The Promise of Paradise - By Allie Boniface Page 0,18

turned to Ash. “You don’t know who she’s talking about, do you? You ever meet the senator’s daughter?”

The stone got larger and threatened to lodge itself in Ash’s throat. She managed to shake her head.

“Guess he’s out of luck,” Eddie said.

Helen reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a business card. “Here. He passed them around to everyone who was in the salon, said to call if we had any information. I figure you have more chance of meeting someone like that than I do.” She handed the card to Eddie, who stuck it in the back pocket of his shorts. Ash caught herself looking at the smooth, tanned strip of skin along his lower back as his shirt pulled up and ordered herself to stop it, once and for all.

“Thanks, Helen,” Eddie said. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Well, I hope so,” the woman went on. “Sadie said she wouldn’t believe it, if a daughter of…”

Ash barely heard the words. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds out. She backed away and let Eddie’s arm drop, missing its heaviness when she did. What am I doing? How the hell did I think I could get away with this?

Chapter Seven

Sunday morning, Ash awoke to the sound of rain drumming the rooftop. Great. She’d planned on checking out the antique shops over in Silver Creek that afternoon. She rolled over and pushed her face into her pillow. Somehow, the idea of tromping through puddles on her way to and from the car didn’t appeal. She eyed the clock. Six a.m. Gray light filtered through the curtains. It curled into the corners of the bedroom and draped itself around her shoulders. No reason to get up, she thought, slipping back into sleep. No reason at all.

As she moved back toward dreams, she wondered if the rain would clear later on. Eddie had promised to come up and watch the baseball game with her, explain once and for all why the Red Sox southpaw was the league’s best pitcher in twenty years. If the lousy weather postponed the opening pitch, she’d likely be stuck watching Lifetime movies or Seinfeld reruns by herself.

“The Sox are playing the Yankees this weekend,” he’d told her Friday, over chicken lo mein (his) and tofu with seaweed (hers). “I’ll stop up on Sunday and show you how a real baseball fan watches the game.”

“You do that,” she answered, smiling at him as they counted fireflies from the rooftop. “You do that…”

* * *

The next sound Ash heard was a slam. Then a shout. She sat straight up in bed and stared at the clock. Quarter to eleven. Rain still poured down, pattering against the windows. She reached for her robe and listened for the sound that had pulled her from sleep. Nothing for a minute. Then it came again: a series of thumps, followed by a male voice swearing. Eddie’s voice. Ash swung her feet over the edge of the bed and rubbed her eyes.

What the hell is going on down there?

Now it sounded like he was running in circles around his apartment. Is he working out? Doing laps instead of going to the gym? Ash made her way to the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. She knew the guy kept himself in shape, but in his own apartment? On a Sunday morning?

His date. He’s with his date from last night, that woman from Silver Creek. Cheri something. Ash’s cheeks warmed. Of course. They were probably playing some kind of silly morning-after game, running half naked around his apartment while she winked and squealed and played hard to get. Before Ash could stop herself, the vision slipped inside her mind’s eye: Eddie, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, catching the girl with those strong hands. Pulling her close and rubbing gentle thumbs along bare shoulders before leaning in for a kiss. A long kiss. A kiss that began in the hallway and ended somewhere in a tangle of sheets.

Ash pinched the skin on one arm to make herself stop. Don’t think about Eddie that way. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and poured herself a steaming mug of coffee. She doused it with cream and took a long sip, not caring that it burned her tongue. You’re just friends, remember? Just neighbors, two people who share a house. It doesn’t matter who he spend his nights with. Or his mornings.

So why did the thought make her