by T. K. Leigh
Without giving her a chance to ask what I’m up to, I jump from my chair and walk with determined strides toward the front desk of the lounge, where it appears several other people on the same flight are attempting to rebook.
As I wait, I come up with a plan. If we’re able to get seats, I’ll take that as a sign I’m supposed to leave my one night with Asher as just that — one night. But if we can’t, maybe it’s the universe’s way of saying we weren’t supposed to have left things the way we did. That we’re supposed to explore what I’m confident he felt, too. The connection. The electricity. The passion. God, I’ve missed having this kind of passion in my life.
When it’s my turn, the agent waves me over with a smile. “Let me guess. You’re on the canceled flight to JFK.”
“Yes. Both my friend and I were rebooked on the red-eye tonight without any seat assignment. What are the chances we’ll actually get on that flight?”
“I’m sure—”
“I know how these things work,” I interrupt. “My mother is a former airline employee. We suffered through all those standby employee trips for years. And I’d rather not have to do that again. So just tell me how far down the list we are. Unless you can get us seats now.”
Blowing out a sigh, she taps at her keyboard for a moment. “What’s your name?”
“Isabella Nolan. And my friend is Chloe Davenport.”
She refocuses on the screen, a slight cringe crossing her expression. “It’s oversold,” she tells me, although I already knew that. “Doesn’t mean you won’t get on.”
“But we’re pretty far down on the request list, right?”
“Since you’re a displaced traveler, you do have priority.”
“But there’s an entire flight of displaced travelers,” I argue back.
“I can get you confirmed seats on the noon flight to JFK tomorrow if you’d prefer.”
“Let me go check with my friend. I’ll be right back.”
“Certainly.”
I spin around, hurrying back to tell Chloe the news. “I can get us guaranteed seats on the noon flight tomorrow. The red-eye is oversold and they’ll most likely be forced to rebook again if they can’t get enough people with confirmed seats to give them up. You in? Guaranteed seats or take a risk on the red-eye?”
She blows out a breath, rubbing her temples. It’s more than apparent she’s not too keen about being stuck in this town. Maybe I should have pushed harder to get us on the red-eye. But the truth remains. The instant I saw our flight was canceled, hope brimmed inside me. Grams always said, “With every new day we’re given a new chance.” Maybe this is my new chance. For what? I’m not quite sure, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s a bigger reason for this.
“Guaranteed seats.”
I brim with excitement, but do my best to hide it. “Give me your boarding pass and I’ll get you rebooked.” I hold out my hand. She places her phone into it, her boarding pass on the screen. “Thanks. Be right back.”
I return to the desk and approach the same agent, handing her both our boarding passes. Within a few moments, we’re rebooked. As I turn to head back to Chloe, my phone dings. I figure it’s just my new flight information, but glance at the screen anyway. When I see Asher’s name, my heart ricochets into my throat. Speaking of signs…
Safe travels today. Seeing you again was the highlight of my month. Hell, probably my year. I hope our paths cross again soon.
I chew on my bottom lip as I read his text. I may regret what I’m about to do, may be trying to see something that’s not there, but some other force is pulling the strings.
Drawing in a deep breath, I find Asher’s contact in my phone and press it, listening to it ring.
“Izzy?” he answers almost immediately. All these years later and he still has the same number. Then again, so do I.
“Hey, Ash.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I suppose…,” I respond in a drawn-out voice before blurting, “My flight was canceled. Chloe and I are stuck in Vegas for another night. And—”
“Do you need a place to stay?” he offers without a moment’s hesitation. “You’re both more than welcome to come here.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to put you out. I know you’re trying to write.”
“An old college buddy is visiting today, so I won’t get much writing done anyway.” He lowers his voice. “And I’d love to have more time with you. I hated leaving you this morning with the thought that another eight years would go by without seeing you. Now I get one more chance.”
