Chapter 15 An “Overworked” Complexion
So, what was Damian's true agenda? Checking in on her well-being? Perhaps to throw a few snide comments her way?
No, that didn't add up. With the company of an enchanting lady at his side, he wouldn't forsake a night of romance to mourn a past marriage that was long dead.
Scrapping all the impossibilities, there was only one plausible explanation, Damian was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
Fishing out her phone only to slip it back into her bag, Ashley abandoned the idea of texting him.
He did his good deeds anonymously; why should she embarrass herself by extending gratitude to him?
As she wrestled with her thoughts, a call from Harold disrupted her reverie.
"Still at the hospital?"
Ashley fired up her engine and steered toward the exit, activating the speakerphone as she maneuvered with one hand, “Heading out, what's up?"
"Your back injury, it's a hassle to treat it yourself, right?"
Ashley chuckled slyly, "And your point is? You offer to play nurse?"
"Cut the nonsense. Me, a grown man, showing up at a single woman's place after dark? Even if we keep it all business, you think we'd ever hear the end of it from the gossip mills?"
What Ashley couldn't stand was Harold's tendency to beat around the bush over simple matters, “So what are you proposing?"
"I'll cook up some extra dishes tonight, something nourishing and good for you. You and Hannah, come over to my place. Two women and one bachelor; it's gossip-proof."
While she gave no verbal agreement, in her heart, Ashley had already accepted. Culinary skills weren't her strong point, she had a sweet tooth, and she adored Harold's hometown dishes, which could put professional chefs to shame, “I thought you, as a Harold, had learned to rise above and ignore what people say. How pedestrian of you!"
"Hey, no need for the low blows. I'm busy here, just come over."
"Okay."
When she reached Svetlana Ivanova's neighborhood, Ashley stopped to pick up a bag of fruits from a store near the entrance. It suited Harold's fondness for all things colorful.
It matched the rather garish decor of his home.
At the law firm, Harold was known as a strict and meticulous lawyer, but in private, he had a playful side, fervently devoted to action figures and Japanese anime. He had a particular soft spot for "One Piece," with an array of Luffy figures arranged in his designated collection room, where bold, golden letters proclaimed, "I'm going to be the king of the pirates."
In a word, his tastes were quite juvenile.
Harold, with an apron tied around his waist adorned with an ostentatious image of Luffy, greeted Ashley with a bright smile as she walked in, “Come on in, no need for presents though."
Ashley quipped, "Don't flatter yourself, I'm taking it back home after dinner."
"Hah, you see? That kind of insincerity won't win you any friends."
Ashley began peeling fruit in the kitchen, her movements aligning with Harold's cooking dishes, “Amelia's coming back soon, did you know?"
Harold tossed the greens in his pan, “Yeah, saw her posts. All hyped up for nothing, a minor actress at best. Always busy but neither rich nor famous, still grinding through the days."
Rinsing grapes, Ashley's pale fingers glided over the emerald fruit, “Everyone has their own path. Her dream's to be an actress, like Audrey Hepburn."
"Well, she's got a slight resemblance to Hepburn, but that’s about it. Hepburn was all ballet poise and grace. Amelia can't even follow a choreography."
Remembering Amelia's attempts at dancing, Ashley chuckled, “Just don’t say that to her face."
"Got it. No kicking someone when they're down."
Dinner was served as Hannah arrived on the dot, washing her hands before taking a seat.
"Harold, I brought you some wine my dad brewed."
Harold picked up the wine from the table's edge, “Your dad's living the dream since he retired, brewing, botany, and my dad told me your father is into birds now. Impressive."
"Ah, he's just an old-timer who can’t sit still."
Hannah began to eat, flashing a thumbs-up to Harold, “Dad said you've been busy with work, skipping meals, and staying up late. This wine's nourishing, good for vitality."
Ashley giggled, “It suits your cousin, you’ve got that 'overworked' complexion."
Harold, fair-skinned with delicate features and a baby face, looked younger than his years. Youthful and ever-smiling, he could pass for a young Leonardo DiCaprio. The 'overworked complexion' joke was all in good fun.
Harold argued, “Aren't we adults here? How come you're as naughty as Hanna?"
Hannah stuck out her tongue, before gossiping with Ashley, “If it weren't for that one relationship in college, I'd wonder about his preferences. Hey bro, how did you get dumped again?"
Harold had dated a girl in college who was the epitome of demure, the kind of girl you'd tread softly around to avoid reducing her to tears.
Hannah had met her a few times and found her demeanor a bit much.
But Harold had been completely taken with her, treating her like a queen for over two years.Back then, Harold was the picture of humility, riding his bike around town, occasionally driving the family's old sedan, and eating at the campus dining hall. His rare splurges at restaurants were modest at best.
He planned to come clean about his family's wealth after graduating from college when he would also marry his girlfriend.
It was the purity of a relationship without the seduction of money that he cherished.
But during his junior spring semester, his high-school sweetheart wound up entangled with a classmate, sleeping with him for a month before breaking the news to Harold.
On the day of the breakup, his sweetheart faced him with a sincerity that cut deep, “I'm sorry, Harold, but I didn't have a choice. I'm from a rural area, and to make it in Rochester, I need a man with means. With you, I can't see a future. When can we afford a house? How will we raise a family? What can you offer me?"
Harold sat numb in the driver's seat of his sedan, fixating on his darling, “Weren't you happy with me? Weren't we happy?"
Tears glistened in her eyes, “Love and marriage aren't the same. Love alone can't fill your belly. He’s good to me; he has a house and a car in Rochester. He can provide."
With those words, she stepped out of the sedan and into a waiting BMW X3.
Harold drowned his sorrows with two packs of cigarettes and a dozen beers. The next day, he took his Porsche Cayenne for a spin around campus, the roar of the engine echoing his inner turmoil.
He only ever mentioned this history once, drunk out of his mind.
Hannah nudged his leg teasingly, “Bro, still hung up on her?"
He took a big slurp of his beef stew, annoyed, “Drop it, Hannah. Not in the mood to rehash old wounds."
“Who hasn't been heartbroken? It's how our hearts get stronger," said Ashley.
Harold felt sick to his stomach due to his sour memories, “What about you? How many exes?"
Ashley quipped, "Let me consult my database and I’ll get back to you with those stats."
Not buying her nonchalance, Harold rolled his eyes dramatically.
Hannah, ever the enthusiast, pressed on, “Ashley, Ashley, when was your last romance? Why'd you break up? Bet you dumped them!"
Deflecting, Ashley said, "Three years ago. It was a mutual thing."
If nearly ending in disaster counted as mutual.
At the law firm, Hannah was Ashley's intern, bright and savvy, respecting boundaries while privately idolizing her like a big sister, a celebrity whose love life could always stir her curiosity.
Hannah asked, "How did he manage to win you over?"
