CHAPTER 20
Hannah
I pull the chicken parm out of the oven, setting it on top of the gas-range burners to cool. Normally when I make dinner for Asher, I prepare a single dinner portion for him and package the rest to freeze, but I don’t have time to wait for it to cool down. I got behind on my day today with a late start out of my neighborhood due to a flat tire.
I tried to change it myself by watching a few YouTube videos, but luckily a passerby took pity on me as I was struggling get the jack lined up properly. Even as I gratefully accepted his help, I’d vowed I’d learn how to do it myself so I wouldn’t have to be dependent on a stranger if it happened again.
Moving around the kitchen, I flip off the kitchen lights, check to make sure nothing is out of place, and then nab my purse and keys from the counter. I make it no more than halfway across the living room before Asher comes in his front door.
“What are you doing home so early?” I ask, glancing down at my watch to see it’s barely six. That’s early for Asher, who is a bit of a workaholic. On some nights, he never even makes it home for dinner, but rather leaves straight from work to collect me for our Wicked Horse adventures. That even includes Friday nights. I’ve never seen him start his weekend this early.
“Late meeting I had got cancelled so I decided to call it a day,” he drawls as he casually saunters in.
He always does it, and I’m never prepared for it.
Let’s his eyes roam all over me when he first sees me on any particular day, I mean. Sometimes, it’s in the morning if he’s still here when I arrive. Other times, he doesn’t see me until he picks me up for an evening at the club.
But right now, he takes me in slowly in a way that makes my skin tingle from his attention. He never kisses me hello, but I’m not sure that would matter. Everything in the way he regards me right now is more than any girl could ever want when a man acknowledges our beauty and desirability.
His perusal stops at my face, his eyes lighting up with a low smolder. I brace myself for him to haul me off to the bedroom. Instead, he sniffs the air. “What smells so good?”
“Chicken parm,” I reply, backing away from potential sexual fantasies and entering the reality of his dinner on the stove. Before I start to leave, I say, “I just pulled it out, so you should tuck in sooner rather than later. I didn’t get a chance to freeze the rest. Sorry, but I was running late today.”
As I’m walking past Asher, he takes my arm. The warmth of his touch affects me too much, so I swallow hard and look at him.
“Why were you late?” he asks curiously.
“Flat tire.”
He doesn’t say anything, but seems to be deeply thinking about something as he gazes at me. It makes me nervous, like he’s plotting.
Nervousness causes me to ramble. “I’ve got to get going. Got errands to run. Plus, I need to eat, take a shower, and get ready before you pick me up tonight.”
Asher’s brows pull inward a bit, as if he’s contemplating something deep and secretive that only he will ever know, but then smooths out just as quickly.
Smiling faintly, he steers me back toward the kitchen, tugging gently on my purse to take it off my shoulders. “Stay. Eat dinner with me.”
Stopping dead in my tracks, I crinkle my brow at him. My skepticism must be clear on my face, because it makes him laugh.
Releasing my arm, he points toward the stove. “Dish us up two plates, Hannah. I’m starved.”
“You want me to stay for dinner?” I ask hesitantly.
Asher doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over the back of one of the island stools. He walks to the sink, unbuttons his shirtsleeves, and rolls them up a bit so he can wash his hands.
God, he’s got great forearms. Tanned, strong, with just the right amount of dark hair and tight muscles.
“Stay for dinner,” he repeats, which doesn’t exactly answer my question. I asked if he “wanted” me to stay, which is a whole lot different than him commanding me to stay.
I look at my watch again. “I really have to hit the grocery store. I’m all out of Hope’s favorite things.”
“Which are?” he asks with what I swear is genuine interest. He then makes another pointed nod at the chicken parm while he dries his hands.
With a sigh, I decide to eat with him. I can always do the grocery store tomorrow. After I dump my purse back on the counter, I pull two plates from his cabinet while I answer his question. “Let’s see… Hope’s favorites. She loves Gogurt, chocolate milk, Goldfish, and strawberries to name a few.”
“What the hell is Gogurt?” he asks with a grimace.
