Page 8 of Asher

The look she gives him has entirely too much attitude in it. “Dad, this is between me and Asher. He can speak for himself.”

Dad’s eyebrow slowly rises, and I flash back to when I was on the receiving end of that eyebrow. It’s an early warning alert… back down now, or that thing you want to do will be canceled. “Oh?”

Chloe’s lips press together in a flat line, and she glares mutinously at him… then caves. Turning to me, she says, “If you have time later, a story would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t.” She makes sure to add a lip quiver and big, sad eyes.

Dad sighs and shakes his head, but he’s fighting a smile.

“We’ll see how the night goes,” I tell her, knowing full well that I’ll be reading at least one story. Probably more.

The smug little smirk comes back. “That means yes. Thanks, Asher!” She whirls and runs down the hall, shouting for our cousin Isaac, who at nearly five is closest to her in age.

I close the front door and look at Dad. “She’s in a good mood.”

He claps me on the shoulder and gives a little squeeze. “The new teachers arrived this week, and she’s excited about going back to school.”

“Me too,” I say fervently. “I am so excited about her going back to school. And so, so glad I never thought about becoming a teacher myself.”

Dad snorts as he leads me down the hall toward the living room at the back of Grandmother’s house. “The whole world is glad you never thought about becoming a teacher.”

Grandmother is waiting for us in the living room, and I bend to kiss her cheek. She’s never been demonstrative, so I’d be shocked if she hugged me or anything like that.

“At last,” she says, her tone implying I’ve kept her waiting for hours. “Where are your cousins?”

“Micah wanted to finish reading his magazine, and Zac’s in the shower. They’ll be here soon, but I didn’t want to wait.” I was hoping that would earn me points, but now I realize what a mistake it was to come without my cousins as a buffer. I need someone to make distracting comments when the matchmaking talk gets too intense, and definitely my other relatives won’t. They’re getting far too much enjoyment from this.

She sniffs, as though Zac showering is an insult to her—when, believe me, the insult would actually be if he didn’t—and grabs my arm, towing me toward her favorite chair. She seats herself, then gestures for me to take the chair beside her.

Uh-oh. She wants to talk.

“I’ve been diversifying some of our investments lately,” I start in a desperate attempt to sidetrack her, but she waves it off.

“Asher, I know you enjoy your carefree bachelor life, but we need to discuss your responsibilities.”

Resentment pangs in my chest. I may be a bachelor, but I’m hardly carefree. I work sixty-plus hours most weeks, managing the vast array of our family’s holdings and investments. Nobody else wanted to take it over when Grandfather died, so I’m the one who’s maintained our fortune… and exponentially multiplied it. And I still make time to be here for the family and help with homeschooling and building this village. I even manage the settlement’s funds. Doesn’t that give me the right to enjoy my time off however I want to, even if that means a succession of no-strings affairs?

“Well,” I begin, wondering how much of that I’ll manage to say before Grandmother twists it around so I’m agreeing with her, but she doesn’t even let me get the first point out.

“I was just like you when I was your age. Not quite your age… I met your grandfather when I was a little younger. But I didn’t want to settle down either. I wanted to see the world and try new things andexplore.”

Does she mean…? Nausea takes me over at the thought of my grandmotherexploring. Please let her mean she wanted to trek through a jungle or something.

“But marriage didn’t mean I couldn’t do all that. It just meant I had a partner to do it with me.”

Fuck my life. I desperately try to suppress the thought of both my grandparents taking part in an orgy. She definitely means jungle trekking. Yep. Definitely.

“Grandmother, I know you only want the best for me. That you want me to have happy companionship and children of my own. But don’t you agree that the most successful way for that to happen is for me to organically meet the right person and decide together how we want our future to be?” I give her my most persuasive look.

“No,” she says bluntly. Across the room, my uncle chokes off a laugh. “Yes, I want you to meet the right person, but I’ve been waiting a hundred years for it to happen ‘organically,’ and it hasn’t. So now we’re going to do it mathematically. That should appeal to you.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. Where are Zac and Micah? Why aren’t they here to rescue me? “Mathematically?” I venture.

“Yes. Mathematically. You will make a list of qualities you’re looking for in a partner. I’ll take that list and use it to find potential spouses for you. Then I’ll invite them here to meet with you, spend some time with you, and you can see if you click. Maybe I’ll throw in some wild cards too,” she muses. “Sometimes what we think we want isn’t always right.”

I blink at her, my mind racing to process this horrible idea. She’s going to amplify the matchmaking scheme? Formalize it? And how is any of that mathematical?

“I’m sure once we expand the circle of interaction, you’ll meet someone you can fall in love with in no time. We’ll be planning a wedding within the year.”

“I can’t,” I blurt. “I’m sorry, Grandmother, I can’t.”

---