by Brynne Asher
Taking a step, I look down into her blue eyes as I bring my hand up. She tenses, but I don’t stop and brush my thumb over the paint smudged on her cheek. She pulls her lips in and shuts her eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was in pain.
This takes me by surprise. Instead of saying what I wanted to say, or touch her hair, or even pull her to me the way I did yesterday, I drop my arm. When she opens her eyes, they’re strained and full of something I can’t pinpoint.
As of right now, my goal is to figure out what that’s all about.
I lower my voice. “Let’s go feed our kids, Keelie. It’s just pizza. Everyone needs to eat and I dragged Emma out of the house. I’ll feel better if I get some food in her.”
She sighs, her expression resigned as she takes a step back. “Fine. But I need to get ready.”
“Take your time.” I smirk. “But not too much time. They’re hungry and so am I.”
She glares at me before moving back to the house.
*****
Keelie
“So, wait. Mr. I Can Change a Tire is at your house?” Stephie screams.
I finish brushing and spit toothpaste into the sink.
“Stop yelling at me.” I glare at her on Facetime as I rinse my mouth and spit two more times.
I wrapped up my paintbrush for later and cleaned up my paint tray, then proceeded to take the quickest shower known to womankind. I had no choice but to wash my hair since it was sprinkled with a neutral eggshell latex. I can’t seem to do anything in this damn house without covering myself in a mess.
“How does he know where you live?”
After we did our finest job making fun of Stan’s outfit last Saturday night, I told her all about my tire-changing hunk-of-a-stranger who came to my rescue. I went on and on about how he saved my white blouse, fancy heels, got me out of the ditch, and away from the sweater vest. But I’ve been busy and haven’t had a chance to tell her that Asa showed up at school and ended up being a parent of two of my students.
I give her the condensed version as I slap some powder foundation on my face.
Silence fills my bathroom and when I look to the screen, she’s deep in thought.
“What?” I ask.
“So, you’re telling me the man who came to your aid in your hour of need, the man who you described as sex on legs—and after two glasses of wine, lectured me that if I ever set you up with anyone else, it needed to be a man like him—is the actual man who is at your house right now? That same man wants to take my sister and her kids for pizza?”
“Yes,” I confirm before arguing. “But I didn’t mean I actually wanted to go out with him. I don’t want to go out with anyone.”
“But you did say that if you had to go out with anyone, it would need to be someone like him. And if my memory serves, your exact words were, ‘I need a real man who can change a tire without making a fucking phone call or looking it up online. That’s the kind of man I need in my life.’”
“Yes, but—”
“And you’re telling me that exact man—whom you compared all other men to—is outside right now hanging out with those damned goats?”
I drop my mascara and look at myself in the mirror, realizing what Stephie is saying. “And Jasmine.”
“Oh yeah. I didn’t mean to leave out the fucking donkey. Of course, he’s hanging out with Jasmine.” She raises her voice. “He must be fucking perfect if he’s hanging out with your donkey. Fuck me.” My sister’s language is worse than mine, especially when she’s throwing her trademark sarcasm around. “No, not fuck me. Fuck you! This is your chance, Keelie. Please, tell me you shaved your legs.”
Staring at myself in the mirror, my face is filled with horror at the thought of fucking anyone. As I stand here in my panties and bra with my hair rolled up in a towel, I bring my hands up to my body and really look at myself.
“Oh shit, Stephie. I have a mom-body.” Frowning, I push my boobs up a little, squishing them together, wishing they’d stay that way. Running my hands down my stomach that isn’t flabby, but it sure isn’t firm anymore, I think about how much I’ve changed since the last time I let a man touch me.
I never, ever officially work out. Who has the time with two kids, a house in constant disarray, and a shitload of animals to take care of? My workouts include climbing ladders, throwing a baseball, and literally, shoveling shit.
“Of course, you have a mom-body. You’re a mom, but a hot one. Why do you think Mr. Sexy-Arms stopped to change your tire to begin with? It damn well wasn’t because of Stan’s ill-fitted sweater vest.”