Laughing, I grab a spatula to dish out the chicken breasts. “It’s yogurt in a plastic tube. You don’t need a spoon; you can just suck it out. Can even freeze them to make a frozen yogurt popsicle. They are surprisingly good.”
A thoughtful expression passes over his face as he crosses his arms and leans a hip against the counter to watch me. “Huh,” is all he finally says.
I chuckle again. “You haven’t been around kids much, have you?”
“Not really. I have some acquaintances who have kids, and I see them at events or holiday parties. But honestly, my social circle isn’t that diverse.”
He grins. “You know… my social circle is other rich billionaire workaholics who meet up occasionally on the golf course.”
“Aaah,” I say with a mocking grin. “Your life is so tough.”
I’m rewarded with a rich laugh from him that says it’s okay for me to make fun of his money. He’s not offended.
I pick up the plates and turn to set them on the island, which is where I assume we’ll eat. It’s casual, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Asher use his dining room.
And because the conversation has been easy and natural since he got home, and he appears to be in a very relaxed mood, I ask, “Did you and Michelle ever want kids?”
There’s a terrible moment where everything seems to freeze. Asher’s eyes go blank. I stand still, holding the two plates of chicken parm in my hands, thinking I just overstepped a very bright line of separation between employer and employee. It’s a colossal mistake, and my mind races over how to fix it.
But before I can come up with anything, Asher moves to a small wine shelf he has built into the lower cabinets and pulls out a bottle of red.
He holds it up to me, silently asking if I’d like a glass. I nod in return, still standing frozen with the plates in my hands.
I’m able to finally breathe when Asher starts talking as he uncorks the wine. “We never really talked about kids that much. I was sort of focused on my career. I thought we had all the time in the world, and well… Michelle flat out said she didn’t want them. I figured she would potentially change her mind one day down the road, but it just wasn’t something that was important to us in our short marriage.”
I put the plates in front of two stools, then grab utensils, feeling slightly guilty for admitting, “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t had Hope when I was so young.”
“How old were you?” he asks as he pours the wine.
“Twenty-two,” I say, realizing… he now knows how old I am. He’s never asked before, but he knows Hope is five so that puts me at twenty-seven. I wonder if that is even important to him, but I think not.
“Not overly young,” he says with a shrug, but then I’m floored when he says, “With Michelle… I wonder if, deep down, maybe she knew she wasn’t strong enough to be a mother.”
A lump forms in my throat as I round the island. He comes from the opposite side, eyes full of what looks like fear for even letting me in.
“No one really knows if they’re strong enough to be a mother,” I say. “I know I had my doubts. Still do for that matter.”
He gives me a grateful smile that I’ve pulled the attention away from Michelle and put it back on me. I’m moving away from such a sensitive subject because I know it makes him uncomfortable. Despite my insane curiosity to know this man on a deeper level, it’s obvious he doesn’t want that. He’s made that clear in the past, as did his sister earlier this week.
Asher sets the glasses down before pulling a stool out for me. I take it. When he’s seated beside me, we both take sips of our wine.
I set my glass down and pick up my utensils. “Speaking of kids… do you want me to grab some Halloween candy for next week?”
Asher frowns as he cuts into his chicken. “Why?
“Because I’m sure you’ll get trick or treaters in your building. Don’t want to get caught without any candy to hand out, do you?”
Asher gives me a sidelong, evil grin. “I intend to do what my father always did on Halloween. He turned off all the lights and hid in the basement until it was over.”
“You don’t have a basement,” I point out dryly.
“I don’t have windows on the front of my apartment for anyone to see me in here hiding, either.”
Laughing, I stab my fork in the air at him. “Touché.”
Asher eats a bite of chicken, groaning with delight. “This is fantastic.”
“Thanks.”
“You going to take Hope trick or treating?”
“Yup,” I say, feeling a tiny surge of excitement. “Nelson always hated doing it, but I love it. And she wants to be a fairy princess this year. I found an amazing dress for her online. It was a little expensive, but I felt like splurging on her. I don’t get to do it often.”
Asher’s smile is warm as he continues to cut up his chicken. “Where will you take her?”
