“You don’t say.”
“And as you might have noticed, I like plants.”
Ash’s eyes crinkle, amused. “I have noticed.”
We fall silent again, and I rack my brain for a subject—any subject. “I met Ryder today.”
Ash looks unimpressed. “I’m sorry.”
“Is he actually an elf?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You don’t like him?”
“I like him fine.” He pauses to cut another piece of chicken. “In small doses.”
He then turns the conversation to boring things, like estimated taxes and bookkeeping software.
I listen as I clear the plates, not understanding a word of it. As I load the dishwasher, Ash sets his laptop on the table and prepares several printouts, a notepad, and a few pens.
My chore doesn’t take nearly long enough. Reluctantly, I settle onto the chair beside him like a responsible small business owner and tell myself to pay attention.
“Of course, the amount you’ll owe will fluctuate from year to year depending on income and expenses,” he says, talking abouttaxes. “And this year will be even further from the average since the shop was closed for several months.”
I try to listen—I really do—but my eyes keep wandering to his handsome face.
He scrolls through an official-looking government website, pointing out important lines of text, engrossed in his lesson. But as the evening marches toward night, he yawns.
Maybe he’s just as bored as I am.
“It’s better to start an IRA sooner than later.” He stretches his neck. “With a traditional one, the taxes in the contribution are deferred, so you pay less up front, but you might want to look into a Roth IRA…”
He goes on about the differences, unaware I’m distracted.
Fascinated, I watch as he loosens the tidy, professional knot of blond hair and lets it fall. It’s long and straight…silky even.
Suddenly, Ash no longer looks like a councilman or a lawyer, but fae nobility.
I’ve never been drawn to long hair on a man, but maybe I haven’t been around therightmen because Ash wears it well. Very well. If he exchanged his business attire for leather armor and strapped a bow on his back, he’d look like he stepped out of the pages of an epic fantasy novel.
“So, I think it would be wise to…” Ash trails off, pulling his eyes from the screen to look over at me, probably sensing I’m no longer following his lecture.
I rip my gaze back to the computer, but not before I see his forehead wrinkle.
“Kathleen,” he says sternly.
I frown at the web page, trying to look studious. “Hmm?”
“Are you paying attention?”
“Taxes. Investments. I’m with you.”
He angles his body toward me. “Do IRAs make you shimmer?”
This time, I hear the smile in his voice.
“Oh, yes. They’re thrilling.”
