Small Town Pretender by Brighton Walsh
After Rory had left, taking the girls and June’s entertainment with her, thus making Nat that entertainment, there was no way she was preparing dinner tonight. Instead, they’d made the executive decision to order pizza.
Fortunately, spending the day playing circus, then school, then building a blanket fort while an excitable eight-month-old continually tore it down meant she didn’t have much time to think about anything else.
Namely the fact that her best friend had just asked her to marry him.
While he’d shot her looks throughout the afternoon, what they desperately needed was to talk, mostly so she could ask him what the fuck he was thinking. She’d barely been able to sneak into the bathroom to pee, so she obviously hadn’t had a chance to give him an answer about the whole be my fiancée thing. And she knew he needed one, like, yesterday. But what the hell was she going to say?
The whole point of downpour had been that they’d have one another’s backs, unwaveringly and without question. But this was so far beyond what any of them had ever imagined when they’d made that promise ten years ago.
She lay in June’s bed after bath time and three extra stories, waiting for the little girl to fall asleep, her mind churning over what it would mean if she said yes.
Not to be dramatic or anything, but what it would mean was that her life as she knew it was over. Not only that, but she’d be stuck in this town that felt more like a prison than a home. No more flying across the globe. No more shoots in exotic places. No more meeting new people and experiencing new things every week. No more filling her creative well with the one passion she loved above all else—photography.
When June’s breaths evened out, Nat extricated herself from under the little girl’s arm and tiptoed her way out of her room. Holding her breath as if that would stop June from waking up, she eased the door shut, expelling a sigh of relief when no protests erupted on the other side.
Standing at the end of the hallway, she peeked into the living room where Asher sat, sprawled out on the couch, head resting back on the cushions, his eyes closed. He wore an old Johnny Cash T-shirt that was much smaller on him now than it had been when he’d bought it in high school. He’d always been tall and lanky, but he’d filled out the older he’d gotten. He wore gray sweatpants that did absolutely nothing to hide the other areas he’d filled out.
While she obviously wasn’t oblivious to the fact that both of her closest friends were smoking-hot dudes, she’d also never really seen them as sexual beings—not to her, anyway.
Or, she hadn’t.
She didn’t know if it was because she’d spent the past six nights sharing a bed with Asher—and waking up pretzeled around him like he was her personal stuffed animal—or if it was the whole maybe-marriage thing that had sparked that part of her brain, but now she couldn’t not see it.
She could honestly say now she definitely understood the whole mysterious, broody musician vibe girls went crazy for.
“How long are you gonna stand there starin’ at me like a stalker?” he murmured without opening his eyes.
“Oh, I’m the stalker, but somehow you knew I was standin’ here, even with your eyes closed.”
“You might be small enough that I could fold you up and put you in my pocket, but you walk like you’ve got cement blocks tied around your ankles.”
With a laugh, she strode toward him and dropped down on the cushion at his side, shoving her elbow into his stomach and delighting in his grunt of surprise. “You deserved that. I walk just like I do everything else.”
“Yeah, like you don’t give a single fuck what anyone thinks.”
“Daintily, Ash. I do all things daintily. But, please, tell me more about this favor you need from me…”
He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, tugging her into his side. She snuggled in, notching herself perfectly under his arm, as if that very space had a Nat-shaped cutout made just for her.
“My compliments aren’t winnin’ me any favors?” he said. “Is that what you’re sayin’?”
“What I’m sayin’ is that if you want something, you’d be better off gettin’ it with some chocolate and maybe a little wine, instead of your smart mouth.”
He chuckled. “You love my smart mouth.”
“Not today, I don’t.”
“Unconditional love—isn’t that what you promised me?”
“I didn’t promise you shit. I’m not your wi—” Nat nearly choked on the word, remembering too late exactly the size and shape of the elephant in the room. The one they’d been avoiding all day. “Speakin’ of, we should probably talk about that.”
“Yeah… Look, Nattie, I know I’m askin’ a lot. This would be…” He blew out a breath, the move ruffling her hair. “You know I wouldn’t have asked if I had any other options.”
“So, I’m your last resort, then? Good to know.”
“You’re my every resort,” he said without hesitation, earnestness in his tone.
She had no idea why, but her stomach flipped at his words, like when a small plane hit a pocket of air and the entire thing dropped. It was a millisecond, really, but it was enough to draw her attention.
She was just out of whack, was all. Between being in Havenbrook longer than she’d been since she was eighteen, and getting thrown in as a pseudo parental figure when the most she’d done was spend an hour or two with her nieces once in a while, she was a little off her game.
“What about everything else the judge wants?” Nat asked. “A job? A house?”
He sighed, resting his head back on the cushion and slouching further into the couch. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that, too. I’ll be able to pay off the house with the life insurance money Cole mentioned, plus have a good chunk left for the kids’ college funds, if they want to go that route. But then I’ve gotta start thinkin’ about a job. As hard as it is to keep those kids in line, I don’t think anyone’s gonna pay me to do it. And Carla’s gonna need some direction soon.”
