Ash believes the impossi.., p.1
Ash Believes the Impossible, page 1
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Blurb
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
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By Kim Fielding
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Copyright
Ash Believes the Impossible
By Kim Fielding
Asher Kaufman could use a miracle. But first he’ll have to believe they exist.
Ash is single, strapped for cash, and burned out from his work at a nonprofit. Everyone else’s holiday spirit leaves him feeling like he’s in the wrong movie.
Then strange, thoughtful gifts begin appearing outside his door: a rustic basket filled with pinecones and acorns, and a beautiful handmade scarf in Hannukah colors. But the most wonderful gift of all comes when he meets Clay, his secret admirer, a beautiful young man who happens to be a fairy who lives in the wooded wonderland behind the duplex where Ash lives.
Clay brings warmth and magic into Ash’s dreary life–but when the realities of the human world threaten the bridge to fairyland, it will take all Ash’s faith to bring about a happy-ever-after that will work for everyone.
One
IT WAS a beautiful day, and that sucked.
For one thing, it was December, and in Portland that should have meant gray skies, a constant drizzle, and a general atmosphere of… blah. But instead the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky. Birds twittered. People smiled as they lingered outside coffeehouses, paper cups in ungloved hands, eyes sparkling with holiday cheer.
And for another thing, Asher Kaufman was in a shitty mood. The weather should have properly acknowledged that.
But nope, brightness everywhere. Festive colors in shop windows. Children laughing.
As Ash scowled fiercely, the entire rest of the world breezed along, happy and carefree. He’d clearly been sucked through a wormhole into a Hallmark Christmas movie, in which the jaded big-city corporate type returns to her tiny hometown where everyone is adorable and loving and where her old high school sweetheart—now a widowed veterinarian with a charming toddler and well-behaved golden retriever—will show her what love really is.
“I don’t belong in this movie,” Ash muttered as he turned the corner onto the narrow side street where he lived. His backpack felt extra heavy today and the sidewalk seemed to have more cracks than usual, so he had that much consolation.
The trees were bare of leaves, of course, and his neighbors’ front gardens, which were a riot of color during the summer, looked somber now. But there were patches of bright moss on cement stairways. And the houses, with their gray or subdued blue, green, or yellow exteriors, looked comfortable and classic in the sunlight. If it had been raining, they would have resembled squarish mushrooms instead.
The house where he lived—a sort of pale terra-cotta with cream trim—had dormant lilies and rosebushes in front and trans- and gay-pride flags in the windows facing the street. Sitting on the front porch and wearing matching fleece jackets were his landlords, Troy and Zeke. Troy had a glass of red wine, while Zeke was halfheartedly hiding a burning joint. They both greeted him with smiles as he stepped onto the porch.
“Join us,” said Troy. “What’s your intoxicant of choice?” He waved his glass a little.
Because he liked his landlords, Ash downgraded his scowl to a grimace. “Today, Netflix and an early bedtime.”
“You haven’t been working all day on a Saturday, have you? No wonder you look miserable.”
“Just half the day, and that’s not the problem.” It wasn’t. He liked his job a lot, even if it didn’t pay well and often spread into his evenings and weekends. He worked for a nonprofit that helped people find careers, many of them related to social and environmental justice. Which was cool enough as it was, but most of his clients had trouble finding work on their own due to disabilities, criminal records, substance-abuse histories, and other issues. A few extra hours here and there didn’t matter much if it meant helping someone get back on their feet and find a voice.
“You want to talk about it?” Zeke probably intended the offer sincerely. He was that kind of guy.
But Ash shook his head. “Just the same old. I ran into Silas this afternoon when I went out for coffee.”
“With his new boyfriend?”
Ash nodded and sighed. “Who’s way hotter than me.”
Zeke took a hit off his joint, held it for a moment, and then exhaled loudly. “Silas isn’t good enough for you, kid. You’re way out of his league. You’ve got substance.”
