Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  With a sigh weighed down by pure exhaustion, I closed my phone, hardly noticing the uncomfortable lumps in the couch as they pushed into my side and let my eyes drift shut; I’d figure out how to answer her when I woke up.

  Ash

  “Larry!” I yelled through the stockroom in the back of the Ocean Roasters Coffee Shop. “Where the hell are you?”

  A growl brewed in my chest. I didn’t have time to hunt down the stubborn old man who was probably lifting boxes that I - and his doctor - told him he shouldn’t.

  I didn’t have time for this.

  I’d come back to the shack feeling like a fucking asshole when I saw Taylor curled up on the couch.

  Motherfucking Ash-hole.

  Of course, she wouldn’t want to sleep in the bed where I’d just slept with another woman last night - another woman that she’d met. Christ, only a few hours in Tay’s presence and I’d completely forgotten about Danny. Or that she’d been there. Or that I probably owed her more of an explanation now that I’d actually talked to Taylor.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose as I pushed out the back door.

  I hadn’t wanted to wake her; she’d looked like a sleeping pixie, exactly like I always called her, with her hair falling over her face, swaying softly with her breath. One hand rested on the slight swell in her stomach, which was hard to even see at this angle, and it made my hand itch to touch her.

  I’d seen it before. I knew it was a thing - people wanting to touch a pregnant woman’s stomach. It hadn’t been my thing, though. Until now. Maybe because I’d known her my whole life, I reasoned; that’s why I felt this fucking magnetic draw to the baby she was growing. That had to be it.

  After stripping the bed and tossing the sheets in the stacked washer and dryer in the closet, I’d woken up Tay since her nap was knocking on the three-hour mark. She looked like she could use a few more, but she was right, it would screw with adjusting to the time change.

  I only had mac n’ cheese to offer her for lunch. With all the work I’d been doing on the restaurant, I was barely in the shack to sleep, let alone eat.

  Making sure she was eating and relaxed, I left to run some errands in town and pick up something at the store for dinner.

  “Larry,” I shouted with a huff, seeing the suspender-wearing grouch attempting to lift two bags of garbage into the dumpster. I jogged up and took them from him, doing the job myself. “I told you I would handle it.”

  “I’m not an invalid, Ashton. I can take out the damn trash,” he grumbled, turning back to the building. “Did your girl find you?”

  I froze in shock. “Danny was looking for me?” Shit.

  “Not that girl,” he said, staring me down with eyes that were old enough to be wiser and more perceptive than myself… and also a helluva lot more irritating. “Taylor.”

  My head jerked back in shock. “She’s not my girl,” I corrected him firmly, like I needed to be sternly convinced as well. “She’s my sister’s best friend, and she’s going through some stuff. Needed a friend… and a place to stay.”

  “I see.” He nodded knowingly, having been that safe place himself more times than I knew of and probably more times than he could count.

  “What did you tell her?” My eyes narrowed.

  He’d called Taylor ‘my girl.’ Now my guard was up.

  “Only the important things.”

  “Like…”

  “Like where to find you,” he snapped in frustration before waving me off with a huff and heading for the dumpster.

  My eyes narrowed on the back of his skull, wishing I could see into his thoughts. The way he said it made it sound less like he’d given directions and more like I was lost and he’d sent Taylor to find me – to bring me home.

  “What does that mean?” I asked cautiously.

  He hoisted the bag over the side of the dumpster with a grunt.

  “Her baby yours?”

  “No.” I crossed my arms.

  He walked up to me and demanded, “Does anyone know what you’re doing out here, Ashton? Because your girl thought Roasters was your home address.”

  “She’s not my—”

  “Does anyone know?”

  “Does it matter?” I countered and immediately regretted it.

  Anger waved over his wrinkles. “You know damn well it does. Step eight. Be willing to make amends,” he quoted me from the program, though I knew each step by heart.

  “I am willing,” I shot back and speared a hand through my hair, not prepared for this conversation. “But it’s not just about apologizing and being forgiven, Larry.” I was angry, so angry it made my voice low and tight. “It’s about repairing the damage.”

  He pointed a knobby finger at my chest. “Let me tell you somethin’. Not drinkin’ is the easy part. Facing the feelings, that’s the hard stuff.” His finger tapped against my muscle. “All those good deeds you’re doin’ won’t fix you. You can’t repair the damage until you have a foundation of forgiveness.”

  My chest rose and fell like I was in the middle of a fight, though the only battle really going on here was inside me; I wasn’t arguing with Larry. I was fighting against the truth he just happened to give voice to.

  “And that first means forgiving yourself.”

  I spun away from him and gripped the side of the dumpster, hearing the crunch of his footsteps over the gravel as he walked back to his shop.

  “And, for the record, I can take out the damn trash, Ashton. Been taking out the garbage in this town for more years than you’ve been alive,” he said it as though used coffee cups and pastry napkins were the least of the garbage he’d had to get rid of. “You should be busy taking care of yourself and your girl.”

  “She’s not my—” I broke off and bit into my tongue. There was no point arguing with him.

  “Looks like that’ll be the second biggest lie you tell yourself, then,” he groused.

