His eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that was frankly terrifying.
I gulped and then somehow managed to free the shirt enough to wave it between us like a flag of surrender. “Here.”
He took the shirt, his fingers brushing against mine as he pulled it over his head and asked. “What’s with the bag?”
“Oh!” I couldn’t contain my excitement as I thrust it in his face. “It’s for you! I just didn’t want to give it to you at Nixons.” I explained. “In front of everyone. You know, just in case…” I gulped. “In case…” Ugh, could I sound at least a bit more eloquent. “Ignore me; just open it before they send a search party.”
His eyes never left mine as he took the bag from my fingertips and peeked inside. How anyone had hands that sexy was beyond me, but one of them reaching into the bag and pulling out the small white box was enough to send my heart racing.
Frowning, he set the bag down on the carpeting then clicked open the white velvet box.
His eyes flickered down.
And then he tensed.
“You hate it.” I was horrified as I reached for the box. “I’m so sorry I just thought—”
He jerked away from me.
Tears stung my eyes.
Damn it!
“It’s too soon. I’m sorry, Ash, really. I just thought if you had them close to your heart, on you, you know, that you wouldn’t feel so alone…”
Hands shaking, he pulled the long vintage necklace from the box; it was on a silver chain. Dangling from the end was an old key, and inscribed in it were Claire’s initials and then “my angel,” for whatever baby they would have had.
He gripped it in his hand.
“Ash, really—”
He crushed his body against mine in a hug so tight that I was afraid I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen.
I wrapped my arms around his waist as he held me tight.
And my stupid heart beat excitedly against my ribs.
Friends.
We were friends.
“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling his head back and kissing me on the cheek so softly I wondered if I imagined it.
An electrical surge pulsed between us as we entered another stare down, but she was still there, between us, in that necklace, so I took a step back because this wasn’t my moment—ours.
Maybe we’d never have one of those, but at least Ash would have her, pressed against his heart for eternity, and maybe I’d get lucky enough to sometimes be able to hold his hand.
Once.
Twice.
I took a deep breath and stepped far away from him. “You’re welcome.” He was still staring at me, so I rocked back on my heels and nodded toward the door with a smile. “We should probably go.”
I was maybe a foot from his bedroom door when he called after me. “Don’t you want to know what your gift is?”
I froze, afraid to turn around. “My gift?”
“Your gift,” he confirmed.
“I-I’m sure it’s going to be great,” I said lamely.
“Great?” Amusement laced the word. “You’ll have to let me know once you have it…”
His palm met the small of my back; I could feel the heat pouring out of his skin as he pulled me against his front and then whispered in my ear. “I’m going to make you wait until after dinner, more fun that way, with you wondering what could be so great…” He chuckled. “Your word, not mine.”
I shivered and then joked to break the tension. “You better not have gotten me pearls…”
He froze. “How did you know?”
I let out a gasp. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” I turned in his arms only to see him cracking a smile. Then I smacked him. “That’s mean!”
“I’m mean.” He shrugged. “That never really changed. You know that, right?”
“Maybe I like you mean.” I shrugged and looked away.
“I’m beginning to think you wouldn’t know what to do with nice, Annie…”
“Tank’s nice,” I said defensively.
“He is…” Ash agreed. “But who’s the one holding you alone in his room?”
I chewed my lower lip. “The mean one.”
His forehead touched mine. “Correct.”
“Ash!” Izzy yelled. “Annie! Get your asses over here! It’s time for food. Junior texted and already tried to steal the turkey leg, King hit him, a knife that should have been confiscated wasn’t, mashed potatoes went everywhere, Trace is super pissed, and Nixon looks ready to set King on fire. So if you want food, I’d hurry.”
“Coming!” I yelled when Ash didn’t answer.
I could have sworn I heard Ash say “you will be” under his breath.
My imagination, of course.
Because it was Ash.
And I was me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“The trouble with quotes about death is 99.9% of them are made by people who are still alive.” —Joshua Burns
Ash
“PUT THE KNIFE DOWN!” Dad roared, pointing his drumstick at King, who continued to wave the knife in Dad’s general direction while people made bets.
Money exchanged hands over what was supposed to be a peaceful moment, then again, when had our family dinners ever been peaceful.