I look away from my boobs that nursed two babies to my sister on the screen. “I’m telling you, that sweater vest was the worst. It takes a special man to pull off a sweater vest. I’m not even sure I’ve ever seen it done in real life. Maybe only Ralph Lauren models on a horse.”
“Could this Asa pull off a sweater vest?”
I shake my head. “If Asa Hollingsworth has ever touched a sweater vest with a ten-foot pole, it’d surprise the shit out of me.”
“Well, there you go.” She raises her voice at me again. “For the love of God, shave your fucking legs!”
I close my eyes, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
“And what are you wearing? I wish I was there to pick your outfit, dammit.”
I say nothing. I haven’t given a thought as to what I should wear.
“Keelie?” she calls for me.
“Yeah?” I breathe, looking at myself in the mirror again.
She calms her voice. “Stop stressing. You know you aren’t going to let him fuck you tonight. Not with your kids and his daughter in tow. If I know my niece, she’ll monopolize him anyway. Still, shave your legs. It’ll make you feel pretty.”
I nod at myself in the mirror. Yes. I need that. I need to feel pretty.
I flip on the hot water in the sink and move to the shower to grab my razor.
“I’ve decided you need to go casual. So casual, it shouldn’t even be considered casual.” Stephie keeps talking, carrying on the conversation by herself. “It’s not like he called and asked you out, and you’re only going for pizza. Wear your tightest jeans with that long sleeve tee that says some shit about mimosas—it hugs your boobs. Then wear the baseball cap you bought when we were in the Outer Banks last summer. They don’t match, which is even better. You don’t want to look like you’re trying.”
I bring my leg up and put my foot in the sink to start shaving my legs, thinking the hat is a good idea. I don’t have time to do anything with my hair anyway.
Chapter 5
The Gift of Life
Asa
I lean back across our booth from Keelie with the dregs of pizza bones, pepperoni rolls, and chicken wings scattered on plates. That’s what everyone, but Keelie, ate. She had the baked ziti with a salad.
No wonder Saylor was excited to come here. They must be regulars. As soon as Keelie’s fine ass hit the booth, the manager appeared, setting a beer down in front of her with an orange on the rim. This was followed by a waiter with drinks for her kids. Saylor’s had a handful of cherries, which she started fishing out with her little fingers the second her drink was within reach. They were all eaten by the time Emma and I had a chance to order drinks.
We started out on separate sides of the booth, Keelie sandwiched by her kids with Emma next to me. By the time Keelie finished her salad, Saylor had made her way under the table and climbed up between Emma and me—much to the dismay of her mother. There was no reason for Emma to worry that we’d talk about her. Saylor dominated the evening.
“Saylor, baby. Quit climbing all over Mr. Hollingsworth.”
Saylor is up on her knees leaning into my chest. “But he likes me. Right, Asa?”
I grin and put my hand to her back to steady her, but don’t have a chance to answer when Keelie shoots back, “I told you to call him Mr. Hollingsworth.”
“He told me to call him Asa.” Saylor turns from her mom to me. “R
ight, Asa?”
“You’re right on both counts.”
I hear Keelie sigh and when I look to her, she’s resigned. Her daughter seems to have a stronger will than anyone.
“Can I have money for games?” Knox looks to his mom and Keelie glances at her watch before giving in again and digging through her purse for cash.
“We’re leaving in ten minutes.” She hands her kids a few bucks each.
Saylor scrambles over me and calls to Emma, “Come do the claw machine with me. It’s the best claw machine in the history of everything.”
I pick up Saylor and no sooner have her feet hit the floor, does she dart across the room to the meager selection of arcade machines and I stand to let Emma out. Who the hell knew I needed a bossy five-year-old to get my daughter off her ass? Not only has she hung out with goats, but she’s had to answer all of Saylor’s questions about high school, and now she’s playing outdated video games.
