The one for you, p.27
The One for You, page 27
Graham was going to figure out who it was about. It was all so obvious. Graham was going to laugh and call Kincaid over, and Ash might as well just die of mortification now and save them all time. He was possibly starting to hyperventilate.
Graham let out a whistling breath. “Wow, man. That’s some intense stuff. This guy better win the girl at the end, or this is going to be a seriously depressing book.”
“I, uh,” Ash stuttered, “haven’t figured out how it ends yet.”
Graham was still staring down at the page, a line deepening between his brows.
Look away. Look away. Look away. The silent plea repeated in Ash’s head.
Graham glanced up and toward Kincaid, a ponderous expression on his face. “Something like this could really make a girl fall for a guy. It’s like something out of a movie. Is this guy mailing the letters to the girl?”
Fuck. Ash was going to have to make up a damn novel on the fly. “He, uh, hides the letters where she works so she can find them, like a scavenger hunt, and he just signs them as her secret admirer.”
Graham stepped forward, bracing his hands on the counter and still watching Kincaid. “Does she figure out who he is?”
Ash discreetly closed the notebook and shoved it into his backpack beneath the counter. “Yeah, that’s part of the story. He wants her to figure it out because then that means she really sees him, you know, like recognizes him in the words. If she does, then he’ll know she loves him back.”
Ash was rambling now, but the second the words were out he realized how much he wished that were true. He wished he could send the letters to Kincaid anonymously, and she would instinctively know they were his words, would see that they’d always been meant for each other. She’d see that the love they had in their friendship was only a breath away from a different kind of love, one where he could hold her hand and kiss her and tell her all the things he held inside every time he was around her lately.
“This could be perfect,” Graham said, voice so quiet Ash barely registered what he’d said.
“What could be?”
Graham turned to Ash, putting his back to Kincaid and his hand on Ash’s shoulder. “Dude, I need your help.”
Ash blinked to clear the fogged thoughts he’d been lost in. “Huh?”
“I’ve been racking my brain, trying to come up with a way to ask Kincaid out. I know she’s on her boy ban right now, but God, I’m really, really into her. Like it’s kind of been killing me.”
Ash’s mouth went bone dry.
“And I know I can’t just go up to her and tell her she’s pretty or whatever. She’s shot down every guy who’s asked her out in the last few months.” He ran a hand through his blond hair. “I need something special. Something that will show her that I’m not just looking to hook up, that I really like her, you know, for her.”
“Right,” Ash said, the word coming out robotic.
“She’s, like, supergreat, you know?” Graham said, gaze serious.
Ash nodded numbly. “I know.”
Graham smiled. “Right. Best friends. Of course you know.” He squeezed Ash’s shoulder. “And you know I’ll treat her right. I’m not going to be like those jerk-offs she’s dated before. I know she’s special.”
Ash was going to vomit on Graham’s Adidas.
“So will you help me?” he asked, his hand still heavy on Ash’s shoulder.
Acid was burning in the back of Ash’s throat because somehow, some way, he knew where this was going. “Help you…ask Kincaid out.”
“I need your letters,” he whispered.
Ash closed his eyes. “Graham…”
“I know they’re not my words, but that’s totally how I feel about her, and you’re so much better at the writing thing than I am,” he said, a plea in his voice. “I can hide them in some of the books around the store. Make it like a scavenger hunt for her. She loves romantic stuff. That’d be romantic, right?”
Ridiculously, utterly romantic. He wished he’d thought of putting them in books. He also wished he could scream at Graham to back the fuck off and write his own damn letters. He couldn’t steal Ash’s feelings for Kincaid and pass them off as his own. What kind of bullshit was that?
But Graham didn’t know they were Ash’s feelings. He thought it was fiction, a novel. Nothing real. Not Ash’s blood and guts spilled all over the goddamned pages. “Graham, I don’t think that’s the best idea. KC is—”
“I know you’re protective of her. I absolutely respect that, but”—he put a hand to his chest—“it’s me. You know I’ll be good to her. I already care about her so much.”
Ash glanced past Graham’s shoulder. Kincaid was staring out the front window, completely oblivious to the fact that she was the subject of their conversation. Did she like Graham that way? Ash had seen how she looked at him. Was that what she wanted? Some big romantic gesture from Graham? Would that make her happy?
Ash’s insides were being pulled and stretched in ten different directions. He didn’t want Graham and Kincaid together, but if that was what she wanted, who was he to stop it? And if there was a chance that she felt about Ash the way he did about her, could this actually help him find out?
If they hid anonymous letters written in Ash’s words and tucked them into her favorite books—favorites Graham couldn’t know about—wouldn’t she guess who they were really from? Wouldn’t it be obvious to her? Ash was the writer. Graham was good at other things, but books and writing were not his forte. Maybe this could be a way to suss out her feelings—like the story he’d made up about the novel. If Kincaid could see Ash in his words, maybe that would mean she loved him back, that she’d been paying as close attention to him as he had to her.
“What do you say, Ash?” Graham asked, trying to catch his eye. “Will you help me out?”