“Just our neighborhood,” I reply, carving out another piece to put in my mouth. I wish I’d made some pasta with it. I’m a pasta freak. Chicken parm without rigatoni seems like a travesty.
“The fuck you will,” Asher says as he turns to face me. Setting his utensils down, he adds, “You’d probably get mugged before you made it half a block.”
I roll my eyes, plopping a piece of chicken in my mouth. He just glares at me so after I swallow, I say, “It’s not that bad. There are nice people in the neighborhood, and I’m sure there will be lots of people out.”
Asher opens his mouth to argue, and I’m sure it would be entertaining, but my phone rings. I groan. It’s the ringtone I’d set for Nelson.
“I seriously don’t want to answer that,” I say as I look forlornly at my purse where my phone is. But I have to because as much as I’m sure that he’s calling to taunt me again, in the off chance it’s about Hope or something happened to her, I always have to answer his call.
Leaning over the counter, I grab my phone from my purse. My tone is flat when I answer, “What is it, Nelson?”
He cuts right to the chase. It’s something I could have never expected in my wildest dreams. “I’ve decided not to fight you on custody of Hope. I’m going to agree to let you have full and primary, and I’ll take visitation on every other weekend. We can rotate holidays.”
My entire body turns to jelly, and I sag in my seat. My heart starts thumping so hard I’m afraid it will burst out of my chest. “Are you serious?”
He’s so matter of fact. So unemotional about giving up his child. “Yes. I’ve got a big project coming up, and it will be difficult to care for her.”
He means it will be difficult to get one of his floozy women to watch her.
But I don’t say that. I don’t think I have the strength to say much more than, “I don’t know what to say…”
“Thank you would be nice,” he mutters.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely, my own hand inadvertently pressing over my heart. “That means everything to me.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles. “I’ll pay you child support, whatever is standard. And I’ll need you to pack up Hope tomorrow. I’d like this done sooner rather than later.”
Jesus. Doesn’t he care at all about our daughter? While I don’t have a doubt in my mind that this is going to make Hope insanely happy, I know she’ll be confused by it, too.
And she’ll miss her dad. How could she not?
“Okay. Tomorrow,” I murmur into the phone. “Have you told her?”
“You can handle that,” he clips out, and then, to my surprise, he hangs up.
I don’t care, though. Nothing more to say.
The most important things were said.
I slowly set my phone down, still in a bit of a haze over how drastically and fucking fantastically my life just changed with that phone call.
I rotate on my stool seat to face Asher, who is watching me with what seems to be the keen attention of a hawk. “What did he say?”
My tongue seems thick, and I still don’t half believe what I just heard. “Nelson just said he’s not fighting me on custody. I can have Hope starting tomorrow. And he’ll pay child support.”
Asher doesn’t say anything, but his eyes sparkle and his lips curl upward.
And then it really hits me, and a jolt of pure joy and awareness of all that is great in my world slams into me.
Grinning hard, I enunciate my words. “He just fucking gave me custody of my daughter.”
Asher’s smile gets bigger. When I shriek with excitement, he blinks in surprise. Suddenly, I’m throwing myself out of my seat and right at him. I slam into his body, planting my feet on the floor. My arms go around his neck and I start jumping in place as I try to hug him, all the while screaming, “I have custody of Hope. I have custody of Hope.”
I feel strong arms come tightly around me, and I’m crushed to his chest as he returns my hug. “That’s amazing, Hannah.”
God, his voice is so buttery soft and full of happiness on my behalf. It makes me pull away from him so I can check out the expression on his face to see if it matches.
It does, and it makes me feel a little crazy. My hands go to his cheeks, and I plaster my mouth on his.
Asher would never deny my kiss, and he gives it right back to me. Furious and hot and totally taking advantage of my ramped-up excitement right now.
My hand drops to his lap, and I palm his growing erection. Asher growls, lifts me from the stool, and pivots toward the master bedroom. He takes great strides, wanting to minimize the time our mouths are apart.
Wanting to maximize fucking me.
And it’s the second-best thing that’s happened to me today.