Who on Earth kept buzzing at his door?
Ash wriggled underneath the couch-bed, pinching a paper towel full of cat puke. The door buzzed again.
“Just a second,” he called, Chucky’s meowing drowning his voice.
He slithered out and dropped the regurgitated cat nibbles next to the slab of dented wood he called a coffee table.
The buzzer gave another impatient outburst.
He raked a hand through his desperate-for-a-trim hair and tugged down his pink shirt. Stupid laundry day. Hopefully the tight boxers he was wearing weren’t too offensive.
“Ash Heartford?”
“Hold your horses.” Ash opened the door and scowled at the guy on the other side.
Impatient Buzzer gave him a slow onceover, blinking furiously. The color drained from his face.
Ash wasn’t that indecent, was he?
If this stranger wouldn’t stop taking him in, Ash would pointedly do the same.
Stylishly wrecked blond hair, bright blue eyes, and fashionable, just-couldn’t-be-bothered-today stubble. Crimson T-shirt gently covering broad shoulders and a gently tapered waist. Designer jeans stretched across tight hips. Thumbs curled loosely in belt loops.
Everything about his attire and posture suggested he lived on the wealthy side of Greenville like one of the trustfund kids he worked for. Was it someone he worked for? Or someone’s son sent to fire him on their behalf?
“Ash Heartford.” Not a question this time.
“Impatient Buzzer.”
A startled grin, followed by a sly glance at Ash’s chest. “Shrinkwrap T-shirt.”
Curse Mrs. Hammock for this pink eyesore. “Cocky Grin.” What the hell was he doing? As introductions went, this was the most bizarre he’d encountered.
“Vanilla Shampoo.”
“Super Smeller. I mean, Sniffer.”
“All perfectly legitimate names. I go by River though.”
River glanced over Ash’s shoulder. Swiftly, Ash stepped onto the threshold, angling the door behind him so River couldn’t study his apartment. The parting curtain was drawn back, but it didn’t magically make the space bigger.
“Did you really open the door saying hold your horses?” River asked. “Because let me tell you, it eased my nerves. I’m good at holding horses.”
“Super Sniffer, nervous?”
“You must be my kryptonite.”
Ash swept his fingers through his bangs. A knot stopped the smooth motion and he gave an awkward yank to pull them free. His eyes watered at the sting of pain, but he kept his cool, spun off a smile, and leaned back against the door—
It swung in, taking him with it. River snagged his upper arms, steadying him. Large hands cuffed Ash’s sweaty skin, and the lazy skate of fingers sent a shocking rush of electricity through his body.
“Easy there.”
His voice was deep, arresting. Capable of calming a frantic group of hormonal girls. Or working them all into a lather.
Who was this River? What was he doing here, unless . . .
Ash narrowed his eyes. Attractive and charming. Hadn’t his sister mentioned she was crushing on a local college guy? “Oh, fuck me. You’ve knocked up my sister, haven’t you?”
All playfulness evaporated as Ash catalogued River from head to toe. Would Ash be spending the next twenty years raising a kid that resembled this man? Would that kid grow up—like all the Heartfords—addicted to love? Raising fatherless children?
He’d hoped he and Danielle would kick the tradition.
He almost punched the stunningly sculpted man in the mouth.
“What are you here for?” Ash asked. “To say you’ll take responsibility? You had damn well better. She’s only sixteen.”
River’s eyebrows rocketed up, and he raised his hands. “Whoa. Take a breath—”
“Are you kidding me?” Ash laughed drily. “You’re messing with my sister. I’ll get as riled up as I want.”
“I’m not messing with anyone.” Ash hated that River’s calming voice made him take a breath. Lulled him. “Besides, I’ve never slept with a girl.”
“Danielle is very mature-looking. You might mistake her for a woman—”
“We’re getting off on the wrong foot.” River leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’m not sleeping with your sister. Or any girl. I’m gay.”
“Gay?”
“Are you unfamiliar with the term?”
