Fixing Ashley Page 5

  Once I’m done for the day, I head home and have a few more messages from Brad waiting for me at the office. I’d managed to dodge the ones on my cell, but I suppose the landline was free game for him.

  “Dude, call me.” It’s all these messages say. All five of them. He’s nothing if not persistent, I’ll give him that.

  Being a pigheaded jerk, instead of calling, I erase each message and unplug the machine.

  . . .

  On Tuesday, while the carpet installer is inside the house making a racket with his tools, I’m outside adding finishing touches, such as shutters and flower boxes under a few of the windows. I’m no Martha Stewart, but I’ve seen the final elevations. According to Ashley’s drawings, there are supposed to be flowers and flower boxes out here. There’s also some landscaping drawn in, but I can’t do it all myself.

  When I call my good friend Lukas, he promises me the best from his perennials. He says he’ll be by later with the list I’ve given him. I’m willingly to take his word for it if he’s able to get it done this week.

  With the outside somewhat complete, I smile to myself and wonder exactly how much a home like this must cost. The land alone is probably worth fifty to eighty grand. Get a house this size on here and we’re talking half a million, easily. It makes me wonder who these people really are. Who he is. I can’t bring myself to finish that thought. I just can’t. Not until I’ve heard it from her own lips.

  This place is beautiful and peaceful and everything I’d like my home to be one day. Once the landscaping is done, it will be absolutely stunning. This is almost exactly what I want for myself, but I know I’ll have to wait, because there is no way in hell I can afford this one. Even if it is for sale, I can’t afford it. Not right now, anyway.

  But a man can dream. And I do. Closing my eyes, I imagine myself sitting on the back porch, drinking coffee and looking out onto the water as the sun rises and greets us. And then I think of Ashley, coming out the back door, wearing only my flannel shirt and holding a cup of coffee in her hands.

  “Fuck,” I mutter to myself as I open my eyes. These dreams of mine feel as though they’re millions of miles away. Add Ashley to the equation and it’s as if I’ll never be able to reach them.

  With a final groan, I go inside the house and grab my list, ticking off what’s been done today. I notice one of those things is noted as “Talk to Ashley.” Sadly, I can’t tick this one off.

  Hopefully tomorrow. Maybe.

  . . .

  “Ma, I’m fine, I promise,” I say, once I’m inside her house. I haven’t been here in about a month and she keeps going on about me losing weight. Apparently, I’m not eating enough, which is strange because I’m sure I eat plenty.

  “You know, I’m sure Carole is a good cook and all, but you need to come eat with us once in a while, too.” Mom’s guilt trips are epic and so is her chicken pot pie.

  I run a hand through my hair. “We broke up, Ma.”

  “He couldn’t handle Stalker McStalkerson,” Mitchel teases as he walks inside the house. It’s Dad’s birthday and Mom has invited us over for a surprise birthday dinner.

  I roll my eyes and look at Mom’s raised eyebrows. “That wasn’t why I—”

  “Look, I don’t need to know the details, honey, but you could have told me.” Her no-nonsense way about things is what I love about her, but it’s also what I hate. I know she wasn’t attached to Carole, but she’s made it no secret how she would love for me to settle down.

  “I know, I’m sorry, Ma. I just didn’t think about it,” I explain, making sure to bring out some of the charm I know she loves so much.

  She puts a hand on my cheek and asks, “Are you okay, though?” Her eyebrows are pinched together, and the concern in her eyes is exactly what I was afraid of. She shouldn’t feel sorry for me. Not really.

  “I’m not upset, actually.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her in for a hug. I’m a mama's boy, and I’d hate for her to think I’m bothered by the breakup. “Trust me, Ma. I’m great. Carole and I were just not meant to be together, is all.”

  She tightens her hold on me for a few moments, then pulls out of my embrace, her hand going back to my cheek and her eyes focused on my face. “You’re my baby, you know? I only want you to be happy, sweetie.”

