Finally, she’d admitted to herself that she hadn’t really been confused about the way she felt about him. She loved him. Probably always would. Most of her fears arose from the uncertainty of how he felt about her, and her certainty that he deserved a much better woman in his life than her.
Christmas came and went, and she had put up a tree, but she decided against the stocking. It would end up as empty as her life on Christmas morning.
She continued her therapy with Dr. Miller, trying to free herself from the invisible chains that had held her immobile her entire life. She worked nearly every day, and had bought a used compact car to get around. Driving was a challenge. Although she had a license, she had driven very little in her life. She cursed other drivers often, but she was a little afraid that it was really her skills that were lacking.
However, every day she grew more confident in everything new that she was doing, and started losing her fear of life. Sometimes trying to shed the guilt and shame that plagued her seemed like an uphill battle, but she kept taking small steps up the incline. She’d get there…eventually.
“I have a small confession to make,” her neighbor, Tate Colter, told her as he poured himself another cup of coffee.
His voice jolted her out of her musings. Tate had been a glimmer of light for Asha. She’d met him a week after she’d moved into her apartment. He lived directly across the hall, and on the day he’d moved in, they had literally bumped into each other. She was getting into the elevator as Tate was getting out. He was on crutches from a broken leg, but she’d failed to see him because she was in a hurry and had literally bowled him over, leaving the poor guy on the floor of the elevator. Mortified, she’d helped him up and followed him to his apartment, trying to make sure she hadn’t damaged his leg. He’d assured her he was fine and invited himself over for coffee.
“I’m not really gay,” he admitted, his voice just a little guilty.
Asha smiled as she sipped her coffee at Tate’s kitchen table. When she had hesitated that first day to invite him in, he had assured her he was no threat because he wasn’t interested in women except as friends. “Really?” she questioned pseudo innocently, already having guessed the truth quite some time ago.
“You looked nervous and I didn’t want to scare you. So it was the best thing I could think of at the time,” Tate said, his voice remorseful. “Forgive me?”
Asha looked at him and the nearly irresistible grin he gave her. Tate was incredibly attractive. With his pleading gray eyes, short blond hair, and the hint of a dimple on the side of his smiling mouth, Asha was pretty sure there wasn’t a woman in the world who wouldn’t cave when they looked at him. She sighed, wishing she could be just a little bit attracted to Tate, but she wasn’t. She loved his company, but she was starting to think that anyone who wasn’t Kade just wouldn’t do it for her. “I already did. Weeks ago.”
“You guessed? What gave me away?” Tate asked curiously.
“Hmm…I think my first clue was the attractive brunette who comes in and out of your apartment. She always has a giddy, love-struck expression on her face every time I see her coming or going from your place.”
Tate shrugged. “It’s not serious.”
Asha gave him an admonishing look. “I think she thinks that it is.”
“Nah…she knows the deal,” he answered, his voice detached. “She doesn’t want anything serious either. She’s recently divorced and is just looking for a casual thing.”
Asha didn’t think so, but it was really none of her business, so she didn’t comment. “I guess I should get back to work.” Tate was her latest client, and she needed to finish the accent wall in his apartment. “You realize you’ll have to repaint over this when you move?”
“Yeah. But it’s worth the effort if I can see your amazing work every day. It already looks incredible. It’s getting late. You can work on it tomorrow. You look tired.”
Asha was tired, and she didn’t have much to do to finish Tate’s project. She was doing a scene with a vintage fire truck on his wall, and it was turning out very well. Tate had given her the photos and she was creating the scene with the aid of the pictures. He had told her that he collected antiques and had a fascination for old fire trucks and fire equipment.
“Okay,” she agreed, draining her coffee cup. “I have something to do in the morning. Can I come over in the afternoon to finish up?” She stood and grabbed her keys from the table.
“Yeah. No problem,” he said agreeably, following her to the door.