Ash swallowed. He wasn’t unfamiliar with it, but he tried to be.
He’d made it a point to avoid engaging with men. Men and Heartfords didn’t stick. Men were only ever points of obsession.
A motto he promised himself he would never live by.
Ash lifted his chin. “I’m not personally familiar with the term.” Not a lie, since he’d never acted on his attractions. This conversation was drifting. “If you haven’t knocked Danielle up, why are you here? How do you know my name?”
River drew a rolled envelope out of his back pocket. Aqua blue eyes crinkled at the edges as the color seeped back to his cheeks.
“Lester Mallory. He told me to give this to you.”
“Mallory?” Ash smacked back to a sobering reality. Clearly River had mixed him up with some other Ash Heartford. “I don’t know any Mallory. Or any Lester, for that matter. Maybe there’s another Ash Heartford in Greenville.”
“Two Ash Heartfords in a town of twenty thousand?”
“It’s possible.”
River hummed. “Two Ash Heartfords that live in Poplar Low apartments?”
Poplar Low was one of the larger complexes this side of the river. Four streets of ugly cement blocks housed acres of financial heartache. It was possible another Ash Heartford had as much misfortune as him. “Sure, why not?”
River smiled, and Ash’s pulse took off with a stupid shiver.
Lack of sleep rioted in his body. That’s why he couldn’t fight the tingles. He’d sprinted from job to job all week, cleaning offices at night and residential homes during the day. He might have gotten four hours of sleep each night last month—throughout the last four years, if he thought about it.
He clutched the doorframe just in case exhaustion had him toppling into River’s face.
“Two Ash Heartfords that live in Poplar Low in an attic apartment? Two Ash Heartfords that live in Poplar Low in an attic apartment and work Friday evenings at Beauview Library?”
Ash straightened. “How do you know that?”
“Lester mentioned it. You know he and you . . . Never mind. This is for you.”
River tapped the end of the envelope against Ash’s chest in time to his heartbeat.
Hopefully it was coincidence and River hadn’t somehow heard his heartbeat. Jesus.
Heat tickled his neck, and Ash regretted ever opening the door.
Flustered, he snatched the envelope and backed into his apartment.
River peered inside and stepped forward as if Ash’s backward steps invited him to follow.
Ash stopped, heat throttling him. “What are you doing?”
Uncertainty passed over River’s face. He returned to the threshold but his gaze swept over the sore room. “I’ll wait out here for you.”
“Wait for me? Wait for what?” Ash’s gut twisted as he squeezed the envelope. “Do you need to be paid for delivering this or something?”
Again River scanned the room that was small enough to commit to memory in a single glance. He swore under his breath, and his dazzling smile vanished. “No, I don’t need to be paid. I’m waiting for you to read the letter and then I’m driving you to your new job.”
“New job?” Ash laughed and handed back the envelope. “I have enough of those, thanks.”
“I really think you should read it. I’m sure it’ll tell you all about Silver Pines.”
Silver Pines?
Ash rubbed his thumb skeptically over the folded end of the envelope. The last time he’d opened a letter this size it had been to find his mother’s death certificate. Four years ago, one month after he’d found Danielle curled up outside his door.
He’d been twenty-one. Claiming responsibility for his abandoned twelve-year-old sister was one hell of a welcome into adulthood.
Not that he’d change taking her in for the world. Never in a million years.
But sometimes he wondered what it might be like to have wrecked hair because it was stylish; wear holes in his jeans because it was fashionable; sport stubble because it was hot.
Sometimes he dreamed of lazy mornings wrapped in warm arms, wasting a day fucking in bed, exploring all the pleasures of a welcoming body . . .
It was foolish to dream.
Dreaming paved the quickest route to disappointment.
Ash focused on the paper in his hand, suddenly weighty. He could send River away and toss the envelope in the trash without looking at it.
Or he could give in to the creeping curiosity.
River gestured that he’d wait outside and pulled the door closed, giving him privacy.
