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“She’s half your age. What do you think you're doing? And to live together? After two weeks? Unless this has been going on longer.” he continues, breathless.
I have a feeling that this has been building up since day one. Not that I can blame him. If one day Brooke brought home someone twice her age, I’d hunt that man down. But with Ashley— Well, it’s fake.
“Just hear me out, John. This— We didn’t plan this,” I lie. This is not going to work if her father is against it. I need to convince him that I care for her and that, I’m serious. And perhaps subtly stress how good this will be for his campaign. “You’re right, but— Just come inside, and I’ll answer all your questions. You’ve known me for years. We've been good to each other as neighbors. I’d never do something to hurt Ashley.”
A muscle twitches on his face, breaking the mask. John grunts and gets inside for what turns out to be a very long conversation. But by the end of it, I’m pretty sure I’ve convinced him that I’m not a creep and that his daughter will be treated like a queen.
Ashley’s call an hour later confirms this. He’s not thrilled but, he’s more positive. And she’ll be here any minute.
I start to walk around the house, waiting for her to come by with her bags. I’m excited about it, though I don’t really know why. Maybe it’s because it does get lonely in this big house sometimes, even though I’ve chosen this. When I’m the only one here I end up spending all day working. I guess it’s a blessing and a curse that we primarily work remotely now.
And the thought of Ashley—It will be nice to have her here since I actually enjoy hanging out with her. That’s something that I’ve learned more and more these last few weeks, as we’ve gone on dates and spent evenings just watching movies.
The thought of doing that more often, well it’s not a chore.
There’s a knock on the door—that must be her. I head over to meet her, tugging the door open.
“There you are,” I tell her. And then, “Oh, Brooke!”
Brooke has a large bag strapped over the front of her chest in a diagonal, and then clung between both of her arms. Her cheeks are red with exertion. “I’m helping Ashley!”
“She saw me coming out of the house,” explains Ashley, pulling two big pieces of luggage. She’s probably got a few more things still left at her house, but another trip this evening should wrap things up.
“I told her I would help!” Brooke announces, proudly. She wiggles past me and into the house, carrying the bag into the living room. Then she drops it, no doubt forgetting that the strap is still around her. It’s heavy enough to jerk her forward, and she drops down onto the bag with a thump, wrapping her arms around it.
I joke, “Hope that wasn’t fragile.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not,” Ashley responds.
Brooke releases herself from the strap and jumps on the sofa, exhausted. “I helped enough. Your turn now.”
I chuckle and quickly grab Ashley’s things. I lead her upstairs and into the guest room, which is very large with a huge window nook to sit in, lined with a cream-colored cushion and big white pillows. The nook also has built-in bookshelves on either side filled with the classics. “This room will be nice and private for you, no one can see into this upstairs window unless they are on the lake. Nobody will be any the wiser that you’re not actually in the master with me. And this California king isn’t bad either.” I say as I pat the down comforter that lays on top of it.
It’s a nice room, with everything that a person could want in it. We’ll need to share a bed when we travel on this business trip, but there's no reason to do it here. We’ll put just enough of her things in my room in case someone stops by and goes nosing about—my baby brother will definitely do that—but then she can actively sleep in here.
“It’s great,” says Ashley. “Seriously. You know, I’ve never lived anywhere but my parents’ house. This is just a slight upgrade,” she says with a cheeky grin.
“Good then. You have official free reign,” I tell her. “Everything is open but the office. And you can go in there if you want but—”
“Don’t worry, mister business,” she teases, dropping her bags onto the foot of the bed and then turning to poke a finger against my chest. “I’m not interested in anything that you might be keeping in there.”
“Uncle Grant,” Brooke calls out, her voice carrying through the halls. “Can I have some of these cookies?”
I smile at the question, moving back over to the door. I brace a hand against the door jam, and I lean out into the hallway. “Help yourself! Just make sure to use a plate!”
“I will,” promises Brooke, and then she falls silent again.
Behind me, Ashley says, “You’re really good with her. It’s cute.”
“You know, I’ve thought the same thing about you over the last few years,” I admit, leading the way back into the hallway. If Brooke’s into the sweets pantry, she’s going to need supervision. With no adult around, ‘some’ cookies will turn into the whole pack.
Ashley follows after me, and then jumps forward so that she’s walking at my side instead. The hallway is big enough that we can walk side by side, but her knuckles keep brushing against the back of my hand. It’s strangely captivating—I’m having a hard time focusing on the conversation instead of that gentle, fleeting pass of skin against skin.
Thankfully, we’re down in the kitchen soon enough. Just as I had been expecting, Brooke has gotten a plate… and she’s put the entire package of cookies on it. When she looks up at us, it’s with a deer-in-the-headlights kind of look that makes it clear she knows that she’s done something wrong.
“Really?” I ask her.
“You said I could have the cookies,” she protests, putting on her best angel eyes. It’s regretfully effective.
