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Asher smacks her lightly on the shoulder. “Good seeing you, Madi.”
As she walks off, she drops her shoulder. “Ow, I think that’s going to bruise. That should be worth at least a couple million, right?”
I make my move to go around him. “Bye, Asher.”
It surprises me when Asher touches my arm. “Umm, wait Sam. Let me walk with you over there.”
I don’t know why, but I don’t tell him that I drove here. The house is only a short walk away, so I keep quiet.
The walk over from the bakery is filled with tense silence. We walk side by side, but I think without Madison as a buffer, it’s just getting awkward.
We arrive at the house but don’t see any of the other’s cars.
Asher turns to me and shrugs. “It is kind of late in the afternoon. Maybe everyone left already? If they even were here, to begin with.”
“That's okay, I can’t stay long anyway.” I make for the door but stop. If I allow myself a bit of truth, I don't want him to go. “You know, I haven't even seen the Treehouse again yet. Have you?”
“No, not yet. Let's go look at what we are dealing with back there,” he says, leading the way.
We make our way around the side of the house through the overgrown bushes to the Treehouse. It has seen better days.
“Do you think we can climb it?” I want to see the view from it again.
“I don’t know, better let me go first,” he says, putting his hands and a foot on the ladder attached to the tree.
“Asher, your livelihood depends on not getting injured. Let me.” I would hate to see him hurt just for this.
“Don’t worry about it, I'm practically at retirement age anyway. And I'm sure you will take real good care of me if I fall and break something, won’t you?” He smirks down at me and I wait for the punchline I know is coming. “Besides, you're exactly the type of nurse I want giving me sponge baths.”
And there it is. “Just be careful,” I tell him, unamused.
He makes his way up without any problem and beckons me to follow. I climb up without a hitch and Asher helps me up the last steps to stand at the Treehouse’s door.
“It's smaller than I remember,” Asher says, scratching his stubble-free jaw.
“Because you were smaller then, dummy,” I tell him, giving him a small push.
He moves with my playful push but stumbles on a loose floorboard. I grab him, but as soon as he rights himself, I let go.
He reaches down to pull at the board and cuts himself on a sharp edge. “Damn it!” he hisses through his teeth.
I grab his hand, seeing the blood begin to pool in his palm. “Hold on, I have a tissue,” I tell him as I fish out the tissue from my back pocket.
He moves closer to me as I dab at the wound on his hand. I remember a scenario like this, but the roles reversed, where I was the one who got hurt.
It was at cheer practice back in high school while he was running plays with the team. I was preparing to do a maneuver with my squad when a bad throw came flying toward us. Everyone scattered and I fell, scraping my knee.
Asher asked the coach for a minute and carried me to the bleachers. He kneeled in front of me and took his towel and dabbed it on my knee.
“Gross,” I cry.
“Shhhh, I haven't used it, we just started.”
“Yeah, and already you are causing crashes,” I retort.
“What makes you think I didn’t do this on purpose?” he asks with a smile.
“Now why would you do that?”
