Seeing Ashton again after seven years was one of the strangest experiences of my life.
Not because he looked the same.
Because he didn't.
Not really.
The black hair was still weird.
I'd seen pictures, obviously.
Album covers. Magazine covers. Internet articles. Grocery store tabloids while buying diapers.
But seeing it in person felt different.
Ashton wasn't supposed to have black hair.
He was supposed to have dirty blond hair that turned almost gold during the summer.
I still remembered the first time he dyed it.
Senior year.
A box from Walmart.
A bathroom sink.
A disaster.
The color somehow ended up black, blue, and green all at the same time.
Adam laughed so hard he nearly threw up.
Now it actually looked good.
Professionally done.
Intentional.
Like it belonged there.
Which somehow made it stranger.
Because the black hair belonged to Ash Anthem.
Not Ashton.
The boy next door was gone.
The sharp edges were still there. The blue eyes. The crooked smile.
But there was something different about him now.
Something tired.
Something hollow.
His eyes were the biggest difference.
I couldn't stop thinking about them.
Like somebody had scooped pieces out and never put them back.
The only time I saw the old Ashton all day was when he laughed.
That real laugh.
Not the celebrity smile.
Not the version everybody else saw.
Just Ashton.
For a few seconds it felt like no time had passed at all.
Which was probably the weirdest part.
I stayed in the shower longer than I meant to.
The water was almost painfully hot.
I washed my hair twice and scrubbed every inch of my skin until the water ran clear.
Nicotine.
Dust.
Sweat.
Roach poop.
The trailer had been awful.
Honestly, I didn't remember it being that bad.
Bad, yes.
But not that bad.
Then again, we hadn't spent much time in the main part of the trailer when we were teenagers.
Most of the time we were at my house.
Or hiding in his room.
I pushed that thought away immediately.
Nope.
Not today.
I stepped into the kitchen wearing my favorite pair of shorts.
The stretchy ones.
The mom shorts.
The shorts that forgave poor life choices involving pot roast and dessert.
I caught my reflection in the microwave.
My hips had definitely gotten wider after kids.
Everything had.
The older I got, the more I looked like the women in my family.
I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
The table was half set when the front door opened.
"MOMMY!"
Maddie launched herself at me like a tiny missile.
And just like that, thoughts of Ashton Rhodes disappeared beneath dinner, children, and real life.
Topher came barreling into the kitchen next.
"Mom! Look!"
He proudly held up a baseball.
I took it like he'd handed me a treasure.
"Wow."
"I got it at practice."
My son loved t-ball.
Absolutely loved it.
I had no idea where that came from.
Sports certainly weren't genetic from my side.
I couldn't throw a ball to save my life.
Maybe I passed down my tendency to talk too much.
Or Maddie's dramatic flair.
Chris would definitely vote for the dramatic flair.
Hopefully they got his brain.
God knew they weren't getting mine.
Chris was the smartest person I'd ever met.
He always had been.
The kind of person who decided what he wanted and then simply... did it.
Law school.
The bar exam.
The firm.
All of it.
I was still ridiculously proud of him for passing the bar last year.
Soon his father would probably make him partner.
At least that's what everyone expected.
Chris stepped into the kitchen a few minutes later and kissed my cheek on his way past.
The kids immediately took off down the hallway.
Supposedly to wash their hands.
Halfway there, Maddie announced she also needed to fix her hair.
Which was hilarious considering she was two.
The child possessed an entire head full of dark curls and the confidence of a movie star.
Both kids had inherited Chris's coloring.
Dark hair.
Olive skin.
The Thompson side always claimed it came from some Italian ancestor somewhere down the line.
Whatever the reason, they were beautiful.
Chris loosened his tie.
"How was your day, babe?"
I smiled.
"Long."
He laughed.
"That bad?"
"Worse."
I handed him a stack of napkins.
He accepted them automatically.
Years of marriage had turned setting the table into a two-person operation.
Chris started telling me about a new case while I arranged silverware.
Apparently there was a major criminal case coming out of Wichita involving gangs, racketeering, and enough charges that I stopped understanding half the words.
His father was taking the lead.
Which meant Chris was excited.
The kind of excited only lawyers got.
Half challenge.
Half giant paycheck.
"It's going to be a lot of work," he said. "Dad wants me heavily involved."
"You sound happy about that."
"I am."
And he was.
My husband genuinely loved being a lawyer.
Not the money.
Not the prestige.
The actual work.
Once Chris decided he wanted something, he just went and got it.
"It's dangerous," he admitted.
"And good money."
That earned a grin.
"And good money."
I laughed.
The kids were making entirely too much noise somewhere in the house.
Normal evening sounds.
I glanced over at him.
"I told you I was cleaning out Ashton's old place today."
Chris nodded.
"I remember."
Of course he did.
We'd talked about it before he left for work.
Nothing about that part was a surprise.
"He was there."
That got his attention.
Not suspicion.
Just attention.
"Oh?"
"He scared the absolute hell out of me."
"What happened?"
"He parked behind the trailer."
Chris laughed.
"Smart."
"It was not smart."
