Ashton's POV

I haven't felt so...light in so long. Forgetting about Jared is seriously doing me good. Although, I think Emmie is having the greatest effect by forgetting. The lingering miniscule piece of Jared has been lifted from our shoulders and we couldn't be happier. We don't talk about what happened. It's nothing more than a distant memory. And honestly, thank God.

I spent the rest weekend watching DVDs with Emmie. She wanted to study the entire time but I refused to, so we agreed to watch movies nonstop and then study Sunday evening; however, there was little studying being done because Emmie was too consumed in finishing watching the Harry Potter series. Not that I minded or anything. It was nice to see her relax for once. With school, work, the wedding, and our final encounter with Jared, she needed it.

The only downfall to our weekend was when I told Luke everything that happened. He wasn't too thrilled to find out that I had left her alone for a portion of our visit and smacked the back of my head for doing so. If it weren't for everyone being asleep, I'm pretty sure he would have yelled at me, but luckily I had that in my favor.

Little by little, I'm getting over Luke's protectiveness only because he has been keeping his distance from Emmie. I won't say that I'm one hundred percent okay with everything but at least I don't have to urge to rip out his eyes every time he looks at her. I'd say that's progress.

Even though the weekend was nice, this week has been nothing but stressful. Most of my classes were cancelled so that students can help get everything set up for what was supposed to only be an auction but somehow turned into an art festival tomorrow. I haven't had any time to sketch or do anything remotely for myself since Ms. Waters has me at her every beck and call. I feel like her personal assistant, but the only downfall is that I'm not getting paid. Thankfully, Emmie has done a great job keeping me sane in the midst of all the chaos that comes with this auction. I haven't seen her most of the week, but the cute text messages that she sends to check up on me is enough to keep pushing through all of Ms. Waters' demands.

"Ashton!" Speak of the devil. Ms. Waters ambles over to me with frazzled hair and an expression that can only be described as 'I haven't slept in four days and have reached a point where I don't give a damn what you think about my appearance.' "I need you to make a hundred copies of this," she says, shoving a piece of paper against my chest.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's my grocery list," she sarcastically replies, a hint of irritation in her tone. "It's a flyer for the art festival. I need you to make copies and post them on the bulletin boards around campus. And when you're done with that, I need for you to help move the rest of the artwork to the gallery."

"Okay."

"Like now," she urges, shooing me away.

Now is not the time to sass her, so I do as she says and head to the library. With my luck, Emmie should still be working. In all my times of going to the library, I don't think I've ever gone there for help with something. This should be fun.

Walking through the sliding glass doors, I make my way over to the front desk where a certain brunette has her back turned to me. I rest my arms against the desk and tap my fingers against the wood, trying to gain her attention. When that doesn't work, I clear my throat loudly and she whips her head around.

I must be going crazy because after a couple days of not seeing her she became ten times more beautiful than she already is. I am so whipped, but can you blame me?

"Hey," Emmie says with a welcoming smile.

"Hi there," I say, winking.

"I'm surprised you didn't just sneak up on me like you normally do."

"It crossed my mind, but I actually require your assistance."

"This is a first. What can I help you with?" she says in her most professional tone. I won't lie, it's kind of hot.

I slide the flyer across the desk. "I need to print a shit ton of these."

She chuckles, curving out from behind the desk. "A shit ton? I don't think that's an actual amount."

"Sure it is," I say. "A ton is a metric unit of measurement, in this case, an exaggerated amount. I'm just adding "shit" as an adjective to further describe it."

"You're an idiot," she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughs. She starts walking towards the copy room and I follow behind her. "So, I take it Ms. Waters is putting you to work again?"

"Unfortunately, but I don't mind right now because I get to spend some time with the cute girl from the library."

"Do I know her?"

"I would say you two are fairly acquainted."

"She doesn't sound familiar."

"I can introduce you to her if you want? Do you have a mirror?"

"Do I look like I carry a mirror around with me?"

I sigh. "C'mon Em, you were supposed to play along. How am I supposed to be a sweet, amazing boyfriend if you don't play along and help me finish my heartfelt gestures?"

She giggles and turns the corner into the copy room. "Sorry! Do you want me to try again?"

"No, I'll just ask the cute library girl." I pretend to look around until Emmie playfully hits my arm with the back of her hand. "I found her!" I say, draping my arm over her shoulder and kissing the top of her head.

Emmie rolls her eyes and steps away from me and to the printer where she starts the large printing job for me.

"Are you excited for the auction?" she asks.

