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But she was eight months pregnant.
This was a big no.
So instead, she did the only thing she could.
She pulled the blanket up to her chest, turned away from him, and muttered under her breath, “Go flirt with someone else, Asher.”
Except, she felt him lean in just a little closer.
And in that low, teasing voice of his, he murmured, “Why would I do that when you’re right here?”
Andrea really wished she had the strength to throw a pillow at his head.
She looked away, pretended not to understand, and ignored the way her pulse had quickened just a little too much.
Lately, Asher had been spending more and more time outside. Even on Christmas morning, he was gone before Andrea woke up, the house feeling oddly
empty.
When he finally returned, he came bearing bags of groceries–reàl groceries. Not the cheap, tinned, boxed food they had been surviving on for weeks, but fresh ingredients. Eggs, ham, cheese, a loaf of warm bread that smelled like heaven.
Andrea frowned as she watched him unload everything onto the tiny kitchen counter. “Where did you get the money for all this?”
“I got a job,” he said casually, but there was a flicker of something nervous in his eyes.
*Cleaning snow?” she guessed, remembering how he’d earned money before.
“No, not this time.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. *I, uh… did tax returns for Mr. Dylan and his son’s car repair shop.”
Andrea’s eyebrows shot up. “You did taxes?‘
“Apparently, yes.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I saw Mr. Dylan struggling yesterday while I was taking a break from shoveling snow. Sat down for a little coffee, peeked at the papers… and somehow, I just knew what to do. Turns out, I can do taxes—and I think I’m actually pretty good at it. Saved him
almost two thousand dollars.”
Andrea blinked at him. Then she smirked. ‘And you thought you were a beatboxer?‘
Asher laughed, the sound filling the tiny house with warmth. “Yeah, maybe I need to rethink that theory.”
But then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the amusement drained from his face.
Andrea watched as his expression shifted, his features growing more serious, more distant. His hands slowed as he sorted through the grocentes, fagers lingering a little too long on the loaf of bread, as if grounding himself.
‘I was probably a finance guy, he muttered after a long pause. “Some corporate worker, nine to five job, sitting in an office all day, staring at numbers on A screen. His voice was flat, almost resigned, as if the realization tasted bitter on his tongue.
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Chapter 326
Andrea softened, her gaze filled with quiet reassurance.
“Don’t be sad, Asher,” she said gently. “You’ll figure it out. I’m sure you’ll get back there.”
She meant it as comfort, a promise that whatever pieces of his past were missing, they would find their way back to him. That one day, he’d remember the life he had before. That he’d reclaim it, step back into whoever Asher Remington was supposed to be.
But the words didn’t land the way she intended.
Asher’s expression flickered–so fast she barely noticed. His fingers curled just slightly tighter around the grocery bags, his knuckles turning pale under the strain. Then, without a word, he turned away, his shoulders tensing as he walked toward the kitchen.
Andrea didn’t push. She didn’t see the way his jaw clenched or how his eyes darkened with something unreadable.
And she didn’t hear the whisper that slipped from his lips, barely more than a breath.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Because Asher wasn’t afraid of not remembering.
He was afraid of what would happen when he did.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
