Page 58 of From the Embers
He was still attentive and kind.
Thoughtful and selfless.
The world’s sexiest goofball.
And I was his.
What more could I ask for?
I sat straight up at the sound of my bedroom door opening. Normally, that wasn’t a reason for alarm. Asher’s favorite pastime was waking me up before the sun rose. However, that morning, as the soft squeak of my door roused me to consciousness, there was a half-naked man curled around me.
Shit. What the hell had happened to our alarm? I glanced at the clock to see it was only five—thirty minutes before it was set to wake us up.
“Mom?”
“Hey, buddy. You’re up early.” Very aware that I was in the bare minimum of clothes—panties and a silk camisole—I hurried to the end of the mattress, shrugged my robe on, and threw the comforter back as I lurched out of bed, hoping to disguise Eason as a lump in the covers.
No such luck when the lump bolted upright and flipped the lamp on. “What’s wrong? What’s going on? You okay, Ash?”
Asher stopped, a little green sketchpad held against his chest, his sleepiness transforming to surprise as he flicked his gaze back and forth between me and Eason. He didn’t say anything immediately, but I swore I could almost see the gears turning in his head.
Okay, so I guessed that it was time to tell the kids. I was kind of hoping to get a little further down the road in our relationship than one date, but Eason and I had made things official, and I trusted both of us to make the kids a priority if things didn’t work out between us. There could have been worse times. Though catching us in bed together definitely changed the dynamic of said talk.
I flashed Eason an expression that read busted and he had the good sense to look sheepish.
“Did you have a nightmare?” I asked my son, trying to distract him.
“What’s Eason doing here?”
Obviously, I’d failed. “Well,” I started, ready to spill all things about men, women, and dating.
Asher shrugged. “Actually, this is probably better.” Without another word, he climbed up onto the bed and crawled on all fours to the spot in the middle. “Scoot,” he ordered Eason.
Eason obeyed, but his wide eyes flicked to me. “Maybe I should go make coffee?” He lifted the blanket and got a bird’s-eye view of nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and then reclined back against the headboard. “Or not.”
“Stay. I need to talk to both of you anyway,” Asher said, opening his sketchpad. He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for and shot me an impatient glare. “Come on. You can’t see from over there.”
Ohhh-kay. So we were piling into the bed. Together. At five a.m. With the man who he had considered an uncle for the majority of his life who was now my boyfriend.
Sure. Why not.
Shoot me.
I perched on the edge of the bed, but he was having none of it.
He tugged at my arm. “Come on, Mom.”
“Ash, baby. Maybe we should go downstairs and talk.”
“Why?” He curled his lip. “We’re all here. The girls are still asleep, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Mom, Eason’s not even wearing pants. How’s he supposed to go downstairs?”
My mouth fell open as I stared at my son. It was way too early for this conversation—actually, any conversation, but especially this one.
Eason let out a cough to cover his laughter. “Maybe we should hear the boy out, Bree.”
Out of arguments—or at least the caffeinated brain power to process more—I got back into bed. “Right. Okay. What’s up, bud?”
Dramatically, Asher cleared his throat. “So the girls and I had a talk last night.” He flipped the page in his notebook to reveal a crayon rendering of three sad kids—both of the girls crying. Everything was dark, the sky gray and the grass brown.
Eason leaned in close and threw his arm around Asher’s shoulders, the tips of his fingers grazing my arm. “What’s happening here?” he asked, the same concern filling my chest thick in his voice.
“Well…” Asher blew out a hard breath. “This is a picture of me, Madison, and Luna now.” He turned the page. “And this is me, Madison, and Luna with a cat.”
All three of them were smiling. The green grass mixed with pink and purple flowers, and the yellow sun hung high in the sky, surrounded by blue clouds. But it was the orange cat, approximately the size of a small airplane if he’d drawn to scale, that was the center of the picture.
Eason and I exchanged a knowing glance, a smile growing on both of our mouths.
I ruffled Asher’s hair as he turned the page.
“This is us with a black cat.” Another bright and cheery picture. He flipped the page again. “And this is us with a brown cat.” This time, he had added text bubbles from Madison and Luna’s mouths with Hahaha! and hearts inside. He flipped again to another bright picture of them with a white cat, this one with a stick figure standing on the clouds. “And this is Dad in heaven, a long, long, long way away from our house. So he’s not al-ger-ic to our cat.” He paused and twisted his lips, looking over at Eason. “You’re not al-ger-ic to cats, are you?”