A shiver rolls through me at the huskiness in his tone. I try to tell myself he doesn’t mean anything by it, that his words don’t carry the double meaning my sex-starved brain attributes to them. He’s an old friend. Nothing more.
“We’ll be there in about an hour,” I say, not responding to his comment. “Maybe sooner. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely. I’ll text you the address and gate code. Come on up once you get here.”
“Sounds good.”
“Perfect.”
I stay on the line, almost waiting for him to back out, tell me this isn’t a good idea. After the constant see-saw last night, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. But he doesn’t.
“See you soon, Iz.”
“See you soon, Ash.”
I go to disconnect when he calls my name. “Izzy?”
“Yes?”
“I’m really glad your flight was canceled.”
I exhale a tiny breath. “Me, too.”
Chapter Seven
Queasiness settles deep in my stomach as our Uber makes the turn onto Asher’s street. My eyes are laser-focused out the window, avoiding Chloe’s inquisitive stare crawling along my skin from across the back seat of the car. She hasn’t pressed about this so-called “friend I knew in college” who we’d be crashing with. Now that we’re driving past large estates that rival the size of those on all those celebrity lifestyle shows, I can sense her curiosity grow. I don’t have to look at her to know her eyes are wide, her mouth agape, her brows pinched. It’s how I looked a few hours ago.
“Right here,” I tell the driver when I see the familiar gate come into view. He slows to a stop in front of the sprawling house, and I inhale a calming breath. This isn’t a ludicrous idea, is it? God, I hope not. Only time will tell.
“Where the hell are we? David Copperfield’s house?” Chloe quips.
“No.” I make a show of collecting my purse and laptop bag. “But my sources say he lives around here somewhere.”
“Sources? What sources? I’m your source for all things celebrity.”
“Maybe there are some things about me you don’t know.”
More than she realizes.
My fingers on the handle, I pass her a conniving smile, then climb onto the sidewalk. It’s strange not to be met with a barrage of cars or slot machines, as would have happened had we stayed at a hotel on the Strip. How does that saying go? “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” Well, we’re certainly not in the Las Vegas Chloe was probably expecting. We’ve flown over the rainbow. At least I have.
I walk toward the trunk where our driver is retrieving our bags. When Chloe doesn’t immediately appear, I head to her side, rapping on the window before opening the door.
“Are you coming? Or do you want to call Bernadette and see if you can crash with her tonight? Maybe stay up and do a makeover, then go to some Pure Romance party.”
“I wouldn’t mind going to a Pure Romance party.” She scoots out of the car. “I’m all for women exploring their sexuality. But I’ll pass on the Bernadette makeover. With the amount of makeup she’d cake on my face and the revealing outfit she’d stuff me in, I’d come out of there looking like a blowup doll.” Collecting her bag from our driver, she smiles her thanks, then walks up to the gate with me.
I retrieve my phone to verify the code Asher texted earlier and punch it into the security box. Once the gate slides open,
I continue up the elaborate driveway. When I don’t sense Chloe following, I glance over my shoulder.
“Are you coming?” I huff once more, this time with irritation for good measure.
“I suppose…” She continues toward me with reluctant steps, neither one of us saying a word as she takes in the well-maintained grounds that make it appear as if a gardener comes daily.
But the second we round the corner and Chloe is treated to her first glimpse of the house, that silence comes to an end. As I knew it would. I’m not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t have to tell her this “friend” is Asher York. I didn’t want her to talk me out of this, to remind me of all the reasons this is a bad idea. I have enough of those on my own without her adding to them.
“Iz?” she says as we approach the front steps.
I face her, albeit with reservation.
“Who lives here?”
“Just an old friend from my undergrad days.”
“A…friend? Does this ‘friend’ happen to be of the male persuasion?”
“Yes.” I straighten my spine, but still don’t look her directly in the eyes.
“Call me crazy—”
“You certainly are.”
“But I get the feeling there’s more to the story than this guy being just a ‘friend’.”
