Page 58 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
My pulse slows, the nerves settling under his voice. That’s happening more often and I refuse to think about what it means.
I nod. We sit in a small pocket of silence, staring at each other, waiting for someone to say something. The urge to pull him closer and kiss him flickers again.
“Okay,” he says finally, pushing to his feet with a quiet laugh. “I’m gonna go to bed. We’re seeing your mom tomorrow, and the last thing I want to do is show up looking like I’ve been through hell.”
He heads up the stairs, leaving me with a creeping thought: What if he has no feelings for me? What if this is all in my head? What if I made up every soft look and steady hand and almost-smile?
“Goodnight, Jasmine.”
“Goodnight, Asher.”
***
It’s morning and thankfully I survived the rest of the night without more nightmares. Awake now, I’m eager to go see my mom.
Annabel Kelly Wallace grew up in Golden Heights. She loved watching the town swell into its own because of the togetherness and the stubborn sweetness of community. She met her two best friends—Heather and Eloise—right here. They grew up side by side and, in a bout of romantic practicality, bought a big old house together—the creek mansion—as a sanctuary they could retreat to when life turned mean.
At least, that’s how my mom always told it. I don’t know if that story will land for her today. I don’t know if my face will, either.
“Hey, Leslie,” I say to the receptionist as Asher signs in, trying to fit all those letters of “Officer Asher Vaughn” into a narrow box.
“Good day, huh?” Leslie asks, eyes darting between him and me. Word travels fast in Golden Heights; I can see her curiosity trying on questions like dresses.
“Don’t even ask,” I say, and follow her down the hall.
We reach her room and I spot my mother, knitting by the window.
Mom lights up when she sees me, and a warm rush of relief climbs my spine.
“Jasmine!” she squeals. Asher steps aside and gestures to the empty chair. I sink into it and let the glow of my mother’s happiness soak into me.
She hasn’t recognized me in months. I know this probably won’t last. I plan to wring every drop of joy out of this moment anyway.
“How are you, Mom?” I ask, taking her wrinkled hands. They’re colder than I remember, and tough like leather.
“Who’s your friend?” she asks, tipping her chin toward Asher. “Or is he—more than a friend?”
Oh boy.
“No. This is Officer Asher Vaughn. He’s my—he’s a friend.”
Asher’s voice softens. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“You too,” Mom says. “You’re an officer? Unless they changed the meaning of the word since I got stuck in here.”
“You haven’t been here that long,” I tease.
“You don’t live in Kinsley,” she fires back. “You don’t get an opinion.”
I roll my eyes. Good—she hasn’t lost the drama. “Really?”
“In here, time runs like a sloth in slow motion.”
I laugh, warmth flooding my chest. For a second I wonder if Harold—or his men—could somehow barge in and ruin this. I’ve already filed two reports. Both times I got a polite promise of an investigation from county code enforcement and a ‘we’ll be in touch.’ Great.
I look down at her knitting, unable to tell what it’s going to be. “What are you making?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Mom lifts the needles, proud as a magician. “A hat. For Eloise. She insists she doesn’t get cold. That’s a lie women tell when they’re stubborn.”
