“Are you for real, Emma Paige? Can I trust you? I’ve searched for a reason to believe otherwise. I’ve done my research and I can’t find anything that leads me to believe you aren’t anything but perfect.”
A red flag goes up in my head. He did research on me? What kind of research? I know in the age of Facebook and Google, you can pretty much find out anything about anyone but I’ve never done that. Never needed to. And in this case, I didn’t even have an urge to.
But with the red flag is a white flag waiving so dramatically my body does a double take as I try to contain my excitement.
This man thinks I’m perfect. Yes, me. The broken mess with a broken hand and a broken dream and a broken soul.
I lean up on my knees and gain some space from Asher. “If you knew the half of it you wouldn’t think I’m perfect. You want to know if I’m real? Well, I need you to tell me something real. And don’t say that you’re impulsive and you’re drawn to me. Because right now I can’t believe how someone as amazing as you is here with me. It doesn’t make sense and it makes me feel so insecure you won’t believe.”
Asher rises to his knees as well and meets me eye to eye. “I make you feel insecure?”
I nod my head slowly. He looks to the side, clenching his jaw. I think he’s going to tell me he wants to head back but he opens his mouth and says, “My mother’s name was Juliette Asher and my father was Alejandro Gutierrez. I haven’t said those names out loud in twenty-two years.”
My mouth falls open slightly. I haven’t said Luke’s name in six months but I’d hope twenty-years from now I’d be able to tell stories about him.
Asher looks back to me and continues. “My father was a mechanic with no family to speak of or two cents to rub together. Not to mention Latin, something my Scottish grandfather would never have allowed. But my mom, she was in love with my dad. She gave up her family and everything that came along with it. We lived in a poor section of Pittsburgh while my parents tried to figure out how to make ends meet. My mother was educated but she didn’t know how to do anything other than play music. She was bred to be a rich man’s wife, not a money-maker.”
“And my dad, he was a hardworking man. He had a criminal record so work was hard to come by. We didn’t have much but I never went without.”
Asher’ s hand takes mine and skims over the scar again, keeping his focus on the imperfection while he tells his story.
“When they died, I didn’t have any other family. My grandfather took me in under one condition: I was never to speak of my parents again. It was the first time I ever met him. He didn’t show love the way my parents did. I learned early on that if I pleased him, his pride in me was as good as love. I let him breed me into who he was. Work consumed me. Family was not an option. According to him, who can have one when they are going to leave you anyway.”
My own jaw tightens as I try to control the burn in my throat that comes before a good cry. I breathe in calming breaths. “Asher, you know that’s not true. Family is what you lean on when times get hard. I know you don’t remember that but your parents seemed like the kind of people who would be there for you no matter what.”
His cheeks hollow but with a deep rumble he lets out a puff of air and shakes his head. “I know. I just have a hard time remembering sometimes.”
Is that what he’s doing out here? Working for Devon? Trying to figure out who he is?
He must think I’m such an ass. I’ve been complaining about my overbearing parents, yet here he is trying to remember his own for the caring people they were. Probably exactly like mine are.
And to not have spoken about them, said their names out loud in so long. Well, that’s just sad. It’s a sadness I am swimming in, myself, and if I don’t fight the current I’ll drown. I can’t let that happen.
“Luke.” I whisper the name.