have no idea what’s going on with me. I’m not sure it’s even about that. It’s not a sensual fantasy keeping me awake at night; it’s the image of his haunted look at the restaurant, the fire in his eyes he somehow managed to control each time we hurt him. And yet, the next day those same eyes shone with a teasing light and magnetic smile that opened a window to a whole other side of him. So many layers richly woven into the barest of interactions. Strength. Resilience. Humor. Intelligence. And most of all, authenticity. I can only imagine the depth waiting to be discovered beneath the attractive exterior.
I’ve only glimpsed the surface of this person and I’m completely hooked.
True to his word, Ashton and the crew showed up this morning after an off-day on Sunday. A shiver of awareness follows me around knowing he’s here, but I won’t approach him openly again. With my sister away at some modeling event for a couple of weeks, he actually has the chance to work in peace without getting harassed.
The urgency is gone anyway, now that I have his number and the means to reach him whenever I want to—even though I’m not sure I ever will. I worked so hard to establish this connection and now I can’t see myself having the courage to use it. Maybe if we keep breaking the ice in person?
Around noon, I notice the guys winding down for lunch. Ashton hangs back to retrieve his cooler and thermos, while the others disappear around the side of the house, probably to head to their vehicles. He’s just started his retreat as well when I step through the door and get his attention.
“Psst. Hey. You there,” I hiss in an exaggerated conspiratorial voice.
Ashton looks over, smiling when he sees my strange crouched position. He ducks and glances around like a good co-conspirator.
“All clear, ma’am. It’s safe to commence friendship,” he teases back in a low voice.
I grin, and he straightens into his normal self.
“What’s up, Iris?” he asks, crossing to me.
“Not much. Guess it’s lunch time? Hot out here today, huh?”
He huffs a dry laugh. “Yeah. That’s why lunch is the best part of the day. We get to hunt down some air conditioning.”
“Hunt down air conditioning? Like, in your truck?”
He shrugs, wiping his arm across his forehead. “Sometimes, but usually we find a store or restaurant or something. Bathroom comes in handy too,” he says with a sly smile.
I try to smile back, but nothing about that seems right. Not when we have enough bathrooms for each of them just a few feet away. Plus, I shudder at the thought that their only break from this stifling heat is a twenty minute stint in a public building.
He’s already started away again when I clear my throat.
“Hey, um, you’re welcome to come inside and eat if you want. We’ve got plenty of air conditioning and bathrooms. I mean, so you don’t have to go hunting.” I add the late joke to lighten the offer when his smile fades.
Crap. Messed it up again.
His eyes graze mine before falling back to the ground.
“Thanks,” he says with a tight twist of the lips. “But I can’t. Lane would kill me.” That comes with another wobbly smile that hurts even more somehow.
“Oh, right. Of course,” I say, plastering a pleasant look on my face.
He kicks at something beneath him, then lifts his gaze. My breath catches in my throat at the sudden connection.
“Seriously, though, thanks, Iris. You’re a really good person.”
My heart soars and pinches in my chest as he turns without another word. I don’t have words either while I watch him disappear, my mind running wild with the complex nature of that simple statement. But it’s another thought that scares me the most when I draw in a deep breath and return to the house.
I would’ve traded anything to have him following me inside right now.
Later that night, I adjust on a stool at the kitchen island to make an attempt at the summer reading text for my Advanced Concepts of Leadership class. One more year and I’ll finish my business degree. Then two to three more to get my MBA and follow in Dad’s massive footsteps. I’ve imagined myself at his side in my fancy power suit and authoritative scowl since I was a little girl. Dad is one of the best people I know, and I’ve always wanted to be like him.
But the more I’ve glimpsed his empire, the more the prospect of stepping into his world terrifies me. The stakes are so high, billions of dollars and thousands of employees’ livelihoods on the line. Plus, after three years of school, I have yet to take a class I actually enjoyed. He’s a genius at this stuff, and I can barely get through a chapter in a textbook. Most days, I’m pretty sure he’s the only reason I haven’t already given up.
Speaking of, Dad wanders into the room as if reading my thoughts again. I swear, he actually can. It’s creepy how he always shows up when I need him.
“Hey, you,” he says, moving to the cabinet to grab a glass. “Hanging out in the kitchen by yourself?”
“Hey, Dad. Yeah, just reading for school. You’re home late. How was your day?”
“Eh. Some people made money. Some didn’t.”
He throws me a grin as he fills his glass with water from the fridge filter.
I smile and shake my head at the usual answer. “You know, if you want me to jump into the family business and kick some Wall Street ass, you’re going to have to give me more than that one of these days.”
He shrugs and leans his elbows on the island across from me. “Plenty of time for that. You’ve only got a couple years left of being a kid. Enjoy it.”
“I’m twenty-one, Dad.”
“Exactly. My itty-bitty baby girl.” That gem comes with a pursing of the lips no human should ever do again.
I roll my eyes but can’t stop the smile peeking out. “Whatever.”
“What are you reading?”
“Ugh, it’s for Concepts of Leadership.”
“Hmm, fascinating. I’d love some tips. Mind if I borrow it when you’re done?”
I can’t tell if he’s joking until he winks.
“Sure, it’s all yours,” I say through a chuckle. “Hey, Dad?”
He stops and returns to the island.
“Um…” Crap. How to ask this without sounding insane. “Do you believe you can just know about a person?”
His look is pretty muc
h what I expected. “Know about someone? Know what? Like a name? Their address?”
“No, not like that.” I huff a breath, thinking. “Like, an instant connection. I’m not talking about love at first sight or anything. It’s not even a romantic thing. Just that you can immediately tell someone’s soul is compatible with yours and you’d be missing out if you didn’t get to know him—or her. Them, I mean.”
His brow furrows as he studies me in the bright kitchen lighting I now wish I’d left off. “You mean like having intuition about people? Reading them? That’s a very important skill in life as well as the business world.”
“Yeah, but more than that. Like, there’s this spark when you’re together, and you just know this person is special, even though you can’t explain it and don’t know anything about them.”
“Huh.” He taps his fingers while considering my words.
I blush in the silence. Hearing my thoughts out loud made them sound even stranger. So stupid.
It’s probably just a crush, Iris. Deal with it.
Embarrassed, I scratch at a slight imperfection in the granite. “Never mind. It’s stupid,” I mutter.
“If it’s weighing on you, it’s not stupid.” He pulls in a deep breath. “To answer your question, I don’t know. I’m still not sure I understand exactly what you’re saying, but if you’ve met someone who makes you feel that way, you should bring him around.”
My gaze snaps to him in surprise.
“What?” he says with a shrug. “This person sounds amazing. Why shouldn’t we all get to enjoy his awesomeness?”
Thankfully, there’s a grape in the fruit bowl I can throw at him. He laughs and pops it in his mouth on his way out of the kitchen.
“Hey, you know what I do know?” he says, turning back abruptly. His eyes find mine across the room, all humor gone.
I straighten at the serious look on his face.
“Life is too short, too hard, and too full of sorrow to pass on any potential joys. You have a beautiful soul, kiddo, and if it believes it’s found another one, hold on with everything you have. Failure is temporary. Regret is forever.”
