But I didn’t have to say anything. Because turns out they had already formed an opinion about the prospect of us tying the knot.
“It’s about fucking time!” Billy bellowed, and I laughed with relief.
“Billy!”
“Sorry, Mom. I’m just ready for my baby sis to snag herself a stand-up guy. Someone who always does the right thing, sometimes at my expense—”
“I deserve that. And the shiner you laid on me,” I joked.
“What are you boys talking about?” I never told my mom about Billy’s locker room punch, and I guess Billy hadn’t told his, either.
“Just dumb kid stuff, ancient history,” Billy said.
“Well, if you want to marry her, it’s fine with us,” Evelyn said, then added, “And if you bring her back home, we’ll be doubly fine.”
“One step at a time, Mom,” Billy admonished. “He’s got to ask her first. When’s the big day?”
“I was planning to ask her on her birthday,” I told him. But Billy had different ideas.
“That’s not for another month!” he said.
“Three weeks,” I corrected him.
“It’s going to be hard to keep the secret for three whole weeks,” Evelyn teased.
“Did you get a ring yet?” Billy asked.
“I did.”
“So what are you waiting for? Do it now!”
I hadn’t considered asking her right away, but Billy’s excitement was contagious. I forgot all about that mountaintop. Now that I knew who I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, I wanted the rest of my life to start as soon as possible.
“You’ll know when the time is right,” Evelyn said. “We don’t mean to push.”
“Maybe I need a push,” I said.
“Haha, yes!” Billy said. “Keep us posted.”
As I hung up the phone, my smile was so wide it hurt my cheeks. I didn’t know what Ashley was doing this evening, but I was fired up to make good on that pact.
CHAPTER 17
* * *
NATHAN
Of course I remembered her name. Ashley Brooks. She had curtseyed when she’d said it, like a courtier bowing to her queen. It was a charming gesture, boldly theatrical but also adorably humble.
She was easy to track down. She was an actress. Before I left for golf, I typed her name into my browser and in 0.85 seconds I had over a thousand hits—theater and film credits, behind-the-scenes photos, headshots old and new, in color and black and white. I felt a tingle of relief that she was what she’d said she was—unlike the rest of us, who were masquerading as decent people while shameful secrets burned holes in our pockets.
I tried not to feel like a stalker as I scrolled through Ashley’s profile, reminding myself that she had put these photos online for all to see. She wanted the world to know her name, recognize her face, and yes—send her a message. I knew this because she had a “contact me” link on her acting website. As I hovered my mouse over the link, I suddenly realized I already had her number. It was on my phone from the night before, when I’d called her to come get her dog.
I felt a rush of nervousness as I opened my phone to view my outgoing calls. Still there—phew! The only thing to figure out was what to say. Before the indiscretion, I’d been pretty confident around women. It had been five years since I’d had a serious girlfriend （law school）， but that was only because I hadn’t been captivated by anyone. Until now.
I saved Ashley’s number in my contacts, then left for my golf game. It was a perfect day, with just the hint of a breeze. I felt the sweet buzz of possibility as I pulled out of my garage and onto the freeway. I don’t know if Louisa had talked about me after I left （probably not）， but if she did, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t have said anything bad. Yes, she could be critical, but she liked me. Plus she didn’t know the bad stuff—stuff I was determined to put behind me now.
As I pulled up at the golf course （early, as usual）， I was so fired up I almost called Ashley right then and there. I wondered if she was a morning person—aren’t all dog people morning people?—and what she might be up to today. Is she working? Playing tennis? Rollerblading on the beach? Now that I had spoken it out loud, I felt some urgency to actually be seeing someone. I didn’t want to be a prick and a liar.
Of course it occurred to me that she might already have a boyfriend. I was getting vibes that the shop was open, but as I knew all too well, those vibes can be misleading, even dangerous. Sexual chemistry is a mysterious beast, but I was pretty sure I knew the good kind from the bad. There’s the deep, dark, primal longing that rises up when a woman plies you with whiskey, then paints her lips with whipped cream and implores you to lick them clean. I’m not making excuses—what I did was wrong—just drawing a distinction. What happened between my lover and me was a blinding, visceral urge. What I felt around Ashley was more like curiosity—a nebulous attraction that intrigued and excited me. It was the difference between walking into a bakery and having your senses gently awakened by the sweet smell of something baking . . . versus having forkfuls of decadent chocolate cake fed to you by eager hands. Both are irresistible. One is a gentle tease that lifts your spirits like a cool breeze; the other is quickly devoured and leaves you feeling gross.