“And you’re pretty hot yourself,” Troy added, fanning himself dramatically, which made Ash chuckle. His landlords were old enough to be his grandparents, but occasionally they liked to pretend to flirt with him—once they’d made sure he didn’t mind that kind of joking.
Ash shook his head. “This guy has abs. Six-pack at least.”
“Was he shirtless in a coffeehouse in December?”
“No.” In fact, he’d been wearing a bulky sweater. “I could just tell. He’s the type.”
“Ah. Implied rippedness. Well, if Silas is dumb enough to pick abs over you, sweetheart, that’s his loss entirely.”
And against Ash’s will, his mood was lifting. Man, a guy couldn’t even indulge in a good wallow nowadays. “Thanks, guys. I’m gonna head upstairs, though.”
“Fine,” said Troy. “But Zeke made brownies this afternoon, and later we’re going to bring you some.”
Ash raised his eyebrows. “Um, what kind of brownies?”
“Cannabis-free, I promise,” said Zeke, sputtering a laugh.
“In that case, I’ll be happy to take some off your hands.”
After thanking his landlords, Ash opened the door and entered the little foyer. A couple of weeks ago, someone—most likely Zeke—had placed a potted evergreen tree next to the interior staircase and decorated it with tinsel, colored glass balls, and, in tribute to Ash, wooden dreidels and little bags of gold-foiled gelt chocolates. Ash liked it even on foul-mood days.
At one point the house had been a single-family residence, but once Troy and Zeke’s kids grew up and moved away, they converted the place into a duplex with their two-bedroom unit downstairs and a one-bedroom up. Ash had moved in seven months ago, after the ugly breakup with Silas, and although his apartment wasn’t as big or fancy as the one he and Silas had shared, he liked this place much better. As Zeke liked to point out, it had good vibes.
Ash tromped up the stairs, which brought him to a small landing that included an alcove for muddy boots and wet raincoats, a little bookcase stuffed with paperbacks that Troy might reread someday but didn’t mind if Ash borrowed, and a small table on which Zeke sometimes left him garden veggies or baked goods.
Today, though, there was something new on the table: a rustic-looking basket woven from vines and filled with pinecones and hazelnuts. It was pretty. Zeke must have been expanding his crafting skills. But Ash wasn’t sure whether the basket was meant as a decoration for the landing or a gift to him, so he left it where it was and entered his apartment. He immediately kicked off his shoes, hung his backpack on a hook without bothering to take out his laptop, and then put away his coat. Sock-clad, he slid across the polished wood floor to his couch and collapsed onto his back.
He’d lie here for just a few minutes and then start thinking about dinner. Maybe he’d take a load of laundry down to the basement first. Or finish his online Hanukkah shopping for his nieces and nephews. Or shuffle to the window and stare gloomily out at the backyard, which looked slightly wild even in the depths of winter. Or finish that book he’d been reading. Or….
Within less than three minutes, he was out cold.
ASH AWAKENED to a dark room and a growling stomach but realized after a few seconds that it had been the gentle knock on the door that shook him from sleep. Yawning, he stood, stretched, and lumbered over.
He opened the door to find Zeke holding a foil-covered plate. “You took a nap.”
Slightly embarrassed, Ash wanted to deny it. But he figured his hair was probably a mess and he likely had a fabric imprint on his cheek. “Yeah. I guess I woke up too early today.”
“Naps are one of life’s best luxuries. When Troy and I went on that cruise last month? I took two or three naps a day.” Zeke shoved the plate toward Ash. “Here. Sustenance.”
Although he took the plate, Ash shook his head. “I don’t think brownies count as sustenance.”
“Of course they do. They’re chocolate, right? Where does chocolate come from?”
“Um… cacao trees?”
“Right. Cocoa beans. That makes chocolate a vegetable, hence brownies are sustenance.” Zeke folded his arms, looking satisfied.