Ash fiddled his thumb under the glued flap and pulled out a bunch of documents. He unfolded a slip of cream paper tacked on top. His name, scrawled in neat cursive in the top left-hand corner, caught his attention.
Ash Heartford,
This is the hardest letter I’ve ever written. I barely know how to begin bearing such news.
Ash’s heartrate spiked and his reading slowed.
You didn’t know me, but in a perfect world you would have. I’d have been the old man with the dragon-headed cane that waxed ridiculous witticisms. I’d have been the old man who snuck you chocolate chip cookies while you hunched over your fourth grade geometry assignments. I’d have been the old man you might have taken the fancy to call Granddad.
Unfortunately, I never got to be that man.
I wish I could blame my son that we never met, but to my regret, it is my fault too. I failed you.
Perhaps you are ready to throw this letter away now that you’re an adult. You made it on your own. You didn’t need an ailing old man in your life.
If you toss this away, I’d understand. I give my sincerest apologies and wish you every best this life can bring, including the deeds to Silver Pines, my—now your—bookstore.
The letter trembled in his hand, and Ash barely made it three steps before he plunked onto his makeshift coffee table. He knocked over a glass of water. Spinning to catch it, he tromped his heel in the cat puke he dumped there, and glass shattered over the floor. “Dammit!”
River opened the door. “Are you okay?”
Ash gave a hollow laugh and stared at the mess.
River rushed to the bench that worked as their kitchen, grabbed a cloth and then knelt before Ash, clearing up the glass and puke.
“You don’t have to—”
“Let me clean this up and then I’ll give you some space to take it all in.” He continued picking up shards of glass. “I was being too hasty. I’ve had a year to deal with the shock of losing . . . I just wanted this done.”
Ash rested his arms on his thighs and worked up the courage to continue reading.
A bookstore, a granddad, and possibly the name of his father he’d forever wondered about all in the space of half a page?
A lot to take in. Too much, with River regarding him curiously.
“Vacuum cleaner?” River asked.
Ash forced a small smile. “I’ll do it. Do you think you could . . .” He gestured toward the door, throwing out a joke. “I’m about to cry a river.”
River rocked forward awkwardly, like he thought he should offer him reassuring words.
Ash shook his head, and River stuffed his hands into his pockets and nodded. “There’s a café over the bridge, bright yellow. At the square. I’ll wait for you there.”
“I might not make it.” Ash broke off.
“Pass me your phone? I’ll add my number. I’ll wait for you anyway.”
Ash found his shitty old pre-pay Nokia and—still death-clenching the letter in his other hand—passed it over.
River’s eyebrows scrunched at the phone dwarfed in his large hand. He gave a sheepish grin and handed it back. “Not sure how to use this. How about you give me your number?”
Ash ran off his digits, barely concentrating.
Bookstore. Dead granddad. Father.
His phone vibrated with River’s return message. He barely acknowledged River as he left, simply returned to his couch and sat close to Chucky’s curled, purring body.
He reread the first paragraphs with misting eyes.
Toss the letter away without answers? No. He’d spent too many lonely nights making up excuses about why his father never stayed in his life. Spent too many disappointing days searching every new man’s face for a sign of his own.
He plunged into the rest of the letter.
If you are still reading, I hope you’ll allow me to sink so low as to explain why we never met.
I hurt my son and his mother, and when my family broke apart, he chose not to pursue any relationship with me. The last time I saw him, he was eighteen.
I have tried many times over the years to reach out, but I caused too much pain for him to forgive me.
Now it is too late.
I didn’t know you existed until the monthly book club at Beauview Library. You were carefully dusting ancient lexicons in the alcove near us. You glanced up and away again, and it struck me like a blow to the stomach. I spent the rest of the hour sailing an old sea of memories of me and my Phillip.
You look just like him. You have his straight nose, his naturally curving lips, his wayward knotty hair. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought you were him.
