Fix Me Not Page 4

  “Are they single?” I ask, only partly joking.

  “Mrs. Thompson stops in every now and again. Last I heard from her, the oldest was married, the second oldest engaged, and the youngest a ladies’ man.”

  “Just my luck,” I mumble.

  She blinks at me. “Why on earth are you asking after the brothers when Asher is the handsomest of the bunch?”

  I lift my hand and count out my response on my fingers. “One, I have no interest in Asher Thompson. Two, I was joking. And three, it's not like I'll be here long enough to get romantically involved with anyone anyway.”

  “A lot can happen in a month and a half, you mark my words,” she replies.

  “Well nothing is going to happen if I stand here gabbing with you all day,” I tease while grabbing my things.

  “See you tomorrow.” She waves.

  I drive my mom’s SUV to the grocery store. With Asher’s list in hand, I make my way up and down each aisle. It seemed strange that the list was exactly the same as last week, but my mom was adamant that's how he liked things.

  For someone who lived so simply, he sure eats a lot of processed junk. Half the list was microwave meals. It's a miracle he eats this stuff day in a day out and looks as healthy as he does.

  Part of me wants to turn my cart toward the produce section to load him up with fresh fruits and veggies.

  Fresh tastes so much better than the canned versions on his list. Oh well, not my business and so not my problem. Helping Asher was a means to an end, and that end was padding my checking account.

  I'm still undecided about where I'm headed. As much as I love California, it's just too expensive right now. More and more, I'm thinking Texas might be my new home. From what I've found searching online classifieds, I could rent out a basement or a spare room for around five hundred bucks a month.

  If I can work my ass off between now and my mom’s cast coming off, I think I can swing first and last month’s rent plus one or two months extra. It’ll take forever to get out there but I can save money taking the bus or even a train instead of flying.

  People are always looking for waitresses, so it shouldn't be impossible to find something once I get there.

  Sinking this low sucks but it's my reality and as much as I would rather it not be true, I can't close my eyes and wish it away.

  I'm thirty years old and broke. I'm the only one who can get myself out of this mess. It'd be nice to do it where no one knew who I was. Where no one knew exactly how far I'd fallen in my quest for greatness.

  As much as losing my business, and the lifestyle it afforded me sucked, I learned some valuable lessons. When, not if, I crawl out of this hole and start a new business, I will stay small and allow my business to grow slowly. No more skyrocketing to the top, thank you very much.

  It's with this determination coursing through my veins that I finish his grocery shopping and then load everything into the Explorer. The Post Office is on the way to his place so I pit stop there to collect his mail and a package for him.

  The closer I get to his house, the more my resolve to do whatever it takes begins to falter. He’s paying twenty dollars an hour and since I make half that working for Dana, I needed this. It still sucks that I’d have to deal with him but the money is worth it.

  My gut clenches as I make the turn onto his property. I'm not outdoorsy, but even I have to admit the lake is beautiful. Even its beauty can't dispel the frustration in having to deal with its owner.

  According to my mom, in the past week he’s saved an infant from a burning building, cleaned the oceans of all pollution, and brokered a peace treaty in the Middle East. In truth, all he’s probably done is build a dresser.

  Big whoop.

  I park next to his Jeep and use my mom’s key to let myself in. I'm carrying in my first load of groceries when he appears.

  Without so much as a hello (rude!) his gaze lands on my face. If I was a painter, hired to depict disappointed in a painting, all I'd need to do is recreate his current expression. Well, I'm not thrilled to see you either, furball.

  Since I wasn't raised by wolves, I speak first. “Hello.”

  He nods. Okay, seems he's gone mute. Fine, I don't want to talk to him either. I set the bags on the island and without another word, do an about face to get the next load. His footfalls behind me are my only clue that he's decided to help.

  Since he's part giant, he carries the rest of the groceries in himself. Why this annoys me I don't know. Instead of dwelling on it, I summon my mental happy place and grab his mail and the package he received.

  His back is to me when I walk back into his kitchen.

  After noticing the sink full of plates, I decide to swallow my pride.

  “Want me to do some cleaning before I go?”

  As much as I hate working for perfect Asher Thompson, I hate being broke more.

  He turns to face me, and frowns.

  Screw him. God, all I want to do is find a stepladder and punch him in the face.

  “Never mind,” I say and his frown deepens.

  Pulling a couple cans from one of the bags, I march over to the pantry to put them away.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Why do I want to or why did I say never mind?” I snap, turning once the cans are on the shelf.

  His frown somehow deepens further, which doesn't seem possible but since I'm staring at it, it is. “Why clean when it's obvious you don't want to be here?”

  “It pays twice what I'm making at the coffee shop,” I reply.

  His brows come together, forming a small wrinkle between them. “You're working at the coffee shop?”

  I nod.

  “Dana’s coffee shop?” He clarifies.

  With a huff, I plant my hands on my hips.

  “Yes, I'm working at Dana’s coffee shop.”

  “Since when?”

  I cock my head to the side, blood drumming in my ears. “Since when is what I do any of your business, or is this some job interview?”

  “Jesus, you're a piece of work.” He waves his hand at the dishes in the sink and growls, “Have at it.”

