Page 22 of The First Spark

“Can I please have a glass? Like it or not, we’re stuck down here tonight. Might as well make the best of it.”

“Iammaking the best of it.” Yes, I’m being petulant, but I refuse to share my whiskey without an apology.

Asher releases a noisy sigh, shooting me a side-eye. “Trust me, I’m not happy with Micah and when I see him again, I’ll beat him to a pulp for what he said. No one threatens a woman, especially not one as tiny as you.”

“Didn’t you know? Hyperactive chihuahuas are pretty intimidating when provoked. We’re like rats on speed.”

Ash chuckles, a full grin spreading across his face. “My comment about your size rubbed you the wrong way, didn’t it?”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and avert my gaze. “I’ve heard worse. Way worse.”

He skews his mouth to one side. “If I’m being honest, I think your size is adorable.”

Did the man just compliment me in some odd, offbeat fashion? Has the world tilted on its axis?

I stare at him, my mind struggling to process this surprising new side of Asher Hammond.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I might forget you’re supposed to hate me.” His tone is teasing, but there’s a seriousness beneath it that my body can’t ignore.

A flush climbs my cheeks, a wholly unexpected response to his intense gaze. “You’re a fan of rats on speed? Unusual fetish. And despite my diminutive stature, I can take care of myself.”

I’m not kidding. A woman living alone in the big city needs a few tricks up her sleeve. Hell, a woman living aloneanywhereneeds to know how to defend herself from undesirables.

“So, I’ve noticed, but I’m still kicking the shit out of Micah. He’s an asshole.”

“I thought that was my title. Or is it the Frost Queen? Wait, I’m the prissy bitch. Hard to keep up with your handbook of nicknames for me.”

Asher presses his lips together, but I see the remorse coloring his features. First time I’ve witnessed that expression on his face. “I’m really not a bad guy. Ask anyone in town. I’m pretty well-liked across the board.”

“Uh-huh. Is that an apology I’m hearing? No whiskey until you admit I’m not the harpy you thought I was.” Swirling the alcohol in my glass, I study his face, searching for signs he’s messing with me. But his green-gold gaze holds mine, with no hint of deceit.

“I’m sorry. I should have given you a chance to explain—fully—what happened that night, because no one should ever speak to you the way Micah did. Or the way I did, for that matter.”

“I’ll consider your request.”

“One more thing. Ever heard the saying that things stop growing when they’re perfect? You just got there sooner than most women.” Asher waves his hand, gesturing along my form.

No, I’m not imagining it. He actually did compliment me.

Yes, the man has ulterior motives, but this is a side of Asher Hammond I have no idea how to handle.

“Damn, you really want a drink, don’t you?” Despite the harshness of my words, I bite back a smile—a smile that Asher catches and returns.

“Desperate times.”

With a fake glower, I grab the bottle and pour him aglass. “Thank you for saving me earlier. I was really scared when that rung broke.”

“I really wasn’t going to let you fall.” Asher accepts the glass of whiskey, but to my surprise, he sets it aside, extending his hand. “Can we start over? Properly this time? I’m Asher Hammond, but only you and my mother call me by my full name. And then, only when I’m in a crap ton of trouble. To everyone else, I’m Ash, the owner of Black Lotus and the micro farm on the edge of town. Contrary to previously held notions, I’m neither a heathen nor a hoodlum.”

I stare at his outstretched hand, wondering if I should cave or cling to resentment. Truth be told, I’m a total softie and hate holding grudges—even when they’re deserved.

After my father abandoned my mother and me, I spent far too many years clinging to anger and resentment. I learned the hard way there’s no point in staying angry. You only hurt yourself that way.

With a sly grin, I shake his hand, his skin warm against mine. “Nice to meet you. Officially, this time.”

“Now, it’s your turn. That’s how introductions work.”

“You don’t say.” I grab a throw pillow and rest it on my lap. Hey, if Asher—I mean, Ash—turns back into a pumpkin, I can always make good on my broomstick threat. “I’m Oriana Thorne, owner of One More Page. Terrible with heights and broken ladders, but usually fearless beyond that. Quite a mouth on me, as you’ve already seen.”

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