Ash decided it was silly to argue. “I wish I’d thought of that logic when I was a kid. Anyway, thank you.” He lifted the plate a little. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy them.”
“You will. I’m sorry I woke you. I was just going to leave them on the table, but your basket was already there, so I knocked. It’s a nice basket. Looks good there. Where’d you get it?”
Ash blinked at him. “I… thought you left it there.”
“Nope. I’ve never seen—” Zeke stopped suddenly
“What?”
Zeke produced a grin any demon would have been proud of. “Nothing.”
“But—”
“Go enjoy your brownies, kid. And catch up on some more sleep. I think your life is about to get more interesting.” After a broad wink and a sinister chuckle, Zeke turned on his heel and marched down the stairs.
Two
THE YOUNG woman sitting on the other side of the table crossed her arms. “This doesn’t seem like a job interview.”
“It isn’t.” Ash had been through this many times before. “I’m not here to hire you. I’m here to help you find someone who will.”
She snorted. “Nobody’s gonna hire me.”
“Yeah, I know it’s rough. A lot of employers take a look at your history and decide—”
“They don’t want a junkie working for them.”
Ash leaned forward because this was important. “You’re not a junkie, Ms. Beyer. You’re an addict who’s been clean for over six months now. The social worker says you’ve been doing an excellent job with your son even though you’re a single parent, and that’s hard on anyone. You’ve been attending your counseling sessions and Narcotics Anonymous meetings, and today you dressed up really nicely and came across town and got to our meeting on time, which I bet took a lot of guts. You’re a strong person, one with a whole lot of determination to improve your life and your kid’s. What employer wouldn’t want to hire someone like that?”
She narrowed her eyes as if judging his sincerity and then seemed to relax. Good, because he meant every word. Ash had always had things fairly easy, and his clients hadn’t; he truly admired their fortitude.
Ms. Beyer glanced down at her blouse. “This outfit isn’t really good enough for interviews, is it?” she asked softly.
“Depends on the job. It’s clean, it’s neat, and it says you made an effort. For some employers, that’s plenty.” He smiled a little. “Some do expect applicants to dress more formally, but don’t worry about that. We have a room full of donated clothing, and if you need something, we’ll help you find it.”
For the first time since she’d entered the building, Ms. Beyer looked hopeful. “You really think you can find me a job? Something that pays decent?”
“I do.”
“How?”
Ash straightened his pad of paper and clicked open his pen. “We start by you telling me the things you’re good at and the things you like to do.”
TODAY’S WEATHER was more appropriate for the season and it was dark by the time Ash left work, but his mood was considerably better than it had been on Saturday. His coat was warm, and a little bit of drizzle had never melted anyone. Sure, by the time he walked the mile home his hair would be a frizzy disaster, but nobody there would mind.
As he walked up Salmon Street, he considered detouring a couple of blocks to Hawthorne and picking up some dinner but decided against it. His budget was already strained, and he had plenty of food at home. But maybe he could at least splurge on a coffee. He’d be up late tonight going over paperwork, so he might as well have some fancy caffeine to help keep him awake.
He and Silas had owned an expensive Italian espresso machine, the kind that did just about everything but your taxes, but somehow Silas gained custody of it when they split. That wasn’t exactly fair, considering Ash used the thing more often. On the other hand, it would have hogged a lot of counter real estate in his current tiny kitchen, so maybe it was just as well.
Positive thoughts, Asher Kaufman. Stop wallowing.
Remembering that he’d run into Silas—and Silas’s new, hunky boyfriend—at the usual place, Ash decided to try a new coffeehouse. It wasn’t as if they were hard to find in Portland. As soon as he made this decision, a café appeared as if by magic on a side street. He’d never noticed it before, but there it was, in what had once been the walk-out basement of a Victorian-era house.