  I already knew what the first was: that I didn’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness, which was why I hadn’t asked for it.

  “Now, if you’re done hollerin’, I’ve got an appointment with Shelly, unless you want to go talk to the woman ‘bout your feelings… might be more productive.” He shuffled over to his truck and climbed inside, the faded purple Nissan grumbling to life.

  Shelly was really Dr. Shelly Goldner, psychiatrist and friend of Larry’s. I’d never met her, but this was the first time he’d indicated that he was seeing her on a professional level and not a personal one.

  We all had our demons. But, as Larry pulled away from the building, I realized that he might be even better than I’d been when it came to hiding them.

  Shaking my head, I headed for the stack of delivery boxes sitting just outside the door. At least, he hadn’t been foolish enough to try and lift these.

  Taylor

  “Taylor!”

  I jumped when I heard him yelling for me, turning my back on the watery horizon that was slowly staining with the vibrant, warm colors of sunset. It looked like there was another good hour or so before the sun was completely down, which is why I decided to go for a walk before Ash got back, hoping the cool air would help clear the fog in my head.

  “I’m here,” I shouted back, hearing him approaching on the path.

  Ice blue eyes pinned me as he appeared in the clearing by the restaurant. “Christ, did you think to leave a note?” he asked with hard desperation. “Scared the shit out of me.”

  “I-I’m sorry.” I shook my head. I hadn’t thought to because… “What time is it?”

  “A little past six.”

  Oh, dear.

  “Oh my,” I gasped, covering my mouth. “I didn’t realize I’d been out here for that long. I’m sorry. It was so nice out. I just thought I’d come out here and read for a little.” I held up my small, pink Bible I’d brought with me, stickies of all colors turning the edge into a rainbow of marked verses. “I thought I’d be back before… but I was distracted by the sunset.”

  “It’
s fine,” he interjected, running a hand through his wavy blond hair.

  My fingers still remembered how soft it was that night, how they sunk into the silken threads like sand, searching for something to hold on to that would mean I wouldn’t have to let go.

  “Just… just next time text me or something.”

  I only nodded. No point in telling him that I left my phone back at the cabin, too.

  “The sound of the water, it’s so soothing… like I could stand here and listen to it forever,” I said quietly as I walked back to him.

  “It is… and you can,” he agreed. “And in six weeks, hopefully, you can be enjoying a good meal while doing it, too.”

  I smiled, and we made our way back to the house in silence.

  “I got stuff to make fish tacos. Hope that’s cool with you.”

  “Yeah,” I said, bobbing my head in thanks as he held the door open for me. I stopped abruptly to turn to him, and he crashed into me, his strong, hot grip closing around my shoulders.

  “Woah—what’s wrong?”

  I just wanted to ask him about dinner. A stupid question about the fish and all of a sudden, I found myself with barely a breath between the two of us, my heart swimming like desire was a great white shark chasing after it.

  “I-I just wanted to know what kind of fish…” I said hoarsely.

  “Mahi Mahi.” His eyes searched mine for explanation.

  “Okay, good. I just… I can’t have certain kinds of seafood because of the baby.” I gave him the reason, but I couldn’t hold his gaze as I did it.

  “Shit.” He dropped his hands and looked down between us. “I didn’t even think.”

  The look on his face assured me he’d have the list of forbidden foods during pregnancy memorized by tomorrow.

  “It’s fine, really,” I said with a shaky laugh, putting my hand on his chest in an attempt to persuade him that it was no big deal. And it wasn’t.

  But my hand on him was.

  Right hand. Of course, it was my right hand that chose to rest on the hot muscle pulsing over his heart. I sucked in a breath as desire flared low in my belly, moisture pooling between my thighs as my traitorous memory - that couldn’t bother to remember he had a girlfriend - had no problem remembering the way he’d touched me that night.

  Girlfriend.

  I yanked my hand away and walked backward into the room.

  “Taylor…”

  I froze – like a kid caught sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, trying to get a glimpse of Santa.

  Biting my lip, I turned guiltily around to him, my eyes catching on each of the neatly organized stacks of papers and plans, receipts and invoices that I’d sorted through and organized this afternoon.

  He gaped, dragging his eyes along the magic transformation of his clutter.

  “What did you…”

  “I organized it. Just a little,” I admitted.

  “Just a little?” I didn’t know if it was possible for a guy to squeak, but Ash certainly came close as he walked up to the nearest stack – a pile of invoices that I’d separated based on vendor and date and then color-coded to designate whether, as far as I could tell, it had been paid or not.

  “Well, you were gone all afternoon, and you know I need to organize when I’m anxious,” I mumbled. “Don’t you remember the night before the SATs—”

  “When you reorganized my mom’s entire spice cabinet?” he drawled. “Yeah, I remember.”

  I’d grouped the spice jars based on region of origin, then alphabetized, and then stickered with expiration dates.

  “You did all this… in the last few hours?”

  I whimpered and rushed forward, placing my hand firmly on the pile of receipts he’d been about to thumb through.