Ash’s mouth was a desert, and he was clammy all over at the thought of putting his words out there for Kincaid to read, but maybe it was time to stop being so scared. He took a deep breath and met his friend’s gaze. “Let’s do it.”
Graham’s grin went wide and he lifted his arm for a fist bump. “You’re the best, Isaacs. This is going to be epic.”
Kincaid strolled up just in time to see the fist bump. She hoisted herself up onto the counter and smiled at them. “What are you two up to?”
Dying, Ash answered silently. “Talking about your appalling love of pop music.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “And also how I’m just the best, most wonderful girl you two have ever known?”
Graham grinned. “Obviously.”
“The ego on you, Breslin,” Ash said because he was apparently incapable of flirting and could only manage middle-school sarcasm when she was around.
She reached out and messed up his hair. “You’re the worst BFF ever.”
He sighed. “I know.”
* * *
Two weeks later, Ash was at the checkout counter again, going through the closing procedures and trying to focus. He’d started the money count three times now and messed up each time. He hadn’t been able to think since he and Graham had planted the letters around the store. He knew Kincaid had found some because he’d checked the books after she left at night. But she hadn’t said a word. He couldn’t concentrate on anything at all when she was near him. He kept waiting for her to look at him and say, I know. Or how could you? Or in his best fantasies, I’m totally in love with you, too.
So when he looked up to find her heading his way with a secretive smile on her face and a sheet of paper clutched in her hand, his heart jumped into his throat and he feared he might pass out. He lost count of the money again.
Kincaid stopped in front of the counter and her smile went wider. “Hey, you.”
Her tone was effervescent and filled him up with this fizzy, bubbling rush of hope.
It’s happening. It’s fucking happening! Breathe. “Hey.”
“Almost done with the till?” she asked, eyeing the money.
“Yep. Everything okay?”
She leaned closer as if she was going to tell him a secret. “I think everything is kind of amazing.”
Could teenagers have heart attacks? He was worried he was in the midst of one. His ears had started to buzz and he couldn’t feel his legs. “Oh yeah?”
“When were you going to tell me?” she said, pressing her hands to the counter, the letter trapped under one palm.
All the air whooshed out of him, and the heavy weight he’d been carrying for so long lifted off him. “God, KC, I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.”
She bounced on her toes. “Ash! I can’t believe you kept a secret from me. Graham must’ve threatened the hell out of you.”
The words came crashing down around him like breaking glass, cutting him on the way down. “What?”
She opened the folded letter, showing Ash his own typed words. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. I know he had to ask you for advice on which books to hide them in. He couldn’t have known.”
Ash’s heart, which had swelled to supernova size when she’d smiled his way with the letter in her hand, collapsed in on itself like a black hole. She’d read his words. His words. And she thought they were Graham’s.
There was no logical reason why she would think Graham had written them. Graham wasn’t the writer. He wouldn’t know the books to hide them in. The only way she could read those words and see Graham’s hand penning them was because she wanted that to be the case. She’d seen who she wished for.
And it wasn’t Ash.
Ash’s eyes burned and his throat had narrowed, but he managed to force a smile onto his face. “You got me.”
Her face lit up and she hurried around the desk, almost knocking him over with a hug. “Oh my God, Ash. This is the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. I mean, I thought maybe he liked me, but this… I mean, wow. Graham Lowell. I’ve had the biggest crush on him for the longest time but never imagined he felt like this. Thank you for helping him and not ruining the surprise.”
Ash hugged her back, his nose in her hair, his heart in shreds. He closed his eyes, refusing to ruin this moment for her. He’d wanted an answer and now he had it. She wanted Graham.
What else could he do but let her go? She was happy. Of all the people in the world, she deserved that more than anyone. He gave her a tight squeeze. “I’m happy for you, KC.”
“Thank you.” She leaned back and then kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Ash. You know that, right?”
He forced his smile to stay on his face and stepped back, touching her suddenly too much to handle. “I know.”
“Good.”
She loved him.
Just not the way he’d hoped.
That love was meant for someone else.
Twenty-Two
Kincaid laughed as Ash groaned at the choice of restaurant. He eyed the door. “I said I’d take you anywhere you want, anywhere at all. We could’ve gone into the city and picked from like a hundred places that have been featured on TV as the best of Texas.”
“But this is where I wanted to go,” she declared with a grin. She hadn’t felt like driving far and was craving a filling meal after the long day. In Long Acre, that meant Big Willy’s BBQ & Dance Hall. The old-school country music was already thumping when they stepped inside, and the smell of smoked meat hung heavy in the air. “What can be bad about BBQ and country dancing?”
“Harboring Footloose fantasies?” There was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Always.” She gave him an air kiss and pulled him along by the hand to get in line. “And don’t be such a snob. You know the food is delicious. Plus, the beer is cheap and they have banana pudding. Not from a box mix. That is high class, my friend.”
Ash laughed. “So your idea of a romantic dinner is eating off butcher paper and watching people line dance. Noted.”
She dragged him closer. “Oh, sugar, who said we’d be watching?”