I shrug my shoulders. "I guess. I think I'm more nervous than anything else because what if people don't like my work?"

"Art isn't meant to please everyone. It's like how some people paint vertical lines on a canvas and interpret it as a symbol for injustice or something, even though they're just lines. I personally don't think it's art, but others will argue."

"It's called abstract art, babe," I say, chuckling.

"Doesn't change the fact that they're only lines," she says. "What I'm trying to say is that there will be people who will and won't like your work, but that doesn't determine whether or not you're a good artist."

"Look at you being all supportive and insightful," I tease.

"I blame my philosophy class. It has done things to me."

"Well, whatever it did, I like it because you're literally saying everything that I need to hear."

"I'm glad my new knowledge of philosophical mumbo jumbo can be of some help," she says, smiling. "Did you invite the guys to come to the auction?"

"Yeah, they all said they would come." They weren't too thrilled about it at first because art isn't their thing, but they turned around at the idea.

"Cool. Julia won't be able to come because she has to work. She said she's going to try to get off early but isn't making any promises."

"That's fine."

I lean against the wall and watch Emmie refill the paper tray before printing more flyers. It may be weird-scratch that, it is weird, but whether she's shelving books or printing a shit ton of flyers for me, I love watching her.

"How are you doing," I ask, and she looks at me with confusion before catching on to the double-meaning.

"I'm okay," she says, looking down to her feet. "A lot better actually. I'm not angry or sad or anything. It no longer feels like the ghost of my past is haunting me. He's no longer at the back of my mind. It feels weird how calm I am. I'm not used to it. I'm almost expecting something to happen to ruin this."

"Way to be optimistic," I joke.

A short laugh escapes her mouth. "I know, but seriously, this all seems too good to be true. I'm just really-." She stops herself, almost ashamed.

"No, keep going," I urge. "I like hearing you talk like this. It gives me something to strive towards."

I can tell she's hesitant by the way she keeps looking towards the floor and back to me. "I'm just really happy," she says.

"You should be," I say, admiring her bright complexion and unwavering smile.

She hides her reddening cheeks by turning to the printer and grabbing the large stack of flyers. "Here is your "shit ton" of papers," she says dropping them in my hands.

"Well, aren't you sweet," I tease and she sticks her tongue out at me. "And to think I was going to ask the cute library girl on a date."

"She has a boyfriend."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind." I wink and she rolls her eyes.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Yes, but I don't want to do it."

"That's life."

"Philosophy has changed you; I don't like it anymore."

"Tough luck, buddy."

"You're so mean," I say, pouting.

Breaking out little joking banter, one of the student employees, who I've never met, stands outside the copy room asking for Emmie's help. Apparently she deleted something she wasn't supposed to on the computer and now needs Emmie to recover it. With a sigh, Emmie agrees to help and tells the student that she'll be right there.

"I have to go," Emmie says.

"That's fine," I say. "I should probably head out anyway before Ms. Waters gets on my ass for taking too long."

"Will you be coming over tonight?"

"Depends on what time I finish setting up for tomorrow."

"If you get out late and are too tired just go home. I'd rather not have you falling asleep while driving to my apartment."

As much as I would like to spend the night at her place, I have a feeling I'm going to be up late tonight and lack the energy to drive the few extra minutes to see her. "Okay, but I'm all yours tomorrow," I promise.

I pull on her hand until she is flush against me and I can barely feel her steady heartbeat against mine. Her eyes are already closed, waiting for my lips to find hers, which doesn't take more than a second. I've kissed her probably a thousand times but the feeling never gets old. Despite everything that has been going on, this is the one this that has yet to change and honestly, I don't think it ever will.

Emilia's hand slithers down from my shoulder to my forearm, pulling away only slightly. "You're keeping me from working," she whispers.

"I see no problem," I say, reaching down for another kiss, but I only meet air.

With a proud smirk on her face, she says, "I need to go and so do you."

"Fine," I groan. "Love you."

"Love you too, Ash," she says as she leaves the copy room.

Looking down to the thick stack of papers in my hand, I let out a tired sigh and drag myself out of the library.

After pinning up all the flyers over outdated announcements on the bulletin boards around campus and moving the remainder paintings and sculptures to the gallery, I finally come home and literally crawl over the backrest of the loveseat until I flip forward onto the cushion and crash for the night.