I reach into my pocket and peel off a twenty to hand Emma. “Feed the machines for them, sweetheart.”
Emma doesn’t miss a beat. “Cool.”
When I sit back down, Keelie has her arms crossed, pulling her shirt even tighter across her tits. I look up to her eyes that peek out at me from under the brim of her baseball hat. Her hair’s a mess of waves flowing out from underneath, and for some reason, I like the fact she didn’t feel the need to do herself up. Not that she needed to. I’d take her covered in paint any day.
“What are you painting?” I ask.
She drops her arms and leans back. “You mean, what am I not painting? Woodwork, walls, ceilings … if it’s atrocious, I’m painting it. Or tearing it down.”
I stretch my arm across the back of my booth. “This shouldn’t surprise me. You were willing to tackle that flat tire on your own. Still, when I first saw you standing in the ditch, you didn’t strike me as a woman who liked to get her hands dirty.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah? Well, lots of things change when a woman gets moved out to the country and becomes the owner of a century-old house that looks its age, adopting a donkey in the process.”
I tip my head. “You adopted the donkey?”
“Jasmine came with the property. The cats just keep showing up, so I feed them. The dogs and goats came later. Over the last three years, four goats somehow spiraled into thirteen. I need another goat like I need a hole in the head, but the kids love them. We had babies for the first time this year and Saylor is in goat heaven.”
I frown. “You fixing up the house all by yourself?”
She pulls in a big breath. “I’m doing more than I ever planned. I have a contractor, but the budget changed and now he works for me on the cheap when he can. When I say cheap, I mean almost for free. I’m lucky, he only does it because he likes us. Right now he’s working on the porch, but my list is long. I’d move back to the city in a heartbeat but the kids love it and it’s their home, so I’m making it work. It should be done by the time I retire.”
I raise a brow. “You’re full of surprises.”
She changes the subject. “Did you find out anything about our suspected drug dealer?”
I lean my forearms on the table and shake my head. “Stolen plates.”
“Oh. Well, shit.”
I smirk. “I’m still making some calls. Don’t give up on me yet.”
“Who, may I ask, are you making calls to?”
I shake my head and give her a small smile. “I’ve got contacts. We’ll see how well they pan out. For now, just know I’m working on it.”
She nods before putting her forearms on the table. “Why did you just show up tonight instead of calling? You have my number.”
“Would you have said yes to dinner had I called?”
She looks over at the kids feeding the machines before back to me and lowers her voice. “No.”
I lower mine, too. “That’s why I didn’t call.”
She leans in closer. “I’ve decided I’m not dating anyone, Asa.”
I feel my lips tip on one side. “Aren’t you presumptuous? We’re not in high school, Keelie. I don’t date.”
She sits up, taken aback. “Oh.”
I focus on her blue eyes and milky skin. “This is me getting Emma out of the house. This is me getting to know you. This is us feeding our kids and doing it on the easy since I hate to cook. This is also me meeting your kids so it’s not weird.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why would it be weird?”
I lean back and stretch my arm across the booth again. “It would only be weird if we dated and had to do the whole meet-each-other’s-kids’ thing. But we won’t need to worry about that, since we both don’t date.”
“Good.” Her shoulders relax a bit.
I lean in again. “Keelie?”
Her brows pucker under the bill of her blue baseball hat. “Hmm?”
I lower my voice. “We’re adults. I don’t need to date to know what I want.”
Her pink lips part and she pulls in a breath. “What do you mean?”
“I want to get to the good stuff. Eating together. Spending time with our kids together. If I have to, I’ll even fucking help you paint. Then if all that goes okay, we can get to the really good stuff.”
Her frown deepens. “And what would that be?”
I narrow my eyes. “When I get to wash the paint from your hair.”
Her eyes go big.
I lower my voice even more. “And then the rest of you.”
“Oh, fuck,” she mutters, a blush spreading across her face.
“I’m looking forward to that, too,” I add.
