Between Hello and Goodbye(30)

The hot sting of tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “I’m fine. I can manage one shave ice.”

And there was my “personal growth” in a nutshell. Pathetic.

The couple mercifully left me alone, and approximately ten years later, it was my turn to order. The guy in the window set down an enormous bowl of cherry shave ice on the high counter in front of me. Immediately, the flaw in my grand plan became apparent. I desperately needed to sit, but the shave ice stand had only two tables, both occupied. Across the street, the picnic tables on the grass were available, but they might as well have been a million miles away. I couldn’t crutch over there and carry my shave ice too.

Yes, I can!

I would not be defeated by a bowl of chopped ice and sugar syrup. I took the bowl and attempted to hold it along with the handle of my crutch like I had my coffee this morning. One hopping step later, the bowl slipped out of my grasp, hit the ground, and sprayed red in all directions. People in the blast radius gave little shouts of surprise as the shave ice splattered ankles and bags.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I muttered over and over, ready for the ground to swallow me up. I fought back tears while asking the guy behind the counter for some napkins. But cleaning the mess was beyond me. If I didn’t sit down soon, I was going to fall down.

“This wasn’t her fault,” came a low, rough voice in anger. “One of you could’ve helped.”

And there was Asher Mackey, hunkered down, picking up the bowl. I stared as a chaotic mess of emotions—relief, desire, irritation, and something deeper that was too foreign and unsettling to deal with—all came bubbling up, stealing my breath. My face flushed as red as the shave ice.

“You,” I said, breathing heavily.

“Me,” he said. He went to the guy in the window. “Hey, Chad. Can I get some napkins?”

“Sure thing, Ash.”

Asher mopped up the mess, not looking at me as he worked. “I thought you were leaving.”

“I am,” I said. “I’m done. I tried to stick it out on my own and failed…and now here you are again.” I shook my head. “No, no, no. You can’t be here. I put you away!”

He scowled and tossed the wad of napkins in the trash. “What does that even mean? I live here.”

“One day,” I said, conscious that people—some still grumbling about cherry splatter—were watching. “I just wanted one day to try to do one thing on my own. One thing without you—or anyone else—swooping in to rescue me.”

“You think pushing yourself beyond your physical limits is self-improvement?”

Tears threatened to spill over. “One stupid shave ice—”

“Is not the measure of your competence, Faith,” he said in a low voice. “Come on. You gotta put that foot up.”

He searched the immediate vicinity, glaring at our audience. His dark eyes found the picnic tables with their benches across the street. He nodded to himself, then wheeled on a young guy sitting at the nearest shave ice table with his girlfriend.

Asher jabbed a finger. “You. Up.”

Mortification washed over me and yet I couldn’t help the little thrill that shot down my spine at how fast the guy and his girlfriend scampered out of their seats with muttered apologies.

Asher guided me to sit, then took my crutches.

I wiped my nose. “I sort of need those.”

“Be right back.”

I watched him cross the street and claim a table with the crutches. Then he came back for me. He held out his hand. “Come on.”

My emotions had drained, leaving me exhausted. Or maybe it was the failed exertion of the day, but I still had a shred of pride left.

“I’m not going to let you carry me across town in front of all these people,” I whispered.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

He pulled me to standing, then took both my hands in his, engulfing them in his large, strong grip. In one smooth motion, like some sort of dance move, he turned his back to me while lifting my arms up and then lacing them around his neck. He hunched down a little and hoisted me onto his broad back. My face was right over his shoulder, my cheek touching his.

“Hold on.”

I did as he commanded, and he let go of my hands to hook his arms under my knees, then started across the street. I felt every move of his muscles, the power and heat in him. His cologne became my atmosphere, and I inhaled and let out a deep sigh. My body melted against his and I could’ve taken a nap right there.

“I was right.”

“About what?” His deep voice was a rumble against my chest.

“You could’ve carried me out of the Falls like this.”

He made a sound I couldn’t identify, and then—too soon—the journey was over.

Asher set me down on the bench where he’d left my crutches, and I put up my throbbing ankle. “Cherry, right?” He jogged back across the street without waiting for an answer, and despite the line, he returned quickly with two shave ices—one cherry, one coffee. Because he knew everyone. Because this was his town and it had been reckless to come up here.

Reckless or exactly what you hoped for?

Asher set the red bowl down in front of me and dug in to his without a word. I had a full-on Bridgerton-Duke-of-Hastings moment, lust balling in my stomach, as I watched him lick his spoon.