  Just as she says this, Mitchel comes back outside with a couple bottles of beers in his hands. “He’s got a crush on his boss lady.” He laughs and hands me one. “And from what I gather, she’s not pushing him away, either.”

  “Asshole—shut up, man.” I shove him some and open my bottle, giving a good swig while that brother of mine laughs his ass off.

  “Language, boys,” Mom reprimands, steppinginside the house. The amount of times we’ve heard her say those exact words escapes me. At my age, it makes me smile—memories of me and Mitchel as little kids, running through my mind.

  “Mom’s got a point though, bro,” Mitchel says, when we take a seat next to the barbecue. I know he’s right, but that doesn’t mean it’s any of his business. It’s actually none of anyone’s business. They may all mean well, but my ass is too stubborn to listen to any of them, something they should already know.

  Eliza, Mitchel’s wife, who also happens to be Brad’s sister, is inside the house setting up some sort of dessert. I’m happy to be relegated to barbecue watch out here rather than subjected to the two of them together. Mom and Eliza have some sort of female superpower when it comes to me. It’s as if I can’t keep anything to myself when I’m around them. I dodged a bullet by going around the side of the house when I got here.

  “Look, man, I know you all have some secret plans about having me married off with a few kids running around before I turn forty, but keep your noses out of it.” I flip a few burgers and take a deep breath before continuing. “My boss lady—” I turn to him and make air quotes around the words “—is way out of my league, all right? She’s...she’s...”

  “She’s a single woman clearly attracted to you,” Eliza says, patting my shoulder as she walks past me to put a bowl of salad on the table. Turning to me, she leans against the side of Mitchel’s chair, her eyes assessing and her arms crossed over her chest.

  I flip a burger and check if it’s done. “Look, I know I screwed up. Nothing should have happened. She’s my employer, for fuck’s sake.”

  Eliza rolls her eyes. “Semantics. She’s a designer and you’re a contractor. It’s a marriage made in heaven, so to speak. Stop being so negative.”

  “I’m just saying it the way it is.” Taking the burgers off the grill, I’m careful not to burn myself. “She’s recently divorced and a mess. I don’t want to deal with that.”

  Mitchel shakes his head. “Excuses, excuses, man. You’re full of shit.”

  “Language, boys,” Dad says, making his way across the yard.

  “Happy birthday, Dad.” I stick my tongue out at Mitchel like we used to do as boys, and walk toward my father.

  His arms come around me in a bear hug, and I revel in the comfort it brings me. I’m a mama's boy at heart, but my dad’s affection for us boys has been something I’ve never taken for granted.

  “Thanks, son. Glad you made it out.” He squeezes my shoulder and gives me a pointed look.

  When his arms loosen from around me, Mitchel takes my place wishing him a happy birthday as the two exchange pleasantries.

  Mom comes out with a cake and we all sing happy birthday. It’s a big party and I end up staying longer than expected. We talk about random things, and thankfully nobody brings up Ashley or my love life.

  By the time I make it home, I’m beat from being out in the sun for too long and emotionally drained from being around my happy family while my heart aches for something it may never have.

  . . .

  Wednesday I get a call from Brad. He leaves a message telling me he needs help moving a large piece of furniture into its new home. I don’t want to leave him hanging and this shit between us needs to be settled, like right now. Bros
before hos has been our motto since we were little kids, and it’s not going to stop just because we’re older and a little bit wiser.

  Not that Ashley’s a ho or anything, but I digress.

  “Look, I know you’re not happy, man,” he says as soon as he answers the phone, bypassing any sort of greeting.

  “Hello to you, too,” I reply sarcastically. I hate call display, but I guess it does have its uses. After all, it did help with the whole Carole fiasco.

  I hear him huff out a breath at the other end of the line. “Look, can we talk?”

  “If I wasn’t ready to talk, I wouldn’t have called,” I state flatly. Maybe Eliza’s right; maybe Brad and I were women in a past life.