  “You have to be careful with these,” I advised. “They blow over so easily; I lost the pile twice before I finally sorted it all.”

  I turned to him and realized my heart was even less stable, the look in his gaze blowing over the feeble thing and taking down my breath along with it.

  “I see,” he said hoarsely. “So, what exactly did you do?”

  Gearing up with a long breath, I took the next several minutes to explain how I’d sorted all the papers he’d left in hodge-podge disarray over every surface of the room.

  “You know I knew where everything was, right?” Ash asked as he began to unpack the groceries he’d clearly dumped just inside the door, realizing I wasn’t in the house.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t believe that,” I said with a quiet smile. “Not in that mess.”

  He grunted.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know, but you should figure out a system early, before things get up and running,” I told him. “I can help you, if you want. It’s the least I can do…”

  He turned the stove on and refocused on me. “You don’t owe me, Taylor. Not for staying.”

  I opened my mouth and clamped it shut as he stepped closer to me. There was only the small corner of the narrow kitchen island that separated it from the cramped dining room.

  “My house. My rules.”

  My pulse thudded and the silence between us became deafening. He was so serious – so insistent – as though he were making up for something… but what that something was, I had no idea.

  It certainly wasn’t for getting your sister’s best friend pregnant while too drunk to remember it.

  I pulled my lower lip between my teeth and ducked my head. The oil spitting in the pan broke the tension. “Is there anything you want me to do? Anything I can do to help?” His glare intensified. “For dinner, I mean.”

  “I think I’m good.” He spun away from me and flipped on the sink to wash his hands. Then, in a lighter tone, added, “Have to keep myself primed and ready for when we open.”

  He winked at me and my lower parts lost their cool. I didn’t know if Ash had ever winked at me.

  Bee-lining for the couch, I sank into its uneven lumps where nothing embarrassing could touch me as it practically swallowed me whole. It was safer to watch him cook from a distance.

  6

  Taylor

  I never thought something like cooking could be sexy. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I was weird, or this baby was doing even more things to my body that I wasn’t prepared for. But, oh my, did watching Ash make us dinner in his worn jeans and tight tee do things to my body that only in California would be legalized.

  Yes, this desire is for medicinal purposes, heart, I swear.

  “Do you have a chef?” I squeaked out, trying to distract myself with something.

  “You’re looking at him.” He shot me a devious grin over his shoulder as he flipped the fish in his frypan without even looking.

  Wrapping my sweater tighter around me, I tugged the collar up to my mouth as I stared at him in astonishment, finally blurting, “You know how to cook?”

  “They didn’t call me ‘Chef’ down in ‘Bama for nothing.” He chuckled.

  I didn’t know much about his college life. He wasn’t my friend; his sister was. I knew him for a long time, but we hadn’t kept in touch; I wasn’t even around on holidays because my parents always had a whole host of church and country-club functions that we’d had to attend. Anything I learned was only through Blake… And she’d never mentioned ‘Chef.’

  “They called you ‘Chef’?” I asked as he plated our dinner.

  “Our frat house did, yeah. I mean, I’m no Anthony Bourdain, but I would watch cooking shows while I studied and then I figured, why not give it a shot?”

  “So, you move out to Carmel Cove, California, buy a building to renovate it into your own restaurant and now, you’re telling me that you are going to be head chef in that restaurant,” I clarified as I met him over at the tiny dining table which had unfolded into something marginally larger. “Who are you, Ash? What happened to you?”

  I meant to ask lightly, but the truth was I was desperate to know. The questions burn
ed on my tongue and came out more like an interrogation.

  The plates froze just an inch above the table as my questions slipped out. I needed to know, I’d decided.

  I needed to know what happened to the father of my child before I gave him this piece of me.

  I knew high school Ash who flirted with me either as payback to his sister for crushing on Zach or because collecting my virginal blushes was a far more glorious achievement than sleeping with the string of girls waiting in the wings. And I knew the Zach Parker Project’s Ash, manager and professional partier; the man who went out and did whatever it took to make connections and make someone else’s dreams come true.

  But the man in front of me was neither of those versions.

  “Says the girl who used to put nuns to shame and yet showed up at my door pregnant and needing a place to stay. I could ask you the same thing,” he returned quietly.

  I winced even before the plates clattered on the faux-wood top. He could ask. And right now, I didn’t think he’d like the answer.

  “Eat up. Hopefully, this makes up for my poorly prepared lunch.”

  My stomach grumbled.

  If there was one thing that could dull the white-hot desire flowing through my veins, it was a delicious meal. And delicious was a poor description of how good these fish tacos were.

  “Oh my goodness, Ash, these are incredible,” I gushed with a hand over my mouth so that I could compliment him and continue eating at the same time.

  His lips quirked up and moisture rushed between my legs. Guess it couldn’t dull my desire for long.

  “Thanks. They’re definitely going on the menu.”

  I could only nod in agreement because I was too busy stuffing my face.

  Blake and I were both tiny but being able to put down ridiculous amounts of food was at the top of the list of all the things that we had in common.

  I shifted in my seat when I noticed him staring at me. Oh no, did I really look like that much of a pig… My mouth slowed.