Page 40 of Can't Help Growling in Love
He groans but relaxes by slow increments—his thigh muscles bunch then release, his shoulders drop lower, and he no longer holds the steering wheel in a death grip. I don’t press him for details. If he wants to talk about the strength of his reaction, he’ll start on his own.
By the time he parks in his driveway, I’m barely keeping my eyes open, and Asher is yawning widely. Maybe my presence calms him, or he’s just as tired from the long day we’ve had and helping me clean up my basement.
We stumble into the house and shower quickly, taking turns, too exhausted to even think about sex. I try to take the couch, but Asher simply tugs me toward the bed. That’s where I collapse, bury under the covers, and fall asleep minutes later, while he’s still brushing his teeth.
I wake up with my back pressed to Asher’s front. He mumbles something but doesn’t wake. I slip away from him and use the upstairs bathroom to avoid disturbing him. I write a note on the back of a receipt I find in the kitchen and leave it on the counter, then return to the bedroom to stare at my new boyfriend like a weirdo.
He looks so soft and beautiful in the low light. I want to crawl back into bed with him, forget about my job and my house and spend days learning everything that makes him tick, but that’s not in the cards for today.
After a long moment, I shake myself from the trance and step up to the bed. Touching the screen of his phone quickly, I check that he’s got an alarm set for work, then press a kiss to his cheek.
Then I creep out of his house and bike to work for my shift, sore from yesterday but less desperate than I anticipated. It feels good to have someone in my corner, and knowing I’ll have hot water to shower after my shift doesn’t hurt either.
At the hospital, I throw myself into work, determined to pull my weight even if my arms ache from scrubbing the carpet yesterday. I help Dr. Mishra set a kid’s femur, change an infinite amount of beds, and listen to Peter’s excited report of his first date with a cute gargoyle guy he met at bowling.
When my shift ends, I take my phone from my locker and find Asher’s text waiting for me.
Hey. Found your note, thanks for letting me know. I’ll meet you at your house after my shift.
It’s short and to the point, but something about it niggles at me. I can’t do anything about it until I see him, though, so I bike home and spend two hours decluttering the basement, the windows open to air out the space.
Peter, who I told about the disaster, drops by with a portable heater that has a fan function. He helps me set it up and run anextension cord from the kitchen before taking off to see his new beau.
I still don’t dare turn on the electricity in the basement, not until someone more qualified tells me it’s safe. The last thing I want to do is burn the house on top of everything.
When Asher rings the doorbell, I rush upstairs, the headlamp I use for biking in the night still attached to my head. I throw the door open, grinning, but he squints against the beam of light and puts a hand in front of his face.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I tear the elastic band from my head and click the button to shut off the light. “Hi. Thanks for stopping by.”
Asher steps into the hallway, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey.”
He frowns down at me. I stop to study him, noting the way he’s clenching his jaw.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.
His cheeks flush, and he drops his gaze to the floor. “It’s nothing.”
I poke him in the center of his chest, then slip my arms around his waist. “I’m not sure I believe you. Will you tell me?”
Asher leans in and takes a deep inhale, huffing my scent. “I woke up and you were gone.”
I rear back to meet his gaze. “I left you a note!”
“Yeah, but it took me a while to find it,” he murmurs.
Realization dawns on me. “You thought I snuck out because I was leaving you?”
“I know, it’s stupid.” He puts his arms around me and leans his cheek on top of my head. “But I’d hoped we’d make breakfast together.”
My heart melts. “It’s not stupid. I thought you’d prefer to sleep in while you could. Didn’t want to wake you.”
“You can always wake me,” he says, his surly mood evaporating. “I wanted to drive you to work, too.”
“We’ll have to figure out these things as we go,” I tell him. “Different habits, different schedules sometimes. We won’t always be able to sync perfectly.”
He leans down for a soft kiss. “I know. We’ll get better at it every day.” He straightens and steps away from me, cracking his neck. “Now, tell me what needs to be done first.”
I open my mouth to protest, then realize we’ve already had this debate yesterday. He’s offering to help, and all I have to do is take it. There will come a day when he’ll need my help—with his garden, his job, or something else—and I’ll be there for him, too.
