'I walked through the door with you

The air was cold

But something about it felt like home somehow.'

*ALTHEA'S POV*

October 22, 2023.

"It's your last chance to turn back," Asher announced as I cut the engine, his cocked eyebrow making me roll my eyes.

He was right though, because as soon as we got out of the car, we only moved forward, beyond the white picket fence, the wooden pillars of the front porch, the five letters by the door, and it wasn't the Californian Fall air that pulled us in.

Rather the warmth of the two arms wrapping around me before I could even reach for the bell.

"Mamma Mia! You're really here, carina!" Giada leaned back, cupping my face as her moss-colored eyes studied me with an all too familiar acuteness. "You look so tiny! And you don't have glasses anymore! And your hair... Oh, you're still bellissima!"

"Grazie, you too." I smiled, although Giada pulled me so quickly into another hug that I barely had time to see her face.

What I noted, however, was that she still had the same liveliness while at the same time offering the most gentle embraces, and when, after telling me how happy she was to see me, she moved all her motherly love towards her son, I could confirm that despite a few more wrinkles, she was still a gorgeous woman.

Asher had inherited her brown strands, her confidence, her excessiveness, and this kind of fiery, sun-like charisma.

When they were together, it was quite something, and I was so captivated by the melodious Italian words she used to wish him a happy birthday and the roll of his sparkling eyes as she brushed his 'finalmente' styled hair and shaved jaw that I hadn't realized I was still standing awkwardly by the door until she called,

"Oh, come on in, carina! You're probably getting cold."

I hadn't even felt the chilly breeze brushing a few goosebumps on my bare arms, maybe because it was still far from the biting wind I'd left behind in New York, or maybe because of another kind of warmth around...

"You know you're still at home here."

Home, it was the word for the warmth that had filled my chest before I even stepped in, inhaling the hints of garlic, tomato, and other inviting aromas in the heated air, for the comfort I found in the faint hubbub coming from the TV in the living room and Giada's apologies for 'the mess around' the neat hallway, and for the familiarity of the fragile vase sitting in a precarious balance on the console table at the end of the long room.

I could rack my memories for the many other houses I'd walked into throughout my life, but this place had always been the closest I'd ever known to a family home.

Even after all this time, it felt like putting on an old, snug pair of slippers, like the ones Giada handed me.

"Your heels! That's why you look shorter than usual." Asher's mom pointed her index finger between the low heel ballet pumps I was taking off and the side of her head like the answer had just clicked in between.

Though more questions soon appeared, especially under Asher's creasing eyebrows as I replied,

"Yeah, they're comfier."

Thankfully, with Giada's talkative nature, the subjects changed quickly from a miraculous tip against blisters to Asher's grandma whom his dad was currently picking up at her apartment, and after barely two minutes, we were chatting about today's menu, which included my favorite Italian dish.

I couldn't believe she had remembered and most importantly, that she'd cooked it, especially for me.

When I'd accepted this dinner invitation, I'd imagined many possible scenarios since Asher's parents didn't know the truth.

For them, I was the selfish girl who had abandoned their son right before his accident, and Giada would have had every reason to poison my plate. Yet she still treated me with the same motherly attention and food, and I could already guess that I would leave with my little box of leftovers like every member of this family, as it was obvious there would be too much food when she rushed back to the kitchen to check the garlic bread in the oven.

"Do you need some help?"

I was about to follow her when Asher pulled me back with his right hand.

"What's with the shoes?"

"What?" I blinked, trying to follow the sharp spin before my eyes and in the light conversation his mother had left with as I followed his heavy glare at my black low heels.

"You don't think I noticed you only wear f-flat shoes lat'ly?" he continued, still with his voice, as his right hand was still wrapped around my wrist, and I didn't know if the acceleration of my pulse under his thumb was because of the soft touch of his rugged skin or just the sharpness in his penetrating gaze and words.

"'Know I'm in wheelchair, but my dick hasn't shrunk, so I don't give a fuck you're way taller than m-me with heels."

At least, with practice, his speech was getting more fluid, particularly the curses, while I was the one unable to form words on my parted lips.