  He storms out, pausing long enough to snatch the package off the island and slams the door behind him.

  I raise both of my middle fingers at the now closed door. I'm shaking as I lower them, reminding myself I need the money.

  It's on that thought; I finish unloading the groceries so I can get to cleaning.

  One perk to cleaning his house is getting to explore it. While I'm not partial to all the wood paneling in some of the rooms, I can't deny the quality. No wonder my mom always gushes about him building the place himself.

  I struggle to assemble furniture, let alone build anything. There are two rooms on the upper level. While both are set up as bedrooms, I'm reminded by something my mom said once; he only has guests use the cabin on the other side of the workshop.

  Why bother having bedrooms up here at all if no one ever uses them?

  Weird.

  It doesn't take long to dust and sweep them. The same goes for the bathrooms. The only thing that slows my work is the lake. Each time it comes into view I am unable to immediately look away.

  When I do look away, it's only after reminding myself I'm here to work, not to enjoy the view.

  The main level takes more time to clean since it's clear Asher uses the space and isn't great at cleaning up after himself. I start with his room, stripping the sheets and collecting the dirty clothes from the floor. Why he doesn't take the two extra steps to put them in his laundry basket is beyond me.

  It's funny how my mom finds taking care of him endearing. I bet she wouldn’t think it was as sweet if I left my dirty crap everywhere. One load goes into his washer while I tackle his bathroom. I wasn't lying when I said I wouldn't clean his toilet. That doesn't stop me from pouring some cleaner into the bowl and letting it soak while I work.

  Figuring it was better than doing nothing, I flush before I head back to the main rooms. When I'm
done in the kitchen, I move the first load of laundry to the dryer and start a second load.

  Once I'm done with the rest of the first floor, I grab his now clean sheets from the dryer and reload it. Then I make his bed, ignoring how good his pillows smell.

  “Are you almost done?”

  I jump two feet, partly in surprise and partly in mortification he might have seen me sniff his pillow.

  “The only thing that isn’t done is your laundry. Next time I'll start the first load before I clean upstairs.”

  “Here.”

  He ignores my words and passes me a check.

  My eyes widen at the number. It's closer to thirty dollars an hour, not the twenty I was expecting. “This is too much.”

  He shrugs. “I was inconsiderate earlier. It's an apology.”

  If he's going to pay me extra each time he's a jerk, I might make it a point to piss him off more often. “Thanks.”

  “Leave the laundry. I'll finish it.”

  I don't argue that his messy room would prove otherwise. “See you next week.”

  He doesn't say goodbye, which isn't a surprise.

  As I climb into my mom’s Explorer, I regret not stopping to walk down by the lake first. It would have been awkward heading that way while Asher watched. If he was working it'd be different. This place is his, drinking in his view kind of feels like stealing his beer, if he drank beer.

  The thought has me wondering what he does for fun. It's not like I picked up alcohol when I got his groceries and mail.

  I'm curious by nature and, even though he's a pain in the ass, he's interesting.

  I've never met anyone like him.

  While I was cleaning I tried to piece together what made him tick. He seems to stick to routines, even eating the same junk week in and week out and not understanding what a laundry hamper is for.

  Living here all by himself, eating the same thing every day, and working for hours on end sounds about as boring as it gets.

  I still haven't managed to figure him out by the time I get back to my mom’s.

  “Hey,” I say as soon as I'm in the door. “I'm back.”

  I drop my stuff on the sofa and walk to her room, pausing in her doorway, I check to see if she's awake.

  “How was Asher? How did he look? Do you think he's getting enough sleep?”

  Her questions come so quickly, I don't have time to reply to one before she's asked the next.

  “For being a grown man, he doesn't seem to comprehend the concept of loading a dishwasher but otherwise, he looked fine.”

  “He's a busy man,” she starts to argue.

  I lift my hand in a time-honored symbol of stop. “I'd rather not talk about Asher Thompson. What about you? How are you feeling?”

  “Stir crazy,” she replies. “My doctor said I need to get better about getting around on my crutches.”

  With the exception of driving out to and back from Asher’s place, I’ve been on my feet all day. Slumping down onto the sofa and putting my feet up was all I wanted to do when I got home. Instead, I pass her the crutches and suggest we go to the mall.

  “While we’re there, I can get Asher’s birthday present,” she replies.

  Curiosity has me asking, “When is it?”

  She tucks one crutch into her armpit and I decide against reminding her that the doctor said not to do that.

  “July twenty first.”

  “That's a month away,” I argue.

  My birthday is in March. I was still living in New York City and she got me an electronic gift card to an online retailer. It wasn't even mailed in a birthday card or anything, just sent via email.

  Here she is, shopping for him a month ahead of time. The comparison does not give me warm fuzzies.

  Instead of calling her out on it, I add it to my list of reasons I can't stand Asher Thompson.

  Five

  Asher

  “What about the Burton girl?” My mom asks.

  “She's in her thirties. I think you can stop calling her the Burton girl,” I tease.

  “I put a Band-Aid on her knee twenty years ago. She'll always be the Burton girl to me,” my mom argues.