A flash of panic flickered through his eyes as he glanced toward the dance floor and then back to her. He gripped her shoulders and gave her a serious look. “KC, I love you, but if you think I’m capable of line dancing, you’ve far overestimated my abilities.”
“But—” Whatever she was going to say dissipated in an instant as his words fully registered. “Wait, what?”
“Huh?” he asked. His gaze had drifted back to the dance floor. “I don’t know how to line dance.”
“Not that. You said you loved me.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he waited a beat before turning back to her. “Okay.”
“Okay?” she repeated, confused. “Okay, what?”
He gave her an unreadable look. “We used to say that to each other all the time.”
She stared at him, some weird sensation rolling around in her gut. “Right, but…we were kids. You haven’t said that in a long time.”
His grip on her shoulders softened, and he rubbed her upper arms. “If it weirds you out, I don’t have to say it.”
“I—” She clamped her lips shut. Did it freak her out? She said love you to her friends all the time. Why should this feel any different? “No, it’s fine. I just…don’t want us to confuse things.”
He gave her an enigmatic half smile. “I’m not confused. Promise.”
She nodded and took a breath. “For the record, I love you, too. Even if you don’t know how to line dance.”
A pleased expression filled his face, and he pulled her to him, leaning down to kiss her. “Thanks.”
“Are you two going to order?” a guy behind them asked, his annoyance obvious.
They looked toward the man and his equally annoyed wife, surprised to find anyone there. Ash released her from his hold, and Kincaid offered the guy a bright smile. “Why don’t y’all go on ahead of us? I don’t know what I want.”
Damn, was that ever the truth.
Hearing Ash say I love you had poked some anxious part of her. No man had said that to her since Graham. And she knew this was different. Ash was saying it as her friend, but the sleeping-together part was blurring the lines in her head. The man she was sleeping with had said he loved her. She would not, could not let that get twisted into something it wasn’t in her brain. She and Ash were not meant for that path.
But the wicked part of her mind was putting together a PowerPoint presentation of what-ifs. What if the circumstances were different? What if Ash lived here? Would she still want to keep these lines drawn? Could she see this turning into more?
The thoughts were stupid. The circumstances weren’t different. Ash staying here would mean him giving up his dreams. She would never want him to do that. And she wouldn’t give up hers to go travel the world with him. Maybe in an alternate universe their paths lined up and they could have something more than friendship, but in this one, they were on decidedly different journeys. They were meant to be friends. Who loved each other.
Ash, who’d turned to look at the chalkboard menu after the couple had gone in front of them, looked her way again. “You okay?”
She forced nonchalance. “Yep. Just hungry.”
For so many things.
They got their order and then headed into the main dining area to find a place to sit. Picnic tables of varying lengths filled the space in a haphazard pattern, and the dance floor stretched out on the left. A few older couples were already two-stepping, and a group of tween girls were trying a line dance.
Kincaid recognized a number of folks at tables as they passed and gave little waves and hellos. For a moment, she thought she saw Sam Caldone, but it ended up being a guy with a similar cowboy hat. Thank God. She’d have to see Sam one day. You couldn’t escape anyone for long in a town this size, but she was happy that time wasn’t tonight.
Along the back wall, a bunch of tables had been pushed together to make one long one, and it was filled with rowdy high-school-age boys. “It’s going to be loud at that end,” she said as they stopped to fill up their glasses with iced tea at the drink station.
“Not sure there are any other spots,” Ash said, holding their tray of food. “And really, with the music, it’s going to be loud wherever we sit.”
She nodded and followed him toward the raucous boys, but as they squeezed by the table, a woman’s voice stopped them in their tracks. “Ashton?”
The bewildered voice somehow cut through the din, and Kincaid almost ran into Ash as he froze. They both turned, and Kincaid’s stomach plummeted when she saw the wide-eyed face staring back at her.
Oh shit. Oh fuck.
Kincaid’s emergency broadcasting system kicked in, pasting a smile on her face and inserting enthusiasm into her voice. “Mrs. Isaacs,” she said way too peppily. “How are you?”
But Ash’s mother’s gaze was still locked on her son, her fingers tight around her glass of whatever she’d gotten to drink.
Kincaid glanced toward Ash, who’d gone pale. His gaze jumped from his mother to Kincaid and then back. He cleared his throat. “Hi, Mom.”
Mrs. Isaacs put her hand to her chest, and her eyes went shiny. “Ashton.”
The weight of the air between them was smothering. Kincaid didn’t know the whole story, but she knew Ash didn’t talk to his parents, didn’t visit. When he came to the Lowells’ for the holidays, they were under strict orders not to post photos of him on Facebook.
“What are you doing here?” his mother asked, bewildered.
Ash didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
“Ash is getting some peace and quiet to write his new book,” Kincaid blurted out.
Ash’s head swiveled her way and gave her a really? look.
She winced inwardly. Dammit. Shut up, Kincaid.
“You’re staying in town?” The hurt in his mother’s voice twisted Kincaid’s heart a little. She knew Mrs. Isaacs had let Ash down in so many ways, but Kincaid couldn’t help but have some sympathy for her. The grief on her face was raw.
