Page 88 of Fireworks & Forehead Kisses

She had plants, pottery, and knickknacks arranged on shelves and windowsills. Typically, I wasn’t a fan of clutter. The more objects there were, the more dirt could collect on things. The more dirt, the more contamination. But in this case, the space didn’t make me feel anxious. It made me feel relaxed. Ashley’s home felt like a hug, sort of like the woman herself.

The kitchen was clean, but unlike my home, where the appliances were all in designated storage spaces, Ashley had a coffee maker, toaster, and microwave on the counter. She also had a drying rack for dishes where there were five coffee mugs and three bowls. A dishtowel was on the counter, and there was a cookie jar on the top of the fridge that had the words: Life is Short Eat a Cookie on it.

I headed through the kitchen and made my way out to the screened-in back porch. As soon as I stepped into the room, I was transported back in time. I couldn’t believe what I saw. There were at least a dozen canvases painted with images of thefirst night we spent together six months ago, or at least that’s what it looked like to me. The first was a man seated at the bar. It was only a profile. He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and taking a drink out of a rocks glass. The background was blurred images. There was another of a man standing behind a woman, staring at their reflection in a window. The woman had long red hair and was wearing a form-fitting blue dress; the man was in a white shirt and black slacks. My favorite was of a man and woman in bed together. Her arms stretched above her head, him above her, his hand grasping her hip, his fingers digging into her flesh.

The style of the paintings was a hybrid of realism and romanticism. I knew that Ashley had a degree in fine art, but I had no idea she was an artist herself. She was very talented. Even if the subject matter weren’t so personal, it would have provoked emotion.

As I stared at each one, studying them, my phone rang, startling me. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw it was Hannah.

“Hell—"

“Where have you been all day?” She interrupted my greeting.

“My phone was turned off.” While I was in the hospital, I didn’t have my phone on. It had been turned off for the entire twelve hours, which may have contributed to my day being so relaxing.

“I know that. Where have you been?”

“I got married yesterday.” I didn’t feel the need to share that I’d spent the day in the hospital with my wife’s niece. I felt one bombshell was enough for this phone call.

“I didn’t know you and Serena were?—”

“I didn’t marry Serena.”

There was a beat of silence before she asked, “Who did you marry?”

“Ashley.”

“Ashley…Ashley, who?”

“Ashley Thompson.”

Another moment of silence passed between us before she continued, “I have so many questions, but they will have to wait. It’s Derek.”

“What happened?”

“He got another DUI.”

“Okay.”

“Harry has convinced him to go back to rehab. It will look good for him with the court if he does. But he’s asking for you. I don’t think he’ll go without you.”

“For me?” I repeated.

“Yes. Where are you?”

“I’m in Firefly.”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

What did I want her to tell him? I wanted her to tell him he could go fuck himself. He’d gotten himself into this mess; he could take his own ass to rehab. Why did he need me to hold his hand?

I checked the time. “I’ll be there by ten.”

“Okay, I’ll let Harry know.”

The doorbell rang, and I answered it. When I did, the kid seemed surprised to see me. Or maybe he was just surprised to see a man here at all, which would be good. I didn’t like the idea of other men answering Ashley’s door. After handing the delivery driver a generous tip, his surprise morphed into gratitude.

“Was that the door?” Ashley came down the stairs barefoot, wearing sweats, a t-shirt, and her hair pulled up in a messy bun. I don’t think I’d ever seen her look more beautiful.

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