Page 23 of Fall Into Me

There was another flash of that deep, heavy emotion in Ash’s voice, and his eyes fell back to the bags as he seemed to valiantly try to force a smile on his face. Cass’s heart ached at the obvious struggle Ash was going through, whatever the reason for it was, and even though he had about a billion questions he wanted to ask, he held them all back and just nodded instead.

It wasn’t his place to ask, anyway. It wasn’t any of his business whether Ash’s migraine was still an issue or whether Ash had managed to get enough rest or what his plans were for how long he was going to stay and wait out the snowstorm. Hell, it really wasn’t even his place to be here right now. And as he watched Ash shift Bri in his arms, still cradling her protectively, that feeling only intensified. Yeah, he’d come to help, but he’d probably already done too much. Anything more—or any sort of interrogation, asking questions, expecting answers—would be an even greater overstep.

Cass backed up slightly and motioned to the two bags he’d brought that were from the diner. “I made sure they included utensils and napkins and all that with the food, so you should be set,” he said. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Is there anything else you need or want before I head out?”

Ash closed his eyes for several long seconds. When he blinked them back open, a single tear slipped out and down his cheek, and he hastily tipped his head to wipe the tear away on his shirt sleeve.

“No, no, I-I think—” Ash shook his head and turned away suddenly, sniffling. Cass then watched silently as Ash walked over to the bed, bouncing Bri on his hip. He stopped on the close side and lifted the infant away from him, pasting a smile on his face as he looked at her. The baby cooed and gurgled, kicking her feet. Ash brought her closer, pressed a light kiss to the baby’s forehead, and then carefully lowered her into a gray-and-teal bassinet sitting almost in the middle of the bed. Bri whimpered but didn’t cry, and Ash murmured a few quiet words to her before straightening up and brushing more tears off his cheeks.

He tucked his hands under his arms and turned back in Cass’s direction. He couldn’t quite seem to look directly at Cass, but he said, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this and everything you did for me this morning.”

“I’m glad I was able to help,” Cass said quietly.

Ash gave a tiny nod, though he seemed to shrink in on himself a little more. As much as Cass wanted to stay and see what, if anything, he could possibly do to help, he knew he should go.

So he just gave Ash another soft smile and turned to head to the door. Ash followed him, and when he stopped and reached out to the door handle, a strange sinking feeling rolled through his stomach. With a long breath, he twisted around to face Ash. The man’s hands were still tucked under his arms, and his expression was tight and closed off. But he faked a smile—Cass hated how he just knew it wasn’t real—and offered Cass his hand.

“Thank you,” Ash said. “Really. I’m not sure what I would have done . . .”

Cass smiled and nodded. Then he let go of the door handle and took Ash’s hand.

It was warm, the handshake firm and almost confident in a way that contradicted Ash’s demeanor. And it sent a flutter of something pleasant and promising up Cass’s arm and into his chest. He held Ash’s gaze for a long second, lingering in whatever the feeling was. Maybe Ash was feeling it too. Maybe the way his smile softened ever so slightly as they shook hands meant something. But Cass couldn’t be sure.

And in any case, it was time for him to leave.

With another small nod, he dropped his hand and tipped his head toward the door. “I should get going,” he said. “Have a good evening, Ash.”

“You too, Cass.”

The snow had stopped falling, but the roads were just as bad as they had been earlier as Cass made his way across town to Westside Wines & Hops, the small, locally owned wine and beer lounge where he was supposed to meet up with his group of friends. It wasn’t a long drive, but the layers of ice and snow made the trip dicey, even with his dad’s four-wheel-drive truck, and so Cass found himself driving carefully and slowly.

And the fact that he had to focus on driving carefully and slowly was actually a godsend, since it allowed him very little time to become distracted and overthink everything that had happened in the last eight hours or so.

When he finally pulled into the barely plowed parking lot at Westside, he figured he was probably a few minutes late. He still didn’t hurry, though. Instead, he let the truck idle, and he closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

What a day. That was the gist of it.

The snowstorm. The hours out in the cold, helping people get unstuck. The chance meeting with Ash.

Cass closed his hand and opened it, as though that might remind him of how their handshake felt—the warmth in his fingers, the flutter in his chest. It had been such a strange feeling, so new and different, and something inside him ached to feel it again. That seemed beyond silly. It had just been a handshake, after all.

Yet it seemed to want to replay in his mind, over and over, accompanied by Ash’s tentative smile, trying so hard to overcome whatever that pain was hidden in his eyes. Cass only wished he’d had more time. That also seemed beyond silly.

More time for what?

To get to know him, he thought with some pang of longing he’d never really known before.

With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes and reached over to his phone, which sat on the passenger seat. One missed call from Brendan and then five text messages—two from Brendan, one from his dad, and then . . . two from a number he didn’t recognize with a 425 area code.

Cass’s stomach swooped, and he immediately clicked on the last texts and began to read.

425-555-6288 (8:04 p.m.): Hey, it’s Ash (the dude who apparently can’t drive in snow - I swear I *did* grow up in Seattle, where it does indeed snow, and so, I suppose I have no excuse). Forgive the big block of text, but Bri is actually asleep and I can finally sit down and write this out like I’ve wanted to since earlier today.

425-555-6288 (8:06 p.m.): Thank you. Thank you so, so much. I don’t really have any better words to communicate how much it means to me that you took the time out of your day to help me, a complete stranger, first with my car stuck in the snow and then by bringing me food and everything else. Life hasn’t been too good to me lately (which you probably figured out), but your kindness made an impossible situation a little more bearable, and honestly, I’m not sure how I would have gotten through without you. The world needs more people like you in it. Thank you again. -Ash

Cass sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes. Then he looked back down at his phone and started to type, slowly and with several false starts.

Cass (8:16 p.m.): Hey :) Thanks for the message. You’re too kind. I’m just helping out where I can, and I’m grateful to have been able to help you get settled and safe. This snowstorm is worse than I can remember ever having here, and the ice makes it even more dangerous to be driving in, much less hauling a trailer. It’s a good decision to wait it out and travel again when it’s safe.