Page 152 of Ashley & the A-Listers

“Aww, do you miss us?” Dylan mused.

He hadn’t even realized he’d included Cam and River in that phrase until Ashley hesitated.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” she said. “Imagine that.”

Dylan chuckled, gaze trailing to the door that Cam and River were hidden behind.

“I’ve resorted to wiping down the counters.”

“Oof,” Ashley whistled low. “Rough times.”

“Tell me about it,” he drawled, and placed the phone against his shoulder as he turned back to keep his hands busy.

“The gym’s been quiet, too,” Ashley admitted. “I feel like I have nothing to do now.”

“Other clients not keeping you busy?”

“They are! Their sessions are lower-key, no deadlines like for a Hollywood star,” she murmured. “And Nic hasn’t added anyone new to my roster. Guess he’s happy with how the last one turned out,” she huffed.

Dylan snickered, recalling the way Nic had practically interrogated him that one morning.

“Was he smug about it?”

Ashley sighed. “No, it was actually really cute how happy he was for me. I mean, maybe he was a little proud.”

“Well, he accomplished his goal, I suppose, so…”

Dylan extended an arm to lift up a bag of chips to wipe under, realizing the rest of the counter was still covered in other bags, too. Some of them opened, some of them not. The pink bakery box he’d had delivered just a bit ago was still taped shut, because the fucks hadn’t taken a break since he’d decided to order them.

They were filled with a pastry he’d learned was Cameron’s absolute favorite, a prosciutto, jam, and brie pastry. Then there was a bit of everything—salty, sweet, trail mix, meat sticks, nuts, little cakes.

He wasn’t entirely sure what Cameron would be craving, but River had given him some ideas.

Dylan blamed it on his boredom, honestly, that he set the bag down and opened the cabinet.

Cameron’s meal prep was often stored in bento boxes, and Dylan knew there were a few around…. here.

He grabbed one of the largest containers, and plucked a few extra dividers from the stack.

There were enough compartments for a handful of each type of snack. They were all going to go stale if River kept leaving them open.

As he was slotting the dividers in, he paused. “Hey, is it weird if I, like… prepare their snacks or something?”

He practically heard her head tilt. “Wow, you must really be bored, huh?”

“Well, I can’t read, and I can’t put headphones on. I guess I could watch television, but I just… I don’t wanna just sit around.”

“You’re just antsy,” she said, amusement trickling through the bond. “You should work out.”

“God, you’re such a gym rat,” Dylan teased.

“It’s a valid suggestion. And to answer your question, uh… no. I don’t think it’s weird.”

The pause was more telling than her words.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Dylan asked.

“I mean, it’s just snacks, right? That’s not weird.”

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