Chapter 10
Asher came home that evening, his voice filling the house with warmth as he rambled on about his day.
He told her about the odd man at his job—the one who always paid in pennies, the jingling in his pockets so loud it sounded like a bag of marbles rolling around. He laughed about it, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe such people existed.
Then he talked about his boss, Raymond. A little stern, a little too sharp with his words, but fair. Asher liked that about him.
Andrea should have been listening.
She should have smiled, should have teased him the way she usually did.
But she couldn’t.
Her heart was aching too much.
Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it was the way she had spent all day crying over the stupid sticky notes he left for her—each one a reminder that he was here now, but soon, he wouldn’t be.One of these days, he was going to remember.
One of these days, he was going to leave.And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She wished—oh, how she wished—he wouldn’t smile like that. Wished he would stop making her feel so safe, so seen. Wished he would go back to being the nameless, homeless man she had once pitied from her window, before she had let him in, before he had stolen her heart without even trying.
Because now, she was scared.Terrified."And you know," he was saying, still laughing, "when he paid in pennies again, I—"
"Will you shut up for a second?"The words left her too sharp, too harsh.
Asher blinked. His smile faltered, his hands stilling over the vegetables he had been chopping. The lighthearted energy he carried home with him faded just like that.He turned to her slowly, eyes soft with concern. "Is something wrong?"
Andrea looked at his hands—those hands that had healed from wounds she didn’t even know the story of. They were still rough, the skin still broken in places, as if they had carried burdens she couldn’t imagine. And now, those same hands were here, in her kitchen, making dinner for her.
Her chest ached with guilt.She had no right to be cruel to him.
"No," she muttered, forcing herself to look away. "I’m sorry. I just… need some silence. To think."
Asher hesitated, then nodded. "I’m sorry. I thought you’d like the stories. I know you hate being stuck inside all day, not being able to go out. It won’t happen again."His voice was quiet. Understanding.Andrea felt worse.She skipped dinner that night, lying in bed, pretending not to hear when he knocked softly on her door to tell her it was ready.she pretended to be asleep. He lingered for a few seconds, then left her alone.
That was when she did it.Andrea reached for his notes—the ones she had been holding onto, the ones she had pressed against her heart like they meant something.And she tore them.One by one.
Into tiny little pieces, even as her chest ached and her vision blurred.
And then, when she was sure Asher was asleep, she walked into the kitchen, her hands trembling as she lifted the lid of the dustbin.
She stared down at it for a long moment, her fingers tightening around the shredded paper.Then, with a deep breath, she let them go.Watched them fall into the trash.Right where he would see them in the morning.Right where he would know.
This doesn’t matter to me.Stop doing this.Stop making me dream.Because in the end, it would only hurt them both.
Andrea woke up feeling like she had been hit by a train. Her head throbbed, her throat was sore, and a deep, rasping cough rattled her chest. The moment she opened her eyes, she realized why—cold air had seeped into the room all night. The latch on the window had loosened, letting in an icy draft that had settled over her like a blanket of frost.
She groaned, pulling the covers tighter around herself, but before she could even think about getting up, Asher was there—hovering over her with a frown so deep it might as well have been carved in stone.
“God, Andrea, do you have a death wish?” he scolded, his voice tight with frustration. “Were you trying to catch pneumonia?”
Before she could even respond, he was fussing over her—checking her temperature, tucking the blanket around her more securely, and grumbling to himself as he hurried off to make something warm for her. He refused to go to work, insisted on making her soup, brought her a hot water bottle to tuck under her blankets, and—to her utter horror—decided she wouldn’t be sleeping in the bedroom anymore.
“You’re not setting foot in that room until I fix the window,” he declared, crossing his arms over his chest like a stubborn knight blocking a castle gate.Andrea frowned. “Then where am I supposed to sleep?” she challenged, already regretting the question the moment it left her lips.
Asher’s lips twitched in amusement as he gestured to the living room floor.Her heart nearly stopped.
