“Good heavens.” I laugh when I see the massive television.
My eyes wander over the rest of the space. Ash’s style could be described as academic, with his brown leather couches, bookshelves, and hunter green paint. A large brick fireplace occupies much of the side wall, and all his art appears old.
“This is lovely,” I say. “But you have no plants.”
“There are plenty of plants outside. I don’t believe I need them inside, too.”
“You havepicturesof plants.” I gesture to the botanical prints on the wall. “But no living ones.”
He watches me, mildly amused. “I take it that’s a problem?”
“I don’t know that I can be comfortable hanging out in a house with no life,” I say, only half-joking. It makes me edgy.
Ash turns toward me, suavely catching me around the waist and pulling me in close. “You’re a fussy pixie, aren’t you?”
“Your clothes are damp,” I protest, but I don’t try to escape his embrace.
“That’s an easily remedied problem,” he teases, his voice a touch gritty.
“I think I misunderstood your offer,” I say, smiling. Knowing Ash likes it, I don’t bother to smother my summer magic. “I thought you were making me dinner. But it seems you have something else in mind.”
Ash closes his eyes, relishing the feel of my magic. “I love it when you shimmer for me, but today, it was your sunshine I missed.”
“Our outing was a bit nerve-racking,” I admit. “I didn’t feel very sunny.”
In fact, there’s a chance I contributed to the weather. But that doesn’t matter as much when we’re scheduled to get rain. At least no one can blame me for it.
Ash studies me, almost smiling. “But you feel sunny now?”
I nod, content.
He drops a promising kiss to my lips. “I have to take care of the horse, but I’ll hurry, all right?”
“Okay,” I say, a little disappointed when he releases me.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises, and then he’s out the door.
I wander the room, looking at pictures and the few knick-knacks Ash has placed about the space—a mantle clock, a stainless-steel lamp, and an old globe. Speakers are strategically hidden around the room, paired with the television, no doubt.
He has a digital picture frame as well. I pause in front of it, smiling as it scrolls through memories—Ash with his sister, Ash with his brother, Ash with his sisterandbrother. There’s another of the three of them with a woman who must be their mother.
There are several landscape pictures as well—many of the forest and some of the coast.
And then there’s another family photo. It’s older, taken many years ago.
Ash is a young man in this one. His shoulders are narrow and his face is youthful. He wears a high school graduation gown. His mother is there, along with the man who must be his father, Anna, Gideon, and…
Oh my word.
I pick up the frame, dragging the cord along with it, my eyes on the teen boy who stands as far away from Ash as he can, wearing graduation garb as well. He has a crooked grin, dimples, and reddish-brown hair.
He could be anyone. Anyone at all.
But I know.
Rowan casually slung his arm over his uncle’s shoulders for the picture, and he looks so…
Happy.
