Page 1 of All Too Well
one
Ainsley
~Four Years Earlier~
“You should talk to him, Ainsley,” my mother urges as we stand in the kitchen of Lachlan’s childhood home.
Lachlan West—my brother Caspian’s best friend and, if I’m honest, my friend—is outside alone, holding a bottle of alcohol, his head lowered.
Today we buried his mother, who had been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.
My heart is breaking for him.
The house was filled with family and friends, but they’ve all left. My mother and I stayed to put food away and clean up. I’m standing at the French doors while the man I secretly love grieves.
I turn to her, grabbing the towel off the counter to dry dishes. “And say what?”
My mother gives me a soft smile. “You’ll know.”
No, I never know with him—that’s the issue. Everyone loves to tell me how great I am in difficult situations, that I always know what to say, but most of the time I feel just as awkward as anyone else. I just ... at least try.
However, in the last three years, things havechanged so much between us. I’m no longer the annoying little girl who follows him and Caspian around. I’m a grown woman, in college, and desperately in love with him.
That last part is the real crux of the issue, because he’s definitely not in love with me.
She nudges me toward the door, and I sigh because I can’t watch him suffer. I open the glass door and walk barefoot onto the cool stone walkway.
He looks over, eyes glazed from the alcohol. “I don’t want to talk.”
I nod. “Good. I don’t either.” I grab the bottle from his hand and take a swig. Dear God, is he drinking acid? I cough, because it tastes like burnt wood, and hand it back.
Lachlan laughs and shakes his head. “Amateur.”
“Sorry, I’ve spent my college days actually going to class—not drinking sludge.”
“Good. You’re too smart to waste your life away.”
“Or I’m a dork, like you’ve said a hundred times.” I sway, bumping into his shoulder.
“You’re not a dork.”
“That’s the booze talking.”
He looks at me, really looks at me, and shakes his head. “It’s not.”
Well, there’s an improvement.
We both sit on the bench Lachlan bought his mother six years ago so she’d come out to the garden she loved so much. This was truly the one place she felt joy in this house. I grew up next door, and I can remember her little bamboo hat floating around her yard as she trimmed hedges and sang.
This place is like a magazine-worthy arboretum, complete with stone arches.
I rest my head on his shoulder and sigh. “I used to love sneaking over here to read. I always worried your mom would toss me out.”
He snorts. “Please, she built you a freaking nook with a swing.”
I grin. “She didn’t do that for me.”
He turns, forcing me to sit up. “She did. I had to install it because she wanted you to have a tranquil spot where you thought you could hide easier.”
