Unforgettable
Page 18
The memory floods back to me. I told him that in New York, the night we spent together.
So he hasn’t forgotten it, then.
I look down, realizing for the first time that we’re both covered in paint. It’s spilled all over the flagstone patio. “Look at the mess!” I wail, “Quick, I need to clean it up before it dries.”
“Never mind the paint,” Ash interrupts me, stern. “I’m more worried about you. Did you hit your head?” he demands, taking my chin in his hands and turning my head from side to side. “Any ringing in your ears? Dizziness? Nausea?”
“Only from finding out we’re neighbors now.” I roll my eyes.
He smirks. “So welcoming. This must be the small town charm they talk about.”
“Says the guy who did a great impression of an iceberg the last time we met,” I retort.
“Tall, impressive, with plenty lurking beneath the surface?”
I snort with laughter. “Try ice-cold and a bitch to avoid.”
He laughs, that low, infectious sound I’ve been trying to forget. “I think I like you when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk!” I insist again. I try to storm back into the house, but suddenly, the world tilts on its axis again. I grab hold of the nearest thing for support—which just happens to be his arm. “Well, maybe a little bit tipsy,” I admit. “But it’s summer!”
“Hey, I’m not judging.” Ash starts to steer me back inside. “But maybe beer and tall ladders don’t mix.”
I sigh, swaying against him. I can feel the outline of his bicep through his shirt: muscular and firm.
Does he have to be so damn attractive?
Ash helps me inside and sits me down on the couch in the living room. He looks around at the boxes of tchotchkes I’ve been packing away. “This is your grandmother’s house?”
I nod, sinking back into the pillows. Comfy.
“It’s smart, to spruce it up before you put it on the market.” He gives an approving nod. “Buyers like a blank canvas.”
“I’m not selling!” I announce dramatically. “I’m re-opening the B&B!”
Ash turns, looking surprised. “I didn’t realize you knew how to run a guest-house.”
“I don’t, but how hard can it be?” I protest, “I just need to redecorate, advertise for guests, perfect Nana’s old recipes, keep everything freshly laundered… Pass the health and safety checks, get the right permits, register with the town hall…” I trail off as the full weight of my decision comes crashing down.
I groan. “What the hell am I doing?” I cry, burying my head in a cushion. When I emerge, Ash is looking amused. “This is all your fault, you know!” I say accusingly, then pull myself to my feet.
“Easy there.” Ash moves to help me again, but I’m not feeling quite so spinny. I shake him off and wander through to the kitchen in search of food. Yes, food, that’s what I need. I rifle through the refrigerator, and pull out the sandwich fixings I picked up at the store earlier.
Turkey, swiss, mayo, and mustard. Perfect.
Ash leans against the counter, watching me. “You were saying,” he prompts me. “How is all this my fault?”
“Because I was perfectly happy, until you came along.” I point my butter knife at him. “OK, not happy, but I was repressing my misery and frustration. I was repressing just fine. Then you come sweeping up all Prince Charming meets Highway Bandit, pulling my shoe out of the gutter and whisking me off on some magical night together—”
“Magical?” Ash interrupts. He grins, reaching to steal a slice of turkey. I slap his hand away.
“Magical,” I repeat defiantly. “Even if you’ve got selective amnesia about it now. Anyway…” I pause, trying to remember what I was saying. Repression, and magic, and—that’s it. “I admitted for the first time how miserable my life was making me, and now I can’t take it back. It’s like when you uncork a bottle of…something…and everything comes spilling out. You can’t put it back in. That’s what happened with me!”
“I uncorked you.” Ash grins.
I slide over a plate with his sandwich and bite down into my own. “It’s all your fault.”
Ash chews and swallows. “Well, I apologize for inadvertently breaking you free from misery and repression.”
He has a smear of mustard on the corner of his lips, and he swipes it off with his thumb and sucks.
I want to be that thumb.
“…for it now?”
“Huh?” I blink back. “I totally missed that.”
“I said,” Ash repeats gently, “Are you really set on opening this place? It’s no small order, running a business like this. The hospitality industry is tough, especially here, when it’s so seasonal. What will you do in winters? How will you support yourself if there are slow spots?”
I frown. “I haven’t figured all that out yet. But I will! I just need to go step by step. I have a plan.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Ash smiles at me again, that condescending amused grin I should find infuriating but instead is sexy as hell. “I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to.”
“Now you’re just patronizing me,” I tell him with my mouth full. “Or is that your default setting? King of the world.”