I worry my bottom lip. How do I explain I spent all night with my ex-fiancé’s brother without her throwing a yellow flag on the play?
I can insist we’re only friends, that we ran into each other last night and caught up, which is the truth. If I’d run into anyone else from my college days, that would be the story I’d tell. But I felt it the first time I saw Asher perform, before I’d even heard the name Jessie York. I felt it last night when I heard his voice after so many years. And I felt it this morning when we said what I thought would be goodbye to each other.
Asher will always be something more than simply a friend. He will always own a piece of my heart.
“What is it?” She rests her hand on my bicep, giving me a reassuring smile. “You can tell me anything.”
“I know that. But this…” I shake my head, staring into the distance, as if the answer is there. I doubt there will ever be a solution to this jumbled puzzle I’ve trapped myself in by accepting Asher’s invitation to stay at his house for the night. Drawing in a deep breath, I bring my eyes back to hers. “It’s Asher York.”
Everything seems to stop now that the truth is out there. Time. The earth’s rotation. Hell, even the birds have grown silent, the breeze gone, everything still in the stagnant desert air.
“Asher York? As in Jessie York’s older brother?” she asks calmly, her expression unreadable, which only heightens my edginess.
“It’s not exactly a common name, is it?” I laugh, trying to cover my nerves, but it has the opposite effect.
“Asher York, the handsome, struggling musician?”
“Yup.”
“The Asher York with a singing voice that makes you forget your name?”
“That’s the one.”
“The Asher York who looks like a fucking Adonis with a guitar strapped to him?”
“Yes, Chloe. That Asher York,” I say louder as a blush blooms on my cheeks. If she only knew just how amazing Asher York looks now with a guitar slung over his chiseled body.
He’s a far cry from the guy I knew all those years ago. Hell, if the band’s lead singer hadn’t introduced him by name last night, I probably wouldn’t have recognized him. But I would have eventually figured it out. He still has the same raspy, soulful voice, still writes lyrics filled with so much passion and heartache.
“The Asher York who would have been your brother-in-law if you hadn’t smartened up and called off your engagement to Jessie?”
“Exactly.” I swallow hard, a pang squeezing my heart, my stomach churning. I shouldn’t feel guilty about this. I haven’t spoken to Jessie in years. But I still can’t help but feel like I’m betraying him by being here, even if nothing untoward has happened between Asher and me.
She blinks once. Twice. Then she steps back, glancing around at the exquisite grounds, her voice chipper. “Well, it looks like Asher’s not a struggling musician anymore, is he?”
“Oh, this isn’t his place,” I correct quickly. “He’s just kind of…staying here.”
“Like, house sitting?”
“Not exactly. He, uh…”
A motion catches my attention. I whip my eyes to the front door, Asher appearing. A wicked smile curls his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorjamb. It takes all my willpower not to ogle his biceps. Hell, it seems to take all Chloe’s willpower, too. I can’t blame her. He is really nice to look at.
“When I told you it was okay for you both to crash here, I meant inside the house. Not on the front stoop.”
“Hey, Ash.” My cheeks warm as my lips kick up in the corners, the response as innate as breathing. I avert my eyes, doing everything I can to hold on to the little composure I have left so as not to make it obvious there’s something more going on between us. I keep reminding myself there isn’t. We’ve never even kissed. Not like that. So why do I feel like a hormonally crazed teenager who’s run into the object of her affection during a middle school dance? “Thanks for this.”
“It’s nothing, Iz. You know that.” He uncrosses his arms, taking a step toward me. “I was thrilled to hear your voice, considering I thought you’d be 35,000 feet in the air by now.”
I lift my eyes to his. “I guess the universe had different plans.”
“I guess so.” A beat passes as we stay in our bubble where it’s just us. Then he remembers we’re not alone and clears his throat, looking to my left. “Chloe. Good to see you again. I like the hair. It suits you.”