He had moved her mattress—her mattress—out here. Right beside his own.It wasn’t just a halfhearted setup either. He had carefully arranged everything—her pillows, her favorite blanket, even the small cushions she liked to curl up with. It was so thoughtful, so deliberately put together that she suddenly felt exposed.
He had seen the torn pieces of his notes.And instead of pulling away, instead of letting her push him out of her life, he had doubled down.
He was daring her to keep resisting him.
She swallowed hard, her heart slamming against her ribs as she stood frozen in place, unable to look at him.“Are you just going to stand there?” His voice was warm, teasing. “Come on, Andrea, I don’t bite.”She gave him a sharp glare, but it had no effect. He only chuckled as he knelt down, tugging the blankets open for her.
But the moment she laid down beside him, she regretted everything.He was so close.Too close.
Andrea had always been aware of Asher—of his broad shoulders, his strong arms, the rough edges of his survival-worn body. But now, with nothing but a few inches of space between them, she could feel him. His warmth. The quiet strength of him.
She turned onto her side, facing away from him, willing her heart to slow down.
—-
Andrea had always been a light sleeper.
Lately, with her pregnancy nearing its final stage, it was even worse. Every small noise, every slight shift woke her instantly.
But tonight, it wasn’t a sound that roused her.It was weight.Something warm. Something solid.She blinked groggily, her breath catching when she realized—Asher had moved.He was no longer on his own mattress.He was on hers.
His arm was draped over her, his body curved against hers as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His face was barely inches from her own, his breath warm against her skin.Andrea stilled, her heart hammering against her ribs.He smelled like soap and fresh linen, like something clean and comforting.She stared at him in the dim light, at the sharp angles of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble that dusted his skin. He looked so different like this—soft, peaceful, unguarded.She should move.She should wake him.
But before she could even attempt it, Asher shifted again.And then—He wrapped himself around her completely.A quiet gasp escaped her lips as he tugged her closer, his arm tightening around her waist. His body was a furnace of warmth, his presence overwhelming, and yet he was still fast asleep—completely unaware of what he was doing.
Andrea’s throat tightened.It had been so long—so long—since she had felt this.Since she had felt the warmth of another person. Since she had been held.A sob nearly broke free from her chest, but she swallowed it down, squeezing her eyes shut.She should move. She should.
But she didn’t.She couldn’t.
Instead, she let herself feel.The strength of his arms. The steady rhythm of his breathing. The safety of it.
And then—against all logic, against every wall she had tried to build—she let herself dream.It was foolish. Stupid.She wasn’t a dreamer. She was realistic.She knew Asher wouldn’t stay.
One day, he would remember who he was. He would leave.
And yet—
That night, she let herself dream.She imagined a life where he stayed.
A life where Asher wasn’t just a man who had stumbled into hers, but her manHer husband.Her protector.Her lover.Her child’s father.
She imagined waking up every morning with his arms still around her, his voice teasing her awake, his stupid little love notes waiting for her by the fridge.
A family.A home.
For one night—just one—she allowed herself to want it.To believe in it.
And as she laid there in his arms, her heart aching with something deeper than fear, she closed her eyes—
And let the dream take her away.
Moonlight spilled through the curtains, casting soft shadows. Their breathing intertwined, a quiet rhythm in the stillness.
Andrea had finally fallen asleep, curled into his warmth, her face peaceful in a way he’d never seen before.
Asher lay awake, watching her.
He had seen the torn notes in the trash. Heard the hitch in her breath when she lay beside him, caught between fear and longing.
He was starting to realize what her fears were. started to realize how deep her scars ran. Started to realize that she would need a long-long time before really accepting him. But he was okay with that. He was okay with anything as long as it was with her. His voice was barely a whisper in the night.
"Andrie, you can tear the notes all you want, but you’re never getting rid of me."
But she didn’t hear him.
She was the one sleeping now.