Ask Me to Stay by Elise K Ackers Page A

mostly practical or sentimental. The cushions on the couches were almost flat, having clearly supported many backs. The rug in the centre of the living room was a weave of colours that could hide a multitude of sins. He could just make out the rings left by drinking glasses on the streamlined side tables next to each couch. There was a book on the coffee table, its spine so worn it held Sam’s page without effort. Curious, he checked the title.
    Jane Eyre.
    He would never have guessed.
    So surprising were these revelations that he moved into the master bedroom to confirm he was where he thought he was. A king-sized sleigh bed dominated the room: rich jarrah wood, just like the handsome little bedside tables. Two grand lamps accented the gold in the bedspread. Small crystals hung from the shades, subtle but striking.
    Sammy’s smiling face looked up at him from a framed photo on the bedside table. She stood with Cal, Bree, Dean and Rowan. Bree was holding baby Nina. And he was there, he realised. He was in the picture. It had been the day after Nina had been born; they’d had a picnic in the hospital gardens.
    He touched the frame. It was the first time he’d seen this picture, but the simple fact that he was in it, and that it held pride of place in Sammy’s bedroom, made it his favourite.
    All of those dearest to him.
    The urge to snoop flared, but he abstained. Stepping out of the bedroom, he checked the hallway clock and estimated that he had enough time to shower before she got home from work. He wanted to be here when she returned. He needed to fill in the gaps. Almost as much as he just needed to see her again.
    An hour after he’d freshened up she still hadn’t come home. He began to pace, impatient. Each time he passed through the kitchen his eyes touched on the poorly hung doors of the over-counter cupboards. It was bad craftsmanship, he thought, and they wouldn’t last long. They were going to fall off one day and maybe hit her on their way down. This, on top of her lateness, aggravated him.
    Within twenty minutes he’d sourced a step-ladder, a screwdriver and a levelling plane.
    She returned when he was working on the third door.
    ‘I didn’t expect you to still be here.’
    He glanced over his shoulder. ‘I woke up late. Aren’t you usually home earlier than this?’
    She arched a brow. ‘Actually, I swung ´round to your place to see how you were.’
    ‘But you brought me here.’
    ‘Like I said, I didn’t expect you to still be here.’
    She watched him work. It might have been polite to finish at three doors, but Ethan hated to leave a job half done. He adjusted all six, tightened them and wiped them down, then stepped from the ladder.
    ‘What do I owe you?’ she said, arms crossed, one leg bent at the knee, her foot against the doorframe.
    He returned her screwdriver and levelling plane to the cupboard in the hallway. Tucked her ladder beneath the verandah steps where he’d found it. He stepped back into the kitchen, wiping his hands on his pants. ‘Don’t be absurd. You don’t owe me anything.’
    She pressed her lips together and looked away. ‘I’ve been thinking. If you’re sticking around a little longer, there’s a few people in town needing odd jobs done. If you’re wanting some easy cash you could write up a few quotes. I could hand them around.’
    A little knot of warmth bloomed. ‘Sammy-doll, people in these parts won’t serve me coffee. They’re not going to let me into their homes and businesses. And they’re certainly not going to hand me cash.’
    ‘There are people desperate enough.’
    Because he wanted to reach for her, he wet a dishcloth and wiped down the countertop beneath where he’d been working.
    ‘People trust qualifications,’ she pressed. ‘And recommendations.’
    He turned. ‘You’d recommend me? Why?’
    She jerked a shoulder. ‘I’ve seen your work.’ She angled her chin at the perfectly aligned cupboard doors. ‘It’s good.’
    He