  “Look, I’m fucking sorry, all right? I didn’t know anything and man, that chick likes you. I don’t get why you had to leave her there like that. I thought you had a hard-on for that woman, dude. What gives?” Brad usually isn’t the most talkative guy, but hearing him string together more than four word sentences gets me thinking.

  I run a hand through my hair and close my eyes, sighing as I have a seat outside in my backyard. “You’re right. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.” I take a deep breath and try to think of a million other different ways that night could have ended, and for the life of me, all of them seem better than what happened. “You’re not off the hook, man.”

  He chuckles. “You’re not there either. It’s her project; you’re her employee. You two will have to face each other at some point.”

  I take a deep breath, wishing I hadn’t smoked my last cig about an hour ago and hoping I can go grab a pack later. “Yeah. She’s not answering my calls, so maybe I really did screw this one up beyond repair.”

  “D.J., man, all I have to say is talk to that woman. She’s been through a lot. Maybe the two of you have more in common than you think.” It’s obvious he knows more than he lets on, but I know I won’t be able to get it out of him. Brad is as loyal as they get, and whatever secrets he and Laurie have concerning me and Ashley, there is no way he’ll ever tell.

  “I will,” I promise, and I mean it. I will talk to her at one point, whether she wants to or not.

  . . .

  Thursday morning flies by as I install all the remaining baseboards throughout the house. I also make sure the kitchen and bathrooms are spotless, and the shelving we installed in the office and living room are dust free.

  After lunch, there is a knock on the door. My heart races and a shiver runs down my spine. It’s her. It has to be. She usually walks right in, but seeing as we haven’t talked in some time, maybe this is her being formal. Who knows and who cares? She’s here. The thought makes my face break out in a grin as I take a deep breath and I make my way to the door.

  My face falls and eyes narrow at the stranger standing on the other side of the threshold. Here I am hoping to see a short, curvy brunette, yet there stands a tall, bulky man with greasy hair, wearing a bad suit.

  “Can I help you?” Eyes narrowed, I stand my full height; protective of this house and the woman who entrusted me with it.

  The man smiles sadly and extends his hand. “Richard Evans. I ahh...you the guy Ashley hired to do the renovations?”

  I shake his hand and nod, feeling weary. “Yeah, I’m sorry, who are you?”

  He lets go of my hand and looks past me. Without answering my questions, he says, “It looks great. Good job.”

  My mouth goes dry and I stand there like an idiot looking at his retreating figure walking down the porch and to his fancy car.

  Just before sliding into the driver’s seat, he taps the roof of the car and turns to me. “I hope you can make her happy.” He then scans the driveway, his eyes not staying on one thing for long. “This was her dream.” With those final words, he gets into his car and I watch the tail lights retreat down the driveway.

  That was a pointless visit and I wonder exactly who this guy is. Evans isn’t that common of a last name around here, which sort of makes me wonder if he’s Ashley’s dreaded ex-husband. Either way, his little visit leaves me feeling awkward and fills my mind with a myriad of questions.

  Is this Ashley’s house? If so, why didn’t she ever tell me? It would make so much sense. My mind reels at the little hints she’s given me over the weeks and I think there is a larger picture here than the small tidbits I’ve been given.

  I’m a smart man, but I’m also a tired one. This has been an emotionally draining few weeks, and even if I want to believe any of those thoughts, I want to hear her tell me with her own words what’s going on here.

  Unfortunately, it seems that’s not going to happen today.

  Once I get home, I call Ashley to let her know the house is ready. She doesn't answer her phone, so after the third try, I end up leaving a message telling her to come tomorrow if she wants her keys and to do a final walk-through. Otherwise she’ll have to take it as it is.

  I’m so done with this project and everything involving it, making falling asleep a difficult task.

  . . .

  Friday morning, I stretch out of bed and do a silent prayer I see her today. I hope she gets her shit together; I’m worried about how this whole project will end if she doesn’t show up.