“Thanks for letting us stay here.”
“Anytime. I’d never turn away a friend in need.” I notice the faintest hint of a wink as he gestures for us to come in.
“Hear that?” She leans into me as we pass him, entering the foyer. “He’ll never turn away a friend in need, Iz.”
“Oh, hush. It’s not like that.”
“You want it to be like that, though, right?”
“Maybe,” I mumble in a barely audible voice, hoping she can’t hear. But the devious expression on her face tells me she did.
“I’ll show you around down here, then take you up to where you’ll be staying,” Asher announces.
“Great!” I respond brightly, spinning around to face him.
“Great…,” he repeats, his voice full of uncertainty as he eyes me, my overly enthusiastic reaction presumably catching him off-guard. That’s the downside of trying to hide things from someone you once knew so well. They’ll know in a heartbeat when you’re acting out of character. Just like I am now.
“So, the tour?” Chloe asks, stepping forward.
“Right. This way.” He turns around, and I can’t help but stare at his backside. It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing a white linen shirt and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. I can still make out the definition of his muscles through his clothes. I thought the dimples on his face were addictive. They have nothing on those right above his waistline.
“Come on, Izzy.” Chloe grabs my arm, snapping me out of my mental undressing. I stumble, my face burning, but I push down any embarrassment from getting caught ogling him. We follow him into the spacious open living area that contains the kitchen, an informal dining space, as well as a sitting area, complete with large-screen TV and what I can only imagine is a state-of-the-art sound system.
The entire place boasts high ceilings, neutral walls and furniture, the space bathed in natural light. Based on the décor, I never would have guessed who owned this house. It’s muted and understated. Apart from a glass display case in the corner of the living room containing a handful of Grammys that Chloe pays no attention to, nothing indicates this is home to Fallen Grace’s recording studio.
Asher leads us down a long corridor, showing Ch
loe the game room, library, workout room, and the wine “cellar”, even though I struggle to call it a cellar since it’s on the ground floor. I feign interest in the tour, not wanting to make it too obvious I’ve been here before, although it’s only a matter of time until I’m forced to come clean.
As we leave the theater room, I expect him to show her the one remaining space — the recording studio. Instead, he heads back toward the foyer. Grabbing our bags, he leads us up the stairs and down what he referred to as the guest wing.
After showing Chloe to her room, he turns to me, pulling my roll-aboard a little farther down the hallway, opening the door into a luxurious space that would rival even a five-star hotel. Lush, four-poster bed. Fireplace. Magnificent view. Ensuite bathroom I imagine contains a jetted tub.
“I hope these accommodations are up to your satisfaction.” He enters behind me, setting my suitcase on an ottoman sitting below one of the windows overlooking the patio, the Las Vegas skyline on the horizon, majestic mountains stretching beyond it.
“I suppose it’ll do,” I joke, shifting on my feet. “At least it’s only for one night.”
“You’re a resourceful girl. I’m sure you’ll survive these inferior quarters.” His eyes shine as they trace over my face with amusement, his smile wide. Then he steps back. “I’ll let you get settled. I’m about to fire up the grill and make some burgers.”
“Burgers? Are they—”
“Dad’s recipe? You’d better believe it.”
I place a hand on my hip, and his gaze floats to the sliver of exposed skin between my jeans and my shirt. “So he finally decided you were trustworthy enough to be given it?”
“Sure did,” he replies boastfully, jutting out his chest. “Of course, it took quitting my decent-paying, respectable job, with great benefits and summers off, and moving out to California for him to share it. Said if things got bad, I could at least sell the recipe to make a bit of money.” He winks, the gesture causing my knees to weaken.
“I’m glad you didn’t have to resort to that. Your father’s recipe should stay in the family.” I pat my stomach. “Although I hope you have enough. It’s been years since I’ve had one of your father’s world-famous burgers. I may eat my weight in them.”
