Asher came home that evening, his voice filling the house with warmth as he rambled on about his day.
38
He told her about the odd man at his job–the one who always paid in pennies, the jingling in his pockets so loud it sounded like a bag of marbles rolling around. He laughed about it, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe such people existed.
Then he talked about his boss, Raymond. A little stern, a little too sharp with his words, but fair. Asher liked that about him.
Andrea should have been listening.
She should have smiled, should have teased him the way she usually did.
But she couldn’t.
Her heart was aching too much.
Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it was the way she had spent all day crying over the stupid sticky notes he left for her- each one a reminder that he was here now, but soon, he wouldn’t be.One of these days, he was going to remember.
One of these days, he was going to leave.And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She wished–oh, how she wished–he wouldn’t smile like that. Wished he would stop making her feel so safe, so seen. Wished he would go back to being the nameless, homeless man she had once pitied from her window, before she had let him in, before he had stolen her heart without even trying.
Because now, she was scared.Terrified. “And you know,” he was saying, still laughing, “when he paid in pennies again, !—`
“Will you shut up for a second?“The words left her too sharp, too harsh.
Asher blinked. His smile faltered, his hands stilling over the vegetables he had been chopping. The lighthearted energy he carried home with him faded just like that.He turned to her slowly, eyes soft with concern. “Is something wrong?”
Andrea looked at his hands–those hands that had healed from wounds she didn’t even know the story of. They were still rough, the skin still broken in places, as if they had carried burdens she couldn’t imagine. And now, those same hands were here, in her kitchen, making
dinner for her.
Her chest ached with guilt.She had to right to be cruel to him.
“No,” she muttered, forcing herself to look away. “I’m sorry. I just… need some silence. To think.”
1/2
18:03 Fri, Apr 10 M…
Chapter 331
Asher hesitated, then nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d like the stories. I know you hate being stuck inside all day, sed being de to out. It won’t happen again. His voice was quiet. Understanding. Andrea felt worse she skipped dinner that night, Wing in bed, greenber not to hear when he knocked softly on her door to tell her it was ready.she pretended to be asleep. He lingered for a few seconds, thes
left her alone.
That was when she did it.Andrea reached for his notes–the ones she had been holding onto, the ones she had previed against her heart like they meant something. And she tore them. One by one.
Into tiny little pieces, even as her chest ached and her vision blurred.
And then, when she was sure Asher was asleep, she walked into the kitchen, her hands trembling as the lifted the lid of the dustbin.
She stared down at it for a long moment, her fingers tightening around the shredded paper.Then, with a deep breath, she let them go.Watched them fall into the trash.Right where he would see them in the morning.Right where he would know.
This doesn’t matter to me.Stop doing this.Stop making me dream.Because in the end, it would only hurt them both.
Andrea woke up feeling like she had been hit by a train. Her head throbbed, her throat was sore, and a deep, rasping cough rattled her chest. The moment she opened her eyes, she realized why–cold air had seeped into the room all night. The latch on the window had loosened, letting in an icy draft that had settled over her like a blanket of frost.
She groaned, pulling the covers tighter around herself, but before she could even think about getting up, Asher was there–hovering over her with a frown so deep it might as well have been carved in stone.
“God, Andrea, do you have a death wish?” he scolded, his voice tight with frustration. “Were you trying to catch pneumonia?”
Before she could even respond, he was fussing over her–checking her temperature, tucking the blanket around her more securely, and grumbling to himself as he hurried off to make something warm for her. He refused to go to work, insisted on making her soup, brought her a hot water bottle to tuck under her blankets, and–to her utter horror–decided she wouldn’t be sleeping in the bedroom anymore.
Comments
LIKE
Write Comments
<SHARE
2/2
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.
