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“There’s a marina. My dad houses his boat there, and I planned a picnic dinner. It’s colder, but if we huddle up together, after dinner we can sit on the bow of the boat and watch the sunset.”
“Your dad owns a boat? And there’s an inside?”
I give him a quick bob of my head as we leave the area I know as South Park and get on the 99 heading northwest. “Do you live far from the pharmacy?” I ask, and I’m pretty sure I understand the reason for him wanting to meet somewhere else.
His answer is quick and still vague. “A couple blocks.”
“I don’t care, Ash. That much you need to know about me right away.”
He’s quiet for a few beats. “Can you elaborate, so I fully understand what you’re saying?”
The traffic comes to a standstill. Not a complete shocker; it’s Seattle after all.
“I don’t care where you live,” I announce.
“That’s easy to say, you know. It’s obvious you come from money.” His tone is neutral, and the remark isn’t delivered with animosity.
I won’t deny that I come from money.
“Sure, it’s easy for me to say those words. But status has never fucking mattered to me, and I know I’m very privileged.”
The traffic picks up, and soon we’re driving fifty-five miles per hour. Not bad considering it’s the height of rush hour. “I want to get to know you, all of you. And if that means an apartment you’re ashamed of, then I’ll be the one to tell you I love it, because it’s where you are. And I want to be where you are, or I hope we’re working up to that.”
“I hope so, too.” His tone is low, and there’s a plea in it. “Give me time, would you? This isn’t easy for me.”
“That I can do, Ash,” I answer, moving my hand to his leg.
“Thanks. So, tell me, has your dad always coached?” It’s not an unexpected question, since I admitted my dad owns a boat. And when he sees it, he’ll probably have more questions.
“He played in the NFL for ten years. He invested well, plus both he and my mother come from money. He works hard, and now he’s at the stage in his life where he can play harder.” Ash stays silent. “But my family’s money doesn’t define me. I was happy to be a starving artist, doing what I love. But, Kate found me when I was in college, and it gave me a leg up early on.”
“Thanks for being honest with me. I guess it would have been easier to keep some of this truth to yourself, and you didn’t. And that’s everything.”
Ash moves his fingers to my hand, as we turn from 99 to the 509, and we’re closer to the marina. “Is it near the Space Needle?”
“A couple miles, give or take,” I reply, turning to his profile. His cheekbones are elegantly carved, his lips full. His black hair glistens like polished shoes. He has a gentle nature, maybe a product of growing up alongside two women. Nature versus nurture is always up for debate, but it would be my guess. “Hey, do you have any ink?”
He lets out a small hiss. “Hell no. The idea is great. I love it on other men, but I’m scared to death of needles. I have a friend who is a very successful tattoo artist and wanted me on board to do flash and originals with his first shop. I really wanted to work there, and it would have been good money, but the idea made me nauseous, and I fainted on my first customer.”
I howl at his story, and I find that I’m imagining it in my mind like an old family movie.
“What’s so funny?” he teases, squeezing my thigh. “You think it’s funny passing out?”
“No, not funny. Okay, fuck, I won’t lie, it’s a little funny, but I’m the same way. I can’t handle needles. My dad is like that, too, but Liam has ink. He reined it in because he’s in the world of finance, and it’s a world where everyone is so straight-laced. But his shoulders and biceps are all tatted up. I drew all the art for him, but could never actually use a human canvas. Too fucking much for me, so I could imagine I’d pass out, too.”
We exit near the Space Needle. I’m still in awe over the genius of its design.
“I’ll never tire of the view.” He’s leaning forward in his seat, taking in the entirety of the architecture marvel.
“I couldn’t agree more. In college, I thought about majoring in architecture. I felt like I needed to have a steady job. But, it was more important to do what I loved,” I admit.
“I had the same thought,” Ash begins, moving his gaze, continuing to stare at the Space Needle when I turn. “I was going to major in industrial design. Took my first course and it was so fucking boring. I have my degree in art education. I love teaching kids, but just not in a school setting.”
We’re close to the marina, and I turn toward the only road leading to it. “Do you teach kids now?”
A smile covers his face. “I volunteer at a local boys and girls club that offers free childcare for parents who work. I love it. But there’s no funding. I don’t get to do more than one or two projects a year, though we work on sketching most of the time.”
I can see it in his eyes, how much excitement he gets from talking about it. I park nearest the boat slip and turn off the car. “I want to know more about this. Can we revisit this subject later?” I ask.