"It was if he didn't want anybody bothering him."
I rolled my eyes.
"I thought somebody was robbing the place."
"What was he doing?"
"Cleaning."
I paused.
"Or planning arson. The details were unclear."
That got another laugh.
"I helped clean for a few hours."
Then before I could overthink it, I added:
"I invited him to dinner."
Chris didn't even blink.
"That's fine."
Just like that.
No interrogation.
No jealousy.
No suspicion.
"I'm sure it was nice talking to your friend."
My friend.
The word snagged on something inside me.
Not because it was wrong.
Just because it felt too small.
Friend didn't quite cover seven years.
Friend didn't quite cover first love.
Friend didn't quite cover Ashton.
I ignored the thought.
"Good. I'm glad."
I set the last fork on the table.
"I thought it'd be nice for everybody to catch up."
Chris shrugged.
"You know him better than I do."
"You remember him from school."
"Not really. Different social circles."
That was true.
Our high school only had around a hundred and sixty students total.
All four grades combined.
Everybody knew everybody.
But not equally.
Chris grew up on the north side.
I grew up on the south side.
Technically it was all Wells.
Technically.
In reality they might as well have been different towns.
Chris never pointed that out.
Never made me feel bad about where I came from.
Never treated me like I was less than.
I thought about the trailer.
The real trailer.
Not the softened version my memories had created.
The one covered in nicotine stains and roach droppings.
The one that smelled like old cigarettes and grief.
The one I had spent all day cleaning beside Ashton.
I looked around the kitchen.
The hardwood floors.
The matching appliances.
The house.
The life I never imagined when I was sixteen.
Then I remembered something and laughed.
"What?"
"Apparently he found an old bag of weed in his dresser."
Chris looked up.
"What?"
"I'm serious. It was mostly stems."
"And he kept it?"
"For seven years apparently."
"That's concerning."
"It was in the dresser, Chris. I don't think he was preserving it."
He snorted.
I grinned.
"He was actually considering smoking it."
"Please tell me you're joking."
"I'm not."
"That might be the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"Thank you."
"I mean, genuinely. That's impressive."
I laughed harder.
"He said it was for nostalgia."
"That somehow makes it worse."
"It really does."
For a moment we just stood there laughing.
And I thought about how different the two men were.
One had spent the afternoon debating whether to smoke seven-year-old ditch weed for the memories.
The other had spent the day discussing racketeering charges with his father.
The contrast was almost ridiculous.
And somehow, completely unsurprising.
My husband proceeds to tell me the story of the one and only time he tried marijuana in college.
Apparently one of his roommates convinced him to try it.
Apparently Chris held the smoke in his mouth because he couldn't figure out how to inhale.
Apparently when he finally did inhale, he coughed so hard he thought he was dying.
"Three hours, Lauren."
"Three hours?"
"Three hours."
I laughed.
"You are such a loser."
"I was an honors student."
"That's not a defense."
"It absolutely is."
He pointed at me.
"I've never touched it since."
I was still laughing when the doorbell rang.
Both children immediately abandoned whatever they were doing and sprinted for the front door.
Chris sighed.
"You both know better than that."
The kids stopped instantly.
Deflating like balloons.
Topher clasped his hands behind his back.
Maddie looked personally offended.
Chris walked over and opened the door.
I ended up right beside him before I realized I'd moved.
And there he was again.
Ashton Rhodes.
His hair was slicked back from his face.
Still black.
Still weird.
He'd clearly showered.
No dust.
No nicotine.
No cobwebs.
No eyeliner.
No stage makeup.
No celebrity.
Just Ashton.
For a second it was easy to see the boy next door again.
Chris stuck out his hand.
"Chris Thompson."
Ashton nodded and shook it.
"Ash."
Simple.
Easy.
Both men sizing each other up while pretending they weren't.
Topher bounced in place.
Completely incapable of containing himself.
I smiled.
"This is Topher."
"My name's Topher!" he announced proudly. "I'm four and a half!"
Ashton crouched slightly.
"Four and a half?"
Topher nodded.
"That's basically five."
"Wow."
Topher beamed.
Maddie immediately buried her face in my shoulder.
I blinked.
This child had never been shy a day in her life.
Not once.
She routinely introduced herself to strangers in grocery stores.
And yet somehow a rockstar was where she drew the line.
"And this is Maddie."
Maddie pressed her face even harder into my shoulder.
Ashton smiled.
"Hi, Maddie."
Nothing.
Not even a peek.
I could feel her blushing through my shirt.
Chris rescued everyone from the awkwardness.
"Dinner's ready."
We headed toward the dining room.
Ashton took one step inside and immediately looked around.
His eyes widened.
"Wow, Lou."
I laughed.
"What?"
"It smells incredible in here."
The amount of enthusiasm he had for a pot roast was honestly concerning.
"It is literally a pot roast."
"Exactly."
He pointed toward the kitchen.
"That's real food."
I snorted.
"You eat food."
"I eat catering."
"That's food."
"It's food adjacent."
Chris barked out a laugh.
And just like that, some of the awkwardness disappeared.