Mahonia’s, read the hand-painted yellow-and-purple sign with an image of a steaming cup. Cute. A variety of small posters hung in the windows: Black Lives Matter; Love Is Love; No Matter Where You’re From, We’re Glad You’re Our Neighbor. None of the messages were unusual around here, but they still felt sincere and welcoming.
Ash shrugged and opened the dark-green front door.
His first impression was the wonderful aroma of coffee, chocolate, cinnamon, and baked goods. He closed his eyes for a moment and nearly moaned. Then he noticed the polished wood counter, its marble top laden with glass pastry jars; nine or ten little tables with comfortable-looking chairs; a corner with a magazine rack and miniature jungle of houseplants; and a fluffy gray cat watching him from a padded windowsill. There was music playing quietly, something with flutes and tinkly bells. It should have been annoying but wasn’t, at least not yet.
And then there were the people. A tall, white-haired woman stood behind the counter, smiling at him. Incongruously, she wore leather biker gear, but she didn’t seem remotely threatening. Two other women, younger and in vaguely Victorian dresses, sat at one of the tables with tea cups in front of them. And in the back, where the light was fairly dim, sat a middle-aged man with a sweet, round face and a cloud of blond curls. He wore jeans and a cream sweater that looked hand-knit. He smiled at Ash as if he’d been expecting him.
The woman behind the counter had a deep, melodious voice. “Hello. Can I get you something to drink?” She had a slight accent—something musical that he couldn’t place.
Ash looked around for a menu but couldn’t find one. He could simply order a plain old cup of joe with room for cream and sugar, but he was in the mood for something different. He just didn’t know what. “Um….”
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll make you something special.”
That was weird. But jeez, he might as well grab whatever small adventures he could. “Sure. Thanks.”
He glanced around again before selecting the spot nearest the door. He hung his coat on a rack, and when he sat down, he saw that paper Hanukkah decorations had been set on the table and covered with a sheet of thick glass. In fact, each table apparently celebrated a winter holiday; Kwanzaa and the winter solstice were closest to him. Festive.
The cat stood, stretched, hopped down to the floor, and wandered over to Ash. It sniffed delicately at his offered fingers before rubbing against his leg, purring loudly. Then, as if it considered its work complete, it returned to its spot in the window.
Ash had been distracted enough by the décor and the cat that he hadn’t paid any attention to what was happening behind the counter. Now the white-haired woman was at his table, setting a plate and a large mug in front of him. “Make sure you dip the churros in the chocolate.”
Sure enough, the plate contained two golden-brown churros and the cup was full of dark hot chocolate. The fragrance was intoxicating, even above the shop’s ambient scents.
“I, uh, was sort of just expecting coffee.”
She smiled. “I can get you that if you’d rather. But perhaps you’d like to try this first? It’s on the house. My way of welcoming a new guest.”
Nobody in their right mind would turn down free churros and hot chocolate, especially on a chilly, damp evening. “Thank you,” Ash said. “Did this place just open?” It surely didn’t seem like it. While everything was scrupulously clean, Mahonia’s had the comfortable, settled air of a longstanding establishment.
The woman seemed amused by his question. “No, I’ve been here for a very long time.”
Oh. Maybe he’d never walked down this particular side street, or maybe he’d been too preoccupied to notice. “It seems very nice.” Then he had an idea. “Are you the owner, by any chance?”
“I am. Mahonia herself.” She gave a regal nod.
“It’s good to meet you. I’m Ash Kaufman. And this is sorta pushy of me, but I work for a nonprofit that helps match employers with folks who might otherwise struggle in the job market. My clients are great people, though. So, uh, maybe next time you’re looking for a barista we could chat?” He pulled his business card from his backpack and held it toward her.
He didn’t usually do this out of the blue. In fact, a lot of companies were familiar with Ash’s nonprofit and would reach out to them on their own. But a little networking never hurt, and Mahonia gave off a good vibe. Which was totally unscientific of him. Like any potential employment site, it would need to be vetted first.
