Page 83 of Pieces of Ash
“You’re leaving something out,” she says, licking her lips. “Lavender? Thyme?”
She’s scrambling my head with her little pink tongue. “Uh. Yeah. Maybe. The cheddar. It comes from a dairy where they free feed the cows. It’s called Lovely Lavender Farm.”
“That’s it!” she says. “The cows are fed on lavender, and it’s in the cheese. Oh, my god, it’s so good!”
“Ashley! Why did I get points?”
“Hmm? Oh.” She reaches for her tea and takes a sip. “I don’t like being recognized.”
“Why not? Your sister was one of the most beautiful women in the world.”
“Yeah,” she deadpans. “Andthatrole came with zero pressure and produced a super well-adjusted human.”
Good point. “You don’t want people to know you’re related to Tig?”
“I don’t want them to judge me based on the fact that I am. People expect something of me once they find out. They even expect something from me because I’m pretty. It’s a lot to live up to.” She places her mug on the counter and snags another slice of bacon. “I just…I just want to beme.”
I get this. I truly do. I get it because my sister wants me to lean on my father’s old Simon Pearce contacts to open my own glass shop, and I refuse to. Either I can make it on my own or I can’t, but I don’t want to make bank on my father’s legacy. I just want to be me, which makes me wonder: what else does Ashley want?
“I’m guessing you don’t want to be a model?”
“I have zero interest in that life.”
“So whatdoesinterest you?” I ask, finally scooping some eggs and potatoes onto my own plate.
She grins at me over the rim of her cup. “Cooking, I guess. Baking. I used to like fashion when we lived in LA, but the glamorous uniforms at school didn’t give much inspiration, and I’m out of touch with the latest trends. Honestly? I don’t know what comes next. Technically, I haven’t even graduated from high school yet.”
“But you’re eighteen.”
She nods. “And all of my requirements are done, but graduation isn’t for two more weeks.”
“Why’d you leave school early? Because of Tig? Because she passed away? Or something else?”
She opens her mouth to speak, then drops her eyes and sips her tea instead. When she puts her mug back on the counter, she looks up at me, her expression unreadable.
“Thank you for breakfast.”
Oh, shit. I know this routine. I asked too many questions, and she’s about to run for the hills. As she braces her hands on the counter to stand up, I reach out and grab her wrist, holding it gently until she looks up at me.
“Ashley. Don’t go.”
She stares back at me, but I note that she doesn’t try to pull away, which I take as unspoken permission to hang on to her.
“Can I be frank?” I ask, my voice low and urgent.
She nods once, but her smile is long gone, and her eyes are wary.
“I think you’re in trouble,” I say softly. “I think you’re in trouble, and I want to help you. I mean that. I’m sorry I was such an ass last week.”
She doesn’t say anything, just watches me, her wrist resting loosely in my grasp.
“You can trust me,” I add. “I promise, I just want to help.” She still doesn’t answer, so I press on. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you seem really alone to me. Your sister is gone, your par?—”
“My mother,” she blurts out, the words audible, but just barely.
“What?”
“Tig wasn’t…my sister.”