So he hasn’t forgotten it, then.
I look down, realizing for the first time that we’re both covered in paint. It’s spilled all over the flagstone patio. “Look at the mess!” I wail, “Quick, I need to clean it up before it dries.”
“Never mind the paint,” Ash interrupts me, stern. “I’m more worried about you. Did you hit your head?” he demands, taking my chin in his hands and turning my head from side to side. “Any ringing in your ears? Dizziness? Nausea?”
“Only from finding out we’re neighbors now.” I roll my eyes.
He smirks. “So welcoming. This must be the small town charm they talk about.”
“Says the guy who did a great impression of an iceberg the last time we met,” I retort.
“Tall, impressive, with plenty lurking beneath the surface?”
I snort with laughter. “Try ice-cold and a bitch to avoid.”
He laughs, that low, infectious sound I’ve been trying to forget. “I think I like you when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk!” I insist again. I try to storm back into the house, but suddenly, the world tilts on its axis again. I grab hold of the nearest thing for support—which just happens to be his arm. “Well, maybe a little bit tipsy,” I admit. “But it’s summer!”
“Hey, I’m not judging.” Ash starts to steer me back inside. “But maybe beer and tall ladders don’t mix.”
I sigh, swaying against him. I can feel the outline of his bicep through his shirt: muscular and firm.
Does he have to be so damn attractive?
Ash helps me inside and sits me down on the couch in the living room. He looks around at the boxes of tchotchkes I’ve been packing away. “This is your grandmother’s house?”
I nod, sinking back into the pillows. Comfy.
“It’s smart, to spruce it up before you put it on the market.” He gives an approving nod. “Buyers like a blank canvas.”
“I’m not selling!” I announce dramatically. “I’m re-opening the B&B!”
Ash turns, looking surprised. “I didn’t realize you knew how to run a guest-house.”
“I don’t, but how hard can it be?” I protest, “I just need to redecorate, advertise for guests, perfect Nana’s old recipes, keep everything freshly laundered… Pass the health and safety checks, get the right permits, register with the town hall…” I trail off as the full weight of my decision comes crashing down.
I groan. “What the hell am I doing?” I cry, burying my head in a cushion. When I emerge, Ash is looking amused. “This is all your fault, you know!” I say accusingly, then pull myself to my feet.
“Easy there.” Ash moves to help me again, but I’m not feeling quite so spinny. I shake him off and wander through to the kitchen in search of food. Yes, food, that’s what I need. I rifle through the refrigerator, and pull out the sandwich fixings I picked up at the store earlier.
Turkey, swiss, mayo, and mustard. Perfect.
Ash leans against the counter, watching me. “You were saying,” he prompts me. “How is all this my fault?”
“Because I was perfectly happy, until you came along.” I point my butter knife at him. “OK, not happy, but I was repressing my misery and frustration. I was repressing just fine. Then you come sweeping up all Prince Charming meets Highway Bandit, pulling my shoe out of the gutter and whisking me off on some magical night together—”
“Magical?” Ash interrupts. He grins, reaching to steal a slice of turkey. I slap his hand away.
“Magical,” I repeat defiantly. “Even if you’ve got selective amnesia about it now. Anyway…” I pause, trying to remember what I was saying. Repression, and magic, and—that’s it. “I admitted for the first time how miserable my life was making me, and now I can’t take it back. It’s like when you uncork a bottle of…something…and everything comes spilling out. You can’t put it back in. That’s what happened with me!”
“I uncorked you.” Ash grins.
I slide over a plate with his sandwich and bite down into my own. “It’s all your fault.”
Ash chews and swallows. “Well, I apologize for inadvertently breaking you free from misery and repression.”
He has a smear of mustard on the corner of his lips, and he swipes it off with his thumb and sucks.
I want to be that thumb.
“…for it now?”
“Huh?” I blink back. “I totally missed that.”
“I said,” Ash repeats gently, “Are you really set on opening this place? It’s no small order, running a business like this. The hospitality industry is tough, especially here, when it’s so seasonal. What will you do in winters? How will you support yourself if there are slow spots?”
I frown. “I haven’t figured all that out yet. But I will! I just need to go step by step. I have a plan.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Ash smiles at me again, that condescending amused grin I should find infuriating but instead is sexy as hell. “I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to.”
“Now you’re just patronizing me,” I tell him with my mouth full. “Or is that your default setting? King of the world.”
