“He’s also told me about every single one of his neighbors. The man knows everything about everyone. Even the dirt,” Ashlyn said. “He told me about how the woman who used to live three doors down was having an affair with her son’s surfing instructor. One day her husband came home early from work, and the surfer guy had to bail out the window butt-ass naked.”
Slate chuckled. “James sounds like quite the character.”
“He is. He’s got quirks of his own too…including some that worry me.”
“Like what?”
“Well, last week when I got there, a handyman was just cleaning up after fixing a leak in the roof. Instead of writing a check, James walked over to a decorative jar on his kitchen table and pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills. He peeled off three and handed them to the guy. Then he put the rest back in the jar.” She shook her head. “After the man left, I asked why he had so much money hanging around, and he told me he didn’t trust banks. That after hearing what his parents had to do to survive the depression and the various crashes that happened throughout the years, he was more comfortable having his money close at hand.”
“That’s not smart,” Slate said with a frown.
“I know. I tried to convince him the world is very different now, and told him about the protective measures in place for money in the bank, but he just shrugged and told me he was old and set in his ways,” Ashlyn said. “It worries me for sure. But he’s eighty-eight, it’s not like he’s gonna earn much interest if he puts everything he has in the bank. I’m assuming, since he was approved to get deliveries from Food For All, that he’s not swimming in cash.”
“Maybe you should mention the next time you see him to at least not pull out a wad of cash like that in front of anyone again. It’s possible flashing money around will be too much temptation for someone and they’ll come back to rob him.”
“I already did,” Ashlyn said. “He laughed and said that he might be old, but he still knows how to shoot.”
She felt more than heard Slate chuckling under her. “I think I like this guy.”
“You would,” Ashlyn said. “I have a feeling he was bossy and overprotective as a younger man, just like you.”
Slate smiled at her. “I love how concerned you are for your clients,” he said. “You’re a good person, Ashlyn Taylor.”
“So are you, Duncan Stone.”
“How’d you ever find out my full name, anyway?” he asked.
Ashlyn mimicked zipping her lips shut. “I’ll never tell.” The truth was, during a conversation with the other women about the guys’ nicknames, she’d asked what Slate’s real name was. No one knew, and Elodie had made it her mission to find out. Within two days, she’d texted Ashlyn with Slate’s name.
“Doesn’t matter, really. It’s not like I’m ashamed of it or anything,” Slate said.
“It’s a good name. Strong, like you. Although I don’t know why people didn’t call you Stone instead of Slate.”
“Think it was because of my black hair. You know, black as slate,” he said.
Ashlyn thought it was kind of funny how his team all had nicknames. It seemed silly to her, but since she’d known him as Slate for so long, she couldn’t think of him any other way now.
Ashlyn opened her mouth to tell him how much she liked that thick black hair, but a huge yawn overtook her words.
Slate’s hand moved to the back of her head and he gently eased it down to his chest. “Rest, babe. You’re tired.”
She was, but she felt horrible about being bad company. “I’m okay,” she said.
“You can’t keep your eyes open,” he retorted with a small shake of his head. “Rest your eyeballs for a second.”
“Are you sure?” Ashlyn asked, already snuggling into him. Slate was always so warm, and she loved how they fit together so perfectly.
“Yup. I’m just gonna watch the movie.”
“Okay, wake me up when it’s over.”
He hummed in the back of his throat.
Ashlyn must’ve been more tired than she realized, because the last thing she remembered was the feel of Slate’s hand lightly caressing her hair…then nothing.
Ashlyn shifted, then grimaced as it became clear she’d overdone it on the hike with Slate. She was sore all over. She tried to roll to her other side to look at her clock and see what time it was—but a strong arm around her waist prevented her from turning.
Opening her eyes, she realized she wasn’t in her own bed.
The night before, talking with Slate, then falling asleep on his chest, came back to her in a flash—and she panicked.
Shit, she and Slate hadn’t done a sleepover before. They’d never even discussed it! If they had dinner together, they usually had sex afterward at one of their homes, then whoever didn’t live there got up and left. That routine was just fine with Ashlyn. She wasn’t offended when Slate left, and he never seemed upset to let her go.
But she had no idea how he would feel about her staying the night. Guys could get weird about that sort of thing. She didn’t want to rock the boat when everything between them was still so new.
She liked how things were going. She liked Slate, and she didn’t want him to think she needed to change their routine. Get more serious. Spending the night was definitely a big shift in the unspoken rules they’d been operating under for the last month or so.
“Morning,” Slate said sleepily.
Ashlyn wasn’t sure what she should do. Leap out of bed, apologize and hightail it out of there? Pretend it was perfectly normal to wake up in his bed, in his arms?
But Slate being Slate, he took the decision out of her hands. He gently tugged her shoulder until she was on her back next to him. Then he propped himself up on an elbow and kept his other arm around her waist. “What’s wrong?” he asked with a small frown.
For once, Ashlyn wished he wasn’t so freaking perceptive. “Nothing.”
“Babe.”
That was it. Just one word, but it was so full of skepticism, Ashlyn couldn’t help but blurt out her thoughts.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. I mean, I did. You said I could. And you were so comfortable and I was tired from hiking. You should’ve woken me up. I would’ve left. I didn’t mean to alter our agreement.”
“Breathe, Ash, it’s fine. First of all, I encouraged you to sleep. I liked holding you while you conked out. You snore, you know.”
Ashlyn frowned. “I do not.”
“Yeah, you do. It’s not a full-on snore, but you kind of snuffle in your sleep. It’s adorable.”
“Focus, Slate. And not on my non-snoring,” she told him.
“Sorry. I knew you were tired and had no problem with you taking a nap. When the movie ended, I tried to wake you up, but you were out. And I mean, out. I’m not even sure if sleeping that soundly is safe. Like, what if someone breaks into your apartment? Or if a fire breaks out? You’d probably sleep right through it.”
“I’ve always been a really deep sleeper,” Ashlyn admitted sheepishly.
“Right. One more thing I learned about you last night. That, and your snoring.”