“I could go for some ice cream.”
He smiled at me, those dimples puckering again. “Great.”
I needed to stop thinking about how cute his dimples were.
We wandered down the sidewalk side by side, in comfortable silence. Asher kept his hands in his pockets, and I suppressed a tiny flicker of disappointment. But what did I want him to do, hold my hand? Asher and I weren’t like that.
Besides, I was only here for the summer. Even if this strange electricity between us was real—which it wasn’t—nothing could happen. I wasn’t staying. A summer fling was all well and good, but Asher could never be a fling. We had too much history together. Deep down, I knew that there were only two ways my relationship with Asher could go. Either we stayed friends and lived our own lives, or we lived a life together.
I’d given up on the second possibility already. So I needed to keep my head out of the clouds and my feet planted firmly on the ground.
We came to a white building painted with black stripes. Zany Zebra had been a fixture in Tilikum since before my mom was born. It served cheap, greasy burgers, the best waffle fries ever, and a selection of house-made ice cream.
I got a cone with a scoop of mountain blackberry. Asher chose double fudge chocolate. We took our ice cream with us and wandered deeper into town.
Gerald McMillan came out the open door to his barbershop, adorably named The Art of Manliness. An old-fashioned barber pole twirled on the side of the building. Mr. McMillan didn’t have much of his auburn hair left, but he had a thick, well-groomed beard, and wore a crisp white apron.
Asher paused and held up a hand. “Hi, Mr. McMillan.”
“Hey, Asher.” His deep voice rumbled. “Hi, Grace. You must be home from school.”
“Yep, I got back yesterday. How’s business?”
“Oh, you know, I can’t complain. Except for that bastard Bruce Haven.” He leveled a glare at the building kitty-corner from his shop.
I glanced at Tilikum’s other barbershop. As a feuding town, we had two of most things—one for people on the Bailey side and one for the Havens—and the businesses fought over the customers in between. Bruce Haven owned the Dame and Dapper Barbershop, and he and Mr. McMillan had a long history of trying to outdo—and annoy—each other.
Outside the Dame and Dapper stood a huge painted statue of a vintage pinup girl. She wore a red dress that showed a lot of cleavage, fishnet stockings and high heels, and looked like she was blowing soap suds off her hand.
“When did he put that up?” I asked.
Mr. McMillian crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Few months ago. Damn statue.”
“I can’t believe the town council let him do that.”
“Doubt he asked permission,” he grumbled.
“What are you going to do to get him back?”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I have a few more tricks up my sleeve.”
I laughed. “Sounds good.”
“You want me to have my brothers put a beard on her?” Asher asked.
“Not a bad idea.”
“I might accidentally mention something.”
Mr. McMillan winked. “I don’t know anything about it.”
Asher put his hands up. “Me neither. I’m just taking Grace out for ice cream.”
“You two have a nice afternoon.”
“Thanks, Mr. McMillian,” I said.
We kept walking down the sidewalk, licking our cones to keep them from dripping. I nudged Asher with my elbow.
“Put a beard on her?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I laughed. “I’m just surprised you guys haven’t done it already.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve all been busy, so…”
Asher and his brothers had always taken their pranks seriously, feud-related or otherwise.
By the time we got to the Caboose, we’d both finished our ice cream. Asher held the door for me, and we went inside.
The Caboose had originally been built to look like an old-fashioned railroad car. About ten years ago the owners, Hank and Jeannie Chesterton, had expanded it, giving them more square footage. The building no longer looked like an actual caboose, but they’d kept the bright red paint.
Inside, it was decorated with old railroad signs and model trains. It was half bar, half restaurant, with a partial wall separating the bar area. The restaurant side had a mix of tables and booths, with dark wood and red vinyl seats, plus an open section with two pool tables and some vintage arcade games.
It was mostly empty, just a small group sitting in one of the booths, and a couple of old-timers holding down stools over at the bar.
“Want to eat first, or play some pool?” Asher asked.
“I think the ice cream did ruin my dinner.”
He grinned. “We can wait. I’ll go get us a pitcher of Coke.”
I watched him walk away and it was impossible not to notice the way his muscular back and arms filled out his t-shirt. And his ass. God.
Watching his ass in those jeans, I found myself wondering what it would be like to let him do dirty things to me. Dirty things I’d never done with anyone. Although I’d fooled around a bit with both of my exes, I hadn’t slept with either of them. But my lack of sexual experience didn’t mean I couldn’t imagine.
Oh my god, what was I doing? This was Asher. My cheeks warmed and I tore my gaze away from him while I moved to one of the pool tables. Yes, he was attractive. He was thick and strong and capable. His understated confidence was stupidly sexy.
How the hell was he single?
Wait, was he single?
He’d been dating someone when I’d been home over the holidays. I’d overheard Logan asking him if he thought he was getting a blow job for Christmas. I’d walked away too quickly to hear his reply. I hadn’t wanted to know.
It didn’t seem like he was dating her now, but it was hard to tell. We hadn’t exactly been confiding in each other about our relationships—or anything, really—over the last few years. I knew he dated girls, and I assumed he knew I’d dated those guys at school. But it wasn’t something we’d talked about.
He came back with our drinks and set them on a table.
“Ready to lose?” he asked.
“You’re awfully confident.”
“I’ve seen you play.”
I gave him a playful shove and he grinned at me.
Was I imagining the heat in his gaze as he handed me a pool cue? The quick sweep of his eyes and twitch of his lips as if he liked what he saw? I must have been, because Asher never looked at me like that.
He also never kept his arms around me like when he’d helped me off the roof. Or hugged me the way he had yesterday at my mom’s house.
Now I was just letting my imagination run away with me.
We started our game and unfortunately for me, Asher wasn’t wrong. I was pretty terrible at pool. In between attempting to sink a ball into one of the pockets and his good-natured teasing, I couldn’t stop thinking about whether he had a girlfriend. Which was silly. I didn’t need to be preoccupied with Asher’s relationship status. It didn’t have anything to do with me.
Plus, I wanted him to be happy. Even though we’d grown apart, I still cared about him.