Fixing Ashley by Melissa Gardener Read Free Book Online Page A

see her, but I have a feeling she won’t be there.
    Actually, judging from past behavior, chances are there will be a Post-it note attached to the front door telling me I’m fired.
    Stretching out of bed, I run a hand through my hair and sigh. This is going to be a long week.
    I’ve spent the last few days dodging Brad’s calls, and ended up leaving him a message that I probably won’t need him this week. My shoulder is better and in all honesty he’s got his own things to do. He’d never tell me, but I know how busy he is with his own custom carpentry business. I see his pieces often in houses I work in.
    As expected, Ashley doesn’t show up at the house today, and surprisingly enough, there aren’t any Post-it notes anywhere. I kinda miss those little yellow squares. At least they let me know she was alive.
    Okay, I honestly don’t miss them, but at least it was something. Communication. Some form of contact. Which reminds me of the contact we had the other night, and well, that’s not a good train of thought to have while all alone in an empty house. It’s not as if I can sneak away in an empty room to fantasize about her. Her body. The sway of her hips. Her lips. How good they felt on mine. That brief second while she was in my arms, that one moment, everything around me stopped. And now, now I can’t focus. I can’t deal with my head. Everything here reminds me of her. This place, it’s like a giant house built around her. She is here, in all the things she designed.
    Thoughts nag at the back of my mind about certain inconsistencies, but I keep burying them back there. I refuse to think about it. About the fact she could have been the one to live here.
    My task for today is to finish painting the living room and master bedroom so the carpet guy can come in and install the carpeting in those rooms. All the other rooms have either hardwood or ceramic tiles, which I either installed last week or will be finishing up later this week. This is what I need to concentrate on. Not the way I feel. Not the way my heart yearns for me to speak to her; to hear her voice even if it’s to tell me to go fuck myself.
    No, right now, I hope my damn shoulder doesn’t act up, because painting takes a lot of physical effort. Whatever it takes, though, I’m getting this Evans’ job done this week. I won’t go over the given time frame. Especially not now that I’ve possibly molested my employer.
    Once I’m done for the day, I head home and have a few more messages from Brad waiting for me at the office. I’d managed to dodge the ones on my cell, but I suppose the landline was free game for him.
    “Dude, call me.” It’s all these messages say. All five of them. He’s nothing if not persistent, I’ll give him that.
    Being a pigheaded jerk, instead of calling, I erase each message and unplug the machine.
    . . .
     
    On Tuesday, while the carpet installer is inside the house making a racket with his tools, I’m outside adding finishing touches, such as shutters and flower boxes under a few of the windows. I’m no Martha Stewart, but I’ve seen the final elevations. According to Ashley’s drawings, there are supposed to be flowers and flower boxes out here. There’s also some landscaping drawn in, but I can’t do it all myself.
    When I call my good friend Lukas, he promises me the best from his perennials. He says he’ll be by later with the list I’ve given him. I’m willingly to take his word for it if he’s able to get it done this week.
    With the outside somewhat complete, I smile to myself and wonder exactly how much a home like this must cost. The land alone is probably worth fifty to eighty grand. Get a house this size on here and we’re talking half a million, easily. It makes me wonder who these people really are. Who he is. I can’t bring myself to finish that thought. I just can’t. Not until I’ve heard it from her own lips.
    This place is beautiful and peaceful and everything I’d like my home