  “Isn't she a lesbian now?” My younger sister, Abby asks.

  My mom squints. “She's a lesbian? Are you sure?”

  Abby nods. “Yep, married too. I think she and her wife adopted a baby or are trying to.”

  I sit quietly, watching my mom’s shock of learning the girl she thought would save me and give her grandbabies one day is a lesbian. I’ll gladly let the focus shift to someone else other than this old and tired conversation. But my mother’s next words prove there’s no such luck. Just as I’m moving to stand from the couch to sneak out, she halts me.

  “Don’t even think about it. I’m not finished talking to you, young man.”

  I groan and throw my head back against the couch cushion. “I’m fine, Mom,” I promise her. “You're not,” she argues. “You're lonely, living up here all by yourself.”

  “There's a difference between being lonely and liking to be alone.”

  Abby smiles sympathetically at me. I'm not like the rest of my family. Most of the time they're okay to leave me be. Other times, like now, they try to push me to be someone I'm not. I'll never be the life of the party like Gideon, or be comfortable talking to people I've just met like Noah and Abby, or confident enough to order anyone around like Eli.

  “Have Noah and Finley set a date yet?” Abby asks.

  We both know they haven't, she only asked to take the heat off of me.

  “I don't think they have,” Mom replies, and then worriedly adds, “they'd tell us if they did, wouldn’t they?”

  Abby reaches out to rest her hand on Mom’s forearm. “I'm sure they would.”

  This isn't good enough for her. She may have recovered from the blood clot that landed her in the hospital, but she still needs her rest and can’t get worked up over things.

  She shakes off Abby’s hand to get up. “Maybe I should call them to be sure.”

  “Mom, don't call them,” Abby argues, shaking her head.

  Our mom is determined and has already crossed the room to where her phone sits on my kitchen island.

  “Service is so spotty up here,” she complains, lifting her phone higher as if that would improve the signal.

  “You can call them on our drive back to Woodlake,” Abby tells her.

  “Shhh. I got a bar,” Mom says, ignoring her.

  Abby rolls her eyes and looks back at me. “Noah is going to kick my ass.”

  “He's used to it. And, from what I've heard, now that they're engaged, Eli isn't running his mouth off anymore.”

  “He's got enough to worry about as it is.” She looks over at our mom who is currently repeating, “Hello?” And, “Can you hear me?” over and over into her cell phone.

  Abby leans in closer and lowers her voice. “Mom doesn't know, so don't say anything but, Brooke filed for divorce.”

  Shit. That sucks for Eli and their kids, not that I can blame her. Eli is a stubborn pain in the ass. I had thought they were working things out since they seemed to be together at Easter. But, I also haven't seen them since.

  Now that I think about it, I should have known something was up. He hasn't said anything about using the cabin now that school is out and normally, they all come up around this time of year. The kids sleep in the guest rooms upstairs and Eli and Brooke take the cabin for themselves.

  The kids boat, fish, or swim in the lake while Eli and Brooke relax on the beach. It works for everyone since I like having them around.

  “When is he going to tell Mom?” I ask.

  She shrugs.

  For Eli to tell mom he'd have to be willing to admit he failed at something. Fat chance in hell of that happening.

  “They couldn't hear me,” our mom grumbles coming back to join us. “I'll have to call them on the drive home.”

  Abby gives me a look and I subtly shake my head, not wanting to keep
up the conversation.

  Just then, the front door opens and Paige walks in, all of our eyes immediately fall on her.

  She pauses mid step. “I didn't realize you had company.”

  Abby has a habit of parking down by the beach so it's not a shock Paige didn't see her car.

  I stand and gesture to my mom and sister. “This is my mom Daisy, and my sister Abby.” I turn back to them. “This is Millie’s daughter Paige. She’s helping out while Millie’s leg heals.”

  Abby jumps up. “It's nice to meet you. Here, let me help you with those groceries.”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble. Please don't get up.”

  It was pointless for her to say that considering Abby was already halfway to her.

  “Don't be silly,” my mom adds, standing herself. “We’d love to help.”

  That's a not so subtle hint for me to help as well. With the four of us carrying bags, all the groceries are inside in no time.

  “Want to walk out to the dock so we’ll be out of Paige’s way?” I suggest.

  My mom shakes her head and starts digging into one of the bags.

  “Asher, do you eat this junk all the time?” My mom doesn't give me time to answer, shaking her head at some canned meat. “I haven't seen one healthy thing yet.”

  Paige bites her lip, clearly trying not to laugh.

  “Mom,” I warn.

  She holds up a frozen meal and points at the ingredients. “All chemicals and preservatives. You shouldn't be eating stuff like this.”

  Abby braces her elbows on the island and looks like she'd like to make popcorn.

  “It's easy and quick to make. Plus, I like it,” I say, knowing that it’s pointless to try to defend myself now that Mom is involved.

  “You need a woman to take care of you,” she replies and then looks at Paige again.

  Moments ago she was on the verge of laughing, now with my mom’s attention on her she looks ready to flee.

  “Mom.”

  Abby chooses this time to jump in and save me for the third time this afternoon. “How’s your mom’s leg doing?”