Page 103 of Pieces of Ash
“I’ll go,” I whisper, slipping my hand from Julian’s so that I can swipe at my eyes.
“Then that’s settled,” says Agent Simmons, leaning forward to grab another scone like the entire course of my life wasn’t just altered forever.
Gus stands up. “Well, I’mhellaupset. I’ma need a stiff drink.”
Jock stands too, looking down at the agent. “This better work, Simmons.”
“I’m confident it will,” he says between bites of scone. “Hey! Are you two fly fishermen by any chance?”
“Do welooklike fly fishermen?” asks Jock, who is wearing a silk cravat with a tailored button-down shirt and charcoal-gray trousers.
“No. No, not really,” says Simmons with a shrug. “But Montana is the shit this time of year, you know. Salmon up the ying yang.”
“Great tip,” mutters Jock, shaking his head as he heads into the kitchen.
Simmons finishes his scone with a satisfied groan, then turns to me and Julian, and grins like we’re old friends. “So. Who wants to give me the nickel tour?”
JULIAN
Though I’m glad he’s here and I appreciate his quirky confidence, I’m not a big fan of Special Agent Simmons.
Besides having zero bedside manner and scaring the shit out of both Ashley and Gus this morning, he spent the afternoon rearrangingmybarn ashisnew office. He’s had technicians install cameras at both gallery locations, and a live feed is being sent to a computer monitor he set up in the barn. Four more cameras are being installed here at Jock’s house, and he’ll be monitoring those too.
And yes, I get that having eyes on these places—the Shelburne and Burlington galleries, in addition to the driveway, the front and side of the house, and the back of the barn—are important, I feel like Ashley’s and my privacy has been completely invaded, and I’m not crazy about that.
Plus, he asked if I’d pick up some groceries for him, like some damn errand boy, and the amount of Mountain Dew, Cheetos, and Hostess Cupcakes (orange, not chocolate) on the list has me raising my eyebrows.
At the store, I purchase a few extra things for Ashley—a candle that smells like Christmas cookies and a romance book by Kristan Higgins. I pause in front of a shelf of condoms, staring at them for a second before grabbing a box and tossing it into the cart.
As I wait in line, my eyes slip over to the aqua box several times, and I chide myself for being presumptuous and then for being hopeful. Yes, last night we slept together naked from the waist up, but that’s still a long way from having sex, isn’t it? Not to mention, Ashley folded pretty easily when Simmons suggested that she enter the Witness Security Program, dropping my hand at exactly the same time.
I’m not going to lie. It stung a little.
Because if Ashley needs to leave and hide somewhere, she’ll be lost to me forever, a fact she appeared to process and accept at the speed of light.
I can’t leave with her—I have a twenty-year-old sister who has no one else, and besides, I’ve only known Ashley for a few weeks. Our relationship isn’t far enough along for me to consider following her, and yet my heart aches when I think about losing her. I lean down and pluck the little box out of the cart, about to jam it into the gum and candy rack beside me when I realize the cashier is speaking to me and probably has been for some time.
“Sir? Sir! Are you ready?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, throwing the condoms on the conveyor belt and adding the other items from my cart.
As the cashier rings me up, I recall Simmons asking me about my ability to protect Ashley and stay on task. How fucking embarrassing. Yes, he had a right to wonder, but outing me as inept in front of the woman I’m seeing? That didn’t feel so great. In fact, maybe that’s why she was in such a fucking rush to drop my hand. Maybe she didn’t want to be tangled up with a loser who can’t hold down a real job because he got “distracted.”
I pay for my purchases and wheel the cartful of groceries to the truck, wondering how long we have until Raumann shows up at the farmhouse, and then I hate myself a little for hoping we get a few more days together. But the truth is, I’ve fallen hard for Ashley over the past couple of weeks, and I don’t want our time together to end.
When I get home, I deliver Simmons’s bags to him in the barn, for which I’m rewarded with a curt “Thanks”—he’s still setting up monitors and getting himself situated in the space that used to be mine—and then I head over to the house with the rest.
Ashley’s nowhere to be seen so I put the groceries away, then take out her little gifts—the candle and the book—and stand at the bottom of the stairs. Am I still welcome upstairs? Last night was incredibly intimate, of course, and I’d like to think that we can move freely around each other now. Besides, Simmons said that I was to stick to her “like glue.” But does she still want me after Simmons’s insinuations about why I lost my job?
There’s only one way to find out.
I start up the stairs.
ASHLEY
I hear footsteps on the stairs and sit up in bed, swiping at my eyes.
While Julian’s been at the store, I’ve been having a pity party for myself. Gus and Jock stopped by on their way to the airport. They’re flying to somewhere in Canada called Lake Louise for the next two weeks, and as I held Gus’s wiry body to mine, I had the most terrible feeling that I’d never see him again. Myheart thundered with fear and sadness, a thousand memories bombarding my mind as I clung to him.