  When I get to the house, I sweep the floors and clean some of the windows. It’s not part of my job description, but I won’t leave until she’s here, even if that means staying through the night.

  She’ll have to come see this place at some point.

  That also means she’ll have to face me, too.

  Chapter 6

  I’m sitting on the back porch, nursing a can of Coke when I hear the back door of the house open. Knowing who it is, I don’t turn around. I can’t. I’ve been waiting all day for her. I’ve been out here for the last two hours watching the sun set over the lake and praying I somehow get to make this right with her.

  “Devon?” Her voice is soft, so different from the confident girl from a month ago. Things are different now between us. I know it and so does she.

  I set my can on one of the steps and stand from my spot. Turning toward her, I take in her appearance. Her face is gaunt and her eyes tired and glassy. Furrowing my brows, I ask, “Are you okay, Ashley?”

  She nods and takes a tentative step toward me. “Yeah—” she looks to the ground “—I’m sorry.” She continues after a deep breath. “I should have come this week. I should have called you.” She looks up, her eyes meeting mine. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Devon.”

  I’m not sure if she’s talking about the house, the other night when I crossed the line or me in general, so I don’t comment on it. I just want to get this over with and move on.

  As if the torture of having her right here isn’t enough, she’s wearing fitted blue jeans that hug her hips perfectly and a T-shirt that makes her tits look spectacular. If it weren’t for the sadness in her eyes, she’d look better than ever.

  I scoff. “Good. Can we just do this? Please.” My voice comes out as pained and abrupt, but I don’t care. She’s rendered me a fucking pussy.

  A coward.

  Too scared to do shit about my feelings for her. I’ve never been scared of a woman before. Not while I was with Carole. Hell, not even when I broke up with her.

  But this tiny girl in front of me—this woman—she scares me in so many ways, I don’t even know which way is up when she’s around.

  Nodding, Ashley turns and walks inside the house, holding the door open for me. “The outside looks great, by the way. It’s exactly how I envisioned it.” Her words sound sincere, but she says it without so much as a glance in my direction.

  I take off my boots by the door, and follow her farther inside the house.

  Walking through the kitchen she looks around, assessing the trim and details I’ve diligently worked on perfecting so everything resembles her sketches.

  Wordlessly, she takes the stairs, and I follow her into each room where all she does is look around in awe. Her eyes are bright and there is a
spark there hidden deep that I can’t quite make out. It’s almost as if every room we visit brings her back; as though they are making her whole again.

  Once in a while she mumbles something unintelligible under her breath, before looking at me out the corner of her eye. I don’t understand any of it, but I don’t say a word. I won’t. I’m so thrilled to see her this way, with this light, I can’t help but look at her; at the beauty that is her. I’m mesmerized and I see her here, in this house. I see it.

  We come back downstairs and walk around each room, saving the large living room for last.

  She looks up at the fireplace, assessing the custom shelves and mantle, then turns to me grinning. “I can’t believe you did this; the detail is exceptional.”

  Her smile confuses me because I don’t know what to make of it. She’s like Jekyll right now and Hyde was the one I had started this tour with. But it’s infectious, this grin and so I give her a soft smile in return. “It’s my job,” I admit simply with a shrug.

  She shakes her head and takes a few tentative steps toward me. “No, that’s not...I mean...look at it. Don’t you see?” The light in those eyes, they take me in. Sinking deep, I know I’m drowning.

  Tilting my head to the side, I search her face. “What do you mean?” I see it, I do, but she needs to tell me.

  She shakes her head, her smile blinding now, before launching herself into my arms and hugging me. “Thank you, Devon. This is perfect.”

  Confused, and a little—or a lot—turned on, I hug her back. I may or may not rub myself a little on her thigh. Just a bit. It’s the eyes and the body and the girl.

  “Ehmm, you’re welcome?” I breathe her in, burying my nose in her hair and holding her for what seems like forever. I take whatever I can get. My arms around her and hers around me, I relax and breathe as if it’s my last breath.