221: Asher
I’ve faced down more men with knives than I can count.
Guns pointed at my chest. Landmines under my boots. Blood on my hands.
And I wasn’t even half this terrified.
Not even close.
Because Penny’s fingers are shaking. And she hasn’t looked up at me yet.
She’s still staring down at the box in her lap, two delicate fingers curling around the small silver key like it might vanish if she blinks. Or like it might explode in her hands.
I see her chest rise on a sharp inhale. Her mouth parts.
And then I hear her voice.
“Asher…” she says, soft and thin and aching. “What
I don’t move.
is
this?”
I don’t speak for a second.
Because she knows. Her voice says she doesn’t, but those wide, tear–glossed eyes–those give her away. She knows exactly what it is.
But I owe her the words anyway. I need to say them. For both of us.
“The garage,” I start, and even I can hear the gravel in my voice, the weight of the moment, “that was the first time I knew I loved you.”
She looks up at me.
And something in my chest ruptures.
Her lips tremble. Her fingers tighten around the key.
“I didn’t realize it then,” I go on, “not really. I think I was still trying not to want you back then. But you were sitting cross–legged in that ugly–ass chair with dust on your jeans asking me if I thought birds had regional accents.”
That draws a wet, startled laugh out of her. One hand flies to her mouth.
God, I’d kill to hear her laugh forever.
“And it hit me like a damn truck,” I say. “That you were all I’d been needing without ever knowing
Her throat works around a sob.
I press on.
“And that night at the Christmas village–the silly/snowman, you dragging me through the pastry shop, chasing after me when I walked oit–that’s when I knew I didn’t want to leave anymore. That I couldn’t go back to living out of a duffel bag. Couldn’t sleep in tents or barracks or anywhere you weren’t.”
Tears are slipping fast down her cheeks now.
And I haven’t even gotten to the part that terrifies me most.
I nod toward the key in her hand. “And this place… when I signed those papers, it wasn’t just for me. It was because I knew there wasn’t a single day of my life I wanted to spend without you. Not one night where the other side of the bed was cold. Not one morning where you weren’t dancing barefoot in my
kitchen while I burned pancakes trying to impress you.”
Her shoulders start shaking. I see it before I hear her cry.
And shit–maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that. Maybe this was too much. Too soon. Maybe-
“Princess,” I whisper, desperate now, “what are you thinking?”
She doesn’t answer.
Not with words.
She climbs into my lap instead, swinging one knee on either side of me, curling her hands around the back of my neck. Her tears wet my shirt where she presses her face into my collarbone.
Then she lifts her head. Looks at me like I’m the only thing that’s ever made sense.
“You really love me,” she whispers.
I rest my hands on her hips, pull her in tight.
“More than you know.”
She lets out a shaky breath. Her eyes flick between mine like she’s memorizing something.
“It’s been feeling wrong,” she says, “sleeping in my bed knowing there’s a spot for me here.”
My heart does a hard, painful thump.
She keeps going.
“I thought maybe you got this place because you needed the space. The privacy.”
I shake my head slowly, brushing my thumb over the curve of her waist.
“I need space and privacy from everyone but you.”
Her lip trembles again and then she’s crying harder. One hand moves to cup my cheek.
“I love you,” she says. “And I’d love to be with you every day of my life.”
I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for days. My hands tighten on her thighs.
“There’s something else,” I murmur.
She tilts her head, brows pulling together in that frown that wrecks me. The one that makes me want to throw her over my shoulder, bring her to the bedroom for a second time tonight, and worship every inch of her just for being this soft and curious and mine.
I drag in a breath and say, “I talked to your parents.”
Her eyes widen. “You what?”
I nod. “Last week. While you were at rehearsal.”
She stares at me like I just told her I jumped out of a plane again. Maybe this is worse.
In my head, it replays in perfect clarity.
Her dad opened the door and just stood there, arms crossed. Her mom had this look in her eyes like let’s see if you’re worth it.
I walked in, heart pounding harder than any mission I’d ever taken. Sat down across from them.
“I’m in love with your daughter,” I said.
Her dad blinked once. Her mom smiled.
“We figured,” her dad said with a smile, sipping his tea.
I laughed–nervous, awkward, but real. “I figured you had.”
Then I explained everything. That I respected what she’d been through, what she was building with the gala and school. That I wouldn’t stand in her way. Wouldn’t take her away from it.
That I chose a place close to the studio on purpose. That I had reinforced locks put in. That she could feel safe here, always.
But that I wouldn’t give her the key unless they were okay with it.
Her mom’s eyes had glassed over. Her dad’s mouth flattened into a line like he was trying not to smile.
“She’s always had a good head on her shoulders,” her mom finally said. “And we trust her.”
I left with their blessing. With the key burning a hole in my pocket ever since.
Back in the present, Penny’s crying harder. Her shoulders are shaking.
She nods.
Just once.
But it’s not enough.
“What’s that nod for?” I whisper.
She tries to speak. Nothing comes.
So I cup her cheek, kiss her slow, deep, until she melts into me again.
And then I pull back and say it again.
“Princess. I need to hear you say it.”
Her bottom lip trembles. She nods again.
And finally-
“I want to live with you, Asher,” she whispers.
And that’s it.
That’s the moment everything in my life shifts. All the darkness, the war, the guilt–none of it touches this.
Because Penny Vale is in my arms. Her tears soaking into my skin. Her voice still echoing in my chest.
And I will never, ever let her go.
Not now. Not ever.