Since then, I have spent every spare moment learning everything about your existence. Everything I could before my end comes.
I learned enough to be sure I’m your granddad and you are Phillip’s son.
It broke my heart to learn you’d been conceived months before our relationship fell apart. Apparently, it had been a whirlwind romance.
I don’t even know if Phillip knew about you.
Chucky squealed under Ash’s tightening hold, so he lessened his grip, petting her gently. His poor sick cat didn’t need to deal with his little meltdown too.
Ash read the last part, throat balled into a large lump, tangy with hope.
It’s not enough to pay for a fatherless childhood, but I hope Silver Pines gives you a chance at more of a life. A modest life, true, but it is a beloved bookstore, visited mostly by tourists and antique collectors. Once a week, children crowd into the shop for a reading. This is the highlight of the week, and I sincerely wish you the same joy as you read aloud Odin’s Reward and King Lindorm, or perhaps The Bird of Truth.
I wish I could have met you, but it’s not right to do so in my dying weeks. I already witness how my sickness affects those closest to me, and I don’t wish that on you. I don’t want you to think you have to forgive me just because I’m sick.
Silver Pines is my legacy that I wish for you to carry on. One that I hope offers you a happy future.
Roy (who has likely already introduced himself as River) will show you everything you need to run it yourself. He knows I want him to gift-deed the store to you, but he only knows you as Ash Heartford, not Ash Heartford my lost grandson. I leave that information for you only. Do what you will with it.
I’ve known River since he was ten, and I trust he will help you with any questions you may have.
I wish you every success with Silver Pines, Ash.
With love (if I may be so bold),
Lester Mallory
Ash carefully folded the letter. With unusual calm, he found an adequately clean pair of shorts and a zip-up hoodie. It was too hot outside for the hoodie, but it beat letting all of Poplar Low see him wearing this ridiculous tank top.
His mind churned through the contents of the letter as he strode the three miles into the center of town. He was walking toward the café and River.
Walking to what he hoped were more answers.
At the cobblestone town square, his phone rang. For a second he thought it might be River but it was Shelly’s voice—his boss from the Beauview Library.
“Oh. Hi, Shelly.”
“I hoped to hear a more upbeat tune. But I suppose you sense I need a favor.”
He cringed. Shelly often needed favors, and it usually involved him performing acts that displayed the dexterity of his body. “Favor? What’s up?”
“Would you come in early? It’s the Beauview Book Club this evening. One of the couples coming has a dust allergy. I promised it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Ash sighted the café where River would be waiting. He neared. “Why don’t you hold the meeting in the study room?”
“It doesn’t have the same atmosphere. I love walking people into the restricted section. Makes them laugh.”
Ash stopped a yard from the café shop. River sat at a counter near the window. If he looked up from his newspaper, he’d see him hunched in his hoodie in the searing afternoon sun.
Roy Riverton.
His granddad’s friend since River was ten.
A sting of jealousy bit his heart.
Shelly continued talking in his ear about the meeting. Tonight the club was voting which books to read over the next three months.
He hummed. More to himself than to her.
A part of him needed to barge inside the café and interrogate River about Lester and Phillip. Ash had always been angry at his father for never sticking around. But his mother never telling Phillip? That had twisted hope in his belly. Was there a man out there who would have wanted to know Ash was his son?
Or was it as he always thought? That Phillip knew of him but didn’t care?
His feet suddenly glued to the cobblestone.
He’d seen enough heartache. He should know by now it would be the latter.
Asking River questions about his family would only open wounds he’d worked too hard to mend.
Shelly sighed down the line, and Ash clung to his phone, backing away from the café.
“I’ll pay you overtime,” she said. “For the last-minute inconvenience.”
“I’ll be there.”
It wasn’t his need for money making him jump at the offer.
It wasn’t because he wanted to be a good guy and help Shelly out.
Instead, it was River’s gaze lifting and landing solidly on him. It was River’s soft smile beckoning him inside.
It was River who knew more about his family than Ash did.