Chapter 11
Rookie mistake – a mistake made by a woman who should know better
“Come on, Ash. You can’t ignore me forever,” Rowan yells through my bedroom door. Or, rather, his bedroom door since I’m stuck staying at his house despite my best efforts to escape.
My sisters – who normally can’t reply to a chat message fast enough – suddenly have no time to answer me when I send them messages begging for help to move back home.
Aspen, I can understand. She thinks she’s become some great matchmaker, now she’s engaged. Juniper, I can also understand. She’s got complete control of our apartment now. Well, she and her animals do. I didn’t push Ellery too hard since she pushes herself hard enough already. But freaking ‘has no emotions Lilac’ could have helped me out at least. But no.
Which leaves me stuck in this beautiful home with an infuriating man who doesn’t understand the word ‘secret’.
“Watch me!” I yell back. Way to go, Ashlyn. Way to convince the man you’re not some baby. “And my name’s Ashlyn!” I insist instead of admitting how much I enjoy hearing Rowan call me by a name no one else uses.
I hear a thud and I imagine it’s Rowan banging his forehead against the door in frustration. I’m intimately acquainted with the sound thanks to a dad who never ‘got’ me. I have to hand it to him. He did try. But he never understood why I wanted to grow up lightning fast and be my sisters’ ages.
‘Slow down,’ he’d caution. ‘You only get to be a kid once in your life.’ Except when you’re the baby of a family of five daughters. Then, apparently, you get to be ‘babycakes’ for-freaking-ever!
“You have to come out of there at some point!”
I do? I have everything I need in here. An unbelievable bathroom with a soaking tub, separate shower, dual sinks, and a toilet hidden behind a little door. Every surface is marble. It reminds me of a fancy hotel room. Or I assume it does. I’ve never stayed in a hotel room this fancy. Motels definitely don’t have marble vanities.
In the bedroom itself is a California King sleigh bed. Of course, Mr. Former Pro Football Player has a California King for his entirely too huge and mouthwatering body. There’s also a little sitting area near the bay window. The chairs are super comfy for reading. An activity I find myself doing on a regular basis since I now find myself with too much time on my hands.
And, finally, there’s the walk-in closet. The closet is literally bigger than my bedroom in the apartment I share with Juniper. There’s shelving on two sides with a comfy bench in the middle. There’s even a little make-up area with a mirror, desk, and upholstered stool.
Best of all, the room is practically soundproof. I’ve been doing all of my recording in there. In fact, I’m way ahead on my narrating work. I need to find more work pronto. There’s a limit to how many books a body can read. Unless such body is Aspen because she is a total book nerd.
“I made pancakes.”
My ears perk up. “What kind of pancakes?”
“Is there any other kind than red velvet?”
There is, but no other pancakes are worth eating. Although, I bet Rowan could convince me otherwise. Damnit. No, he can’t. Rowan is not to be trusted.
“Can I come in?”
Not even if you’re carrying a breakfast tray with red velvet pancakes. Having Rowan in a room with a bed in it is in entirely too much temptation. It shouldn’t matter. He treats me like I’m his little sister. But it does matter as I can’t help imagining him sprawled out on the bed. Naked. Oh boy.
“No! I’ll be out in a minute.”
As soon as I cool off. Think unsexy thoughts, Ashlyn. A broken microphone. Bark Twain pooping all over the living room carpet and Meowise scampering through it and tramping feces all over the house. Cooling off is officially complete.
I grab a sweatshirt and throw it on over my pajamas. Fun fact. If you hardly go outside, there’s no need to get dressed. Or wash your hair. I try smoothing down my hair. Amendment – you should totally wash your hair whether or not you go outside.
I hobble into the kitchen to find the table in the breakfast nook set. I nearly sigh at the sight. What I wouldn’t give to have a set-up similar to this in my home. The kitchen is the wet dream of a chef, which makes sense since Rowan’s a professional baker. And this little nook is set into a niche on the opposite side of the dining room. It’s surrounded by windows with built-in bench seats.
It’s the very definition of cozy. I can imagine myself sitting here drinking coffee with Rowan in the mornings. No, Ashlyn. You can’t. He thinks he’s your big brother protector, remember?
“What’s this?” I ask when I notice a wooden box on the table.
Rowan flips it open. “Herbal teas. I didn’t know which kind you wanted, so I got a whole variety.”
“Did you buy every kind known to man?” I ask as I pick through the choices and decide on red bush tea.
“Does this mean you’re speaking to me again?”
Oops. The vision of pancakes and tea made me temporarily forget my vow of silence. Not vow of silence as in I’m becoming a nun, but vow of silence as in I won’t be speaking to Mr. Big Mouth Secret Teller anytime soon.