"Oh no, I... it has nothing to do with you and your... um, height." I averted my eyes away before a mischievous sparkle could appear in his clear ones, also withdrawing my arm to wave towards the aforesaid shoes. "And these are heels."

"S'not heels under three inches in Althea Vesper's diction-nary."

"Well, maybe Althea Vesper—I have changed." I shook my head like to remind myself who we were talking about. "Like I said to your mom, they're comfier. We walk a lot in New York."

"Bullshit," he called, unwavering in his gaze and stance.

Here, in the middle of the hallway, with his chin raised and his crisp white shirt standing out around the navy blue walls, he still looked so tall, and shifting on my pink slippers, I regretted not wearing heels to put more distance between his piercing eyes and me.

"If it's not 'cause of me, why can't you look at me and tell me the real reason?"

"It's not because of you, don't worry." I held his gaze to let him see it has nothing to do with him and maybe also the blurry memories that flashed through my head of me rushing through the busy New York streets with stilettos as I tried to remember the last time I'd worn heels.

Those had become scarcer and scarcer until I'd stopped wearing them at all about a year and a half ago, when...

"It looks better for Jordon's business if I'm not taller than him. That's all."

And I averted my eyes away as soon as his pupils widened with a dangerous glint.

"What's the fuck?! You kidding me? What are we? In the 60s?" he seethed, not pausing to take a breath, and I had no idea how the syllables could even form on his tensing lips, but they spurted like spits of fire from deep inside. "You're his p-fiancé or his arm candy?"

"It's not like that, but a relationship is made of compromises and concessions. He's done many too, and..." I paused, realizing what we were arguing about. All of this because of a pair of kitten heels.

Things could blow up out of all proportion with Asher. He was the fuse that could blow everything up at the smallest spark: a few inches difference in heels, an interview in New York...

I quickly shook my head before the flash of his fiery glare that day could come back. "I don't even know why I'm talking relationships with you. It stopped concerning you when you pretended to be dead."

All of this because of a pair of kitten heels. It was my only thought as I froze, watching my whispered words—because Giada didn't deserve to have her heart broken with her son's lies—cast a chill in the warm hallway, like the tip of an iceberg we'd blindly tried to avoid.

Though Asher could easily make it fuse too with what was brewing behind his pale eyes, and my blood was already warming up when the front door opened, pulling us out of our stare.

"Sunshine, look who we found—" Mark stopped in his tracks, almost dropping his keys when he noticed Asher and I.

However, he recovered faster from his daze than me as he quickly pulled my still frozen figure into a hug, and I needed a few seconds to return the familiar embrace of ink and warmth.

"Thea, I don't know if you recognize me?"

"Of course, I do." I smiled as Asher's dad pointed to his hair, or lack of, more exactly, since there remained only a few short salt-and-pepper strands on the sides of his head from his once-thick hair.

"Well, I made him, and I have trouble recognizing him sometimes!" Grandma Liz appeared behind him with her walking stick and still the same silver blow-dry hairstyle following the shakes of her head. "That's why you shouldn't work too much, kids, if you want to keep your hair."

This was an argument my boss would have loved. Nevertheless, it was obvious Mark's loss of hair wasn't only because of his stressful work. He'd always worked hard for as far as I'd known him, yet he'd had no balding problem the last time I'd seen him, before Asher's accident, which must have been a lot of worry for his parents.

The traces of the crash were still all around: in his dad's balding hair, in the new ramp replacing the two steps by the porch, in the shelves full of family pictures that had been taken off so it was easier to maneuver a wheelchair, and even in the awkwardness filling the air when Kylie, Paxton, and Cucciolo joined us and Mark walked away with Grandma and the dog 'so the youngsters could have some time to catch up'.

If he'd known...

Okay, so this chapter was supposed to be way longer, but finishing writing it, I realized it would be too long, and since the size isn't the most important (right, Asher? 😉😂), I decided to split it in two, so the next part should be out tomorrow.

Also, yes, it will be in Asher's POV! 🤫🤭

In the meantime, comment all your thoughts about the heels argument! In which team are you standing? 👀

And tell me what you think about Asher's parents so far? We'll see more of them in the next chapter!

I hope you like the story so far, and if so, don't forget to vote ⭐!

I love you, my little peaches!! 😘🍑❤️🥰