“What about sellin’ some more songs? You like to play, but you love to write—it’s the reason you started in the first place. I know it wasn’t what you’d planned—”
“None of this is what I planned.”
She laid her hand on his stomach, offering her comfort in the only way she could. “I know. You could also think about offering lessons? I bet you could get people willin’ to travel all the way from Memphis for a chance to have you teach their kids—or even themselves.”
“I don’t know about that…”
She scoffed and lifted her head back up to stare up at him. “Are you kiddin’ me? You’re Asher McCoy.” She pretended to faint, then snapped to with a grin. “Could’ve sworn that was you out tourin’ with Luke Bryan last year… Not only would people travel that far for lessons, but I bet you could charge an ungodly sum for it, too.”
“I’d feel like an asshole if I did that.”
“Yeah, well, that asshole could eat and provide a stable home environment for two kids, so…”
He was quiet for long moments before he blew out a sigh. “Maybe. But that still doesn’t fix the lie I told the judge. Which is where you—”
“Uncle Asher,” June said from the hallway. “I can’t sleep.”
Nat and Asher both whipped their heads in that direction. Nat had been so absorbed in her back-and-forth with Asher that she hadn’t even heard June’s door open or her apparently non-cement-block-weighted steps.
Asher pulled his arm from around Nat and stood before striding to June. He scooped her up and snuggled her close, rubbing a hand along her back. “What’s the matter? Did you have a bad dream?”
She nodded and rubbed her eyes before resting her head on his shoulder. Without hesitation, Nat automatically reached for her camera to capture the moment. Even domesticated, she couldn’t stop that itch.
Asher was silhouetted by the hall light spilling over his broad shoulders as he tucked his face down toward June and swayed with her. It was so soft, so loving, she needed to preserve it.
She clicked the shutter, feeling…special in that moment. That she was able to bear witness to this man who’d cultivated an image so far from the one he showed now—the real one.
In the public eye, he was Asher McCoy, up-and-coming country-rock music star, with the croon of a brokenhearted man and fingers meant for more than just strumming a guitar. But here, in the privacy of these four walls, he was merely Asher. Best friend since childhood, loving brother and uncle, and devoted man.
Which made her decision all the more taxing.
Owen’s voice crackled over the baby monitor, his cries for ma-ma-ma-ma nearly ripping Nat’s heart in two. From the devastated look Asher shot her, he felt her pain ten times over.
“I got it,” she said, brushing a hand across his lower back as she passed him on her way to Owen’s room.
She cracked open the door, a swath of light illuminating the little boy as he stood in his crib, drawing his leg up as if attempting to mount the rails and climb right out.
“Whoa, buddy.” Nat scooped him up and held him close. “Let’s save the rappelling till you’re a little older, yeah? I promise I’ll take you when you’re ready.”
This was the part of the job she hadn’t quite perfected. Playing and roughhousing and exploring…making trouble, basically, were all right up her alley. But when quiet snuggling was required, she stumbled. She’d never been one to sit still, her body constantly humming with the need to move. But nevertheless she sat and rocked. Ran her hand down Owen’s back while he rubbed his face back and forth along her shoulder, as if he, too, couldn’t get comfortable.
Who knew how long later, she finally gave up, and the two of them headed for the room she’d been sharing with Asher since she’d arrived. He hadn’t yet been able to step foot into Aubrey and Nathan’s bedroom, and Nat hadn’t had the heart to push him to. She hadn’t seen the need. It wasn’t exactly a hardship to have a built-in cuddle buddy and toe warmer—her feet, no matter the heat, were perpetually cold.
And if she had to stuff down the knowledge that she now knew the approximate length and girth of her best friend’s morning wood thanks to a couple predawn wake-ups, well…she could take that to her grave.
She stepped into their shared room and found Asher sprawled out on his side, June tucked into him. He shot her a sleepy grin and lifted the shoulder that wasn’t currently buried under his niece. Nat responded in kind with a tip of her head toward Owen, who’d snuggled into her chest, his eyes heavy and drooping. Though she knew if she attempted to set him in his crib, he’d start crying all over again. They’d been down that road seven times before.
Careful not to jostle Owen, she climbed into bed and slipped under the covers, her arm holding the baby now pressed against Asher’s. “Not exactly the evenin’ we had planned, huh?” Nat said, her voice a mere breath in the quiet room.
“That’s okay. We’ve got tomorrow.” Asher hooked his fingers together with hers and squeezed. “Thanks for bein’ here, Nattie. I couldn’t do this without you.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the cloak of darkness or their nearness or that them, lying there together, felt more intimate than pretty much anything she’d felt in her entire life, but she nearly opened her mouth and spilled the fact that she couldn’t do anything without him. He was her rock, no matter where she was in the world. Even though Nash was the third in their trio, Asher was the one constant she could always count on.
Instead of baring that part of her soul and telling him that, she squeezed his fingers encased in hers. “Clearly.”