“I can’t believe you just said that. We’ve only had dinner—with our kids.”
“I like everything I see and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know you do, too,” I point out.
She’s taken aback by my directness and argues, “That sounds like dating.”
“It’s not dating.”
She leans forward and narrows her eyes—her voice laced with a sharp edge. “What is it then, Asa?”
I lean in and we’re as close as we’ve been all night. “You date someone to figure out what you want. I know what I want and I think you do, too. It’s the gift of life, Keelie. We just need to embrace it.”
Her face falls right when we hear Knox at our sides. “Thanks for the game money, Mr. Hollingsworth.”
Keelie and I both lean back at the same time and I look to her son. “No problem. And no need for formalities. You can call me Asa.”
“Sweet. Thanks, Asa.”
“I’m going to the restroom,” Keelie announces and grabs her purse. “We’re leaving when I get back.”
I watch her escape to the hall leading toward the back of the restaurant as Knox slides into her seat across from me.
“You get enough to eat?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Good. What grade are you in, Knox?” He’s well-spoken, even seems a little too serious for his age.
“Third.”
I watch him pick up Keelie’s phone, unlock it, and start messing with the screen. I wonder when I can see Keelie alone and decide to find out what I can from her son. “When do you and Saylor spend time with your dad?”
“We don’t.” Knox shakes his head and without looking up, says like he’s explained it a thousand times, “My dad’s dead.”
I freeze at his words, staring at the little boy sitting across from me. When I look over, Keelie is herding Saylor away from the claw machine in a hurry.
Well, fuck.
*****
Keelie
Asa sets his empty beer bottle down on the patio next to his Adirondack. I had no choice but to offer him a drink when we got back from dinner since my kids felt the need to torture me by orchestrating further together-time.
Asa insisted on driving to dinner, but we didn’t all fit in his truck, especially with Saylor’s booster seat, and I never allow her to go without. I told him we’d just meet him there. He pointed out that
we’d all fit in my car. That’s when he confiscated my keys and drove us all in my minivan.
There’s no other way around it—Asa Hollingsworth looks ridiculous driving a minivan. It was all I could do not to laugh as he drove us to our favorite pizza place. He must have known I found him funny because when we got there, he smirked as he placed his big hand at the small of my back and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “If this becomes a thing, I’m buying a bigger car.”
I rolled my eyes. Like he’d buy a bigger car, and like this is going to become anything, let alone a thing.
This was all before the after-dinner conversation about him washing my hair, among other things. He and I were silent all the way home, but the silence wasn’t an uncomfortable one because—thank the good Lord for once—my daughter never stopped talking.
Saylor made plans for poor Emma. Honestly. What fifteen-year-old wants to be bossed around by a kindergartener? Emma’s been sweet about it all night, but soon enough she’s going to get sick of the one-and-only, bossy Saylor Lockhart.
Saylor dragged Emma to the kitchen and instructed me to start a fire out back. Just when I thought we could all say a quick thank you for dinner followed by a quicker goodbye, my daughter had us all sitting around the patio fireplace eating Chips Ahoy s’mores.
Chips Ahoy s’mores are a creation which fell straight from dessert heaven solely because one day we were out of graham crackers. We had to make do with the crunchy chocolate chip cookies, and the result was a keeper. There’s no need for graham crackers anymore. These things are too good not to be eaten every single time we sit in front of a fire.
But now, after pasta, two beers plus another on the patio, and a Chips Ahoy s’more, I feel like I’m going to bust out of my skinny jeans.
The sun has set and Knox and Saylor just dragged Emma off into the dark for flashlight tag. That poor girl is going to hate us. But even more importantly—or tragically, in my case—this leaves me alone again with Asa Hollingsworth.
He seems deep in thought. His handsome face is darker and broodier when lit by the flames of the fire. He’s leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled in front of him looking out into the dark where my kids and his daughter just disappeared. He’s got his long, thick legs propped up on the stone of the hearth and his feet crossed at the ankle.