________

The turnout is a lot larger than I expected. Normally the gallery has maybe five people looking around, but today, there has to be more than a hundred. However, that could be because of all the food trucks and entertainment that was added last minute to amplify the attendance. Students, faculty, and civilians are eating, conversing, and staring intently at each piece of art, trying to understand the message behind it, or they could be wondering how the hell it can be considered art just like Emmie is as she examines a clay sculpture that resembles a bowl.

"I just don't understand modern art," she says, shaking her head at the bowl. "I'm not saying it's bad because trust me, I would gladly eat cereal out of that, but it looks too much like something that I could buy at Target."

"I'd say you're being rude, but I'm pretty sure I have that exact bowl at home," I say, chuckling.

It's fun having Emmie here in my element; to see what I see on a daily basis. She picks up on specific details rather than the entire picture of some works, which is the complete opposite of me. But even so, watching her take an interest in my field and seeing the smile on her face when she finds unintentional shapes of animals within the paintings is rewarding and hilarious on so many levels.

"Where is your stuff?" Emmie asks.

"A few of my paintings are in here, but the wings are outside with the larger sculptures," I say. "The auction should be starting soon for the larger pieces."

She tugs on my hand. "Let's go check it out! I want to see who's going to bid on it."

We maneuver around the crowd inside the gallery and go outside where a mass of people are crowding in front of one of the sculptures. An auctioneer is spitting out bids faster than I can see hands being raised by each bidder. Emmie hops up and down, trying to see over everyone in front of her, but her height is keeping her at a disadvantage.

I kneel down on the grass and tell her to get on my shoulders. She refuses several times, saying that she'll "break me," but eventually gets on after setting a few rules, which mainly revolved around me not spinning her around while on my shoulders. She nearly chokes me with her thighs around my neck until I assure her that I won't let her fall.

"So this is what it feels like to be tall," she jokes.

"Quite the view, isn't it?" I tease.

"I prefer being closer to the ground, but this is nice too."

I let her keep track of the bid until the auctioneer announces that it has been sold and moves down to the next piece of art. I walk slowly behind the crowd, gripping Emmie's legs tightly and she uses my hair as leverage to keep herself balanced.

"I see your painting," she says, pointing towards the gigantic canvas. "It's up for bidding after this metal sculpture that looks like a birdhouse."

I laugh. "I'm pretty sure it's not a birdhouse."

The bid starts off at ten dollars and quickly rises as hands shoot up out of the crowd. I lose track of the bid when I hear someone yelling my name from behind me. I turn around sharply and see Michael with Lola by his side, waving at us.

Even though it has been a short time they've been together, Lola has made herself comfortable in our little group. She and Emmie have been talking more since they're in the same class and I occasionally see her at the house hanging out. She sort of reminds me of a more approachable version of Emmie.

"Look what I bought!" Lola shouts, skipping the greeting altogether. She holds up a canvas and I stifle a laugh when I see that it's actually one of the pieces that I submitted. "Isn't it pretty?"

Emmie tugs my hair, recognizing the painting. I crane my neck as far as it can go and tell her it's okay because it really is. After telling her everything behind the roses, the meaning has been reduced to nothing.

"It is," I say. "That's actually my painting."

Lola's eyes widen and flicker from the painting to me before shoving the canvas in my face. "You need to autograph it then!"

"You might want to ask him later," Michael says, waving to Emmie. "His hands are a little full."

Lola apologizes and compliments my work, telling me that she plans to send it to her mom as a birthday gift. I debate asking her how much she paid for it, but decide against it.

"Where are Calum and Luke?" I ask.

"They'll be here soon," Michael says. "They went to go bid on a painting in the gallery that they swear looks like boobs."

"It's a good thing Julia had to work or she'd be all over his ass," I say, chuckling.

"Ash, they're moving to your painting," Emmie interrupts, pointing to the moving crowd.

We follow the crowd again and wait for the auctioneer to shoo students who were taking picture with my painting away so he can start.

"This next piece we have for auction is called 'Elusive Angel' by DU undergraduate, Ashton Irwin," the auctioneer announces, eliciting a cheer from the crowd.

Emmie taps my shoulder and bends down slightly. "You named it 'Elusive Angel'?"

"It's more of a cover-up for the real name," I say. "Think about the initials."

"E. A."

"Emilia Anderson," I reveal. "That way no matter who has it, it will still always be yours."

I wish I could see her reaction right now, but I can barely turn my neck with her on me. It was a last minute decision to name it that, but I'm glad I did. I had to make sure that she knows it will always be hers no matter what.

"Thank you," she barely whispers and all I can do is smile. "They're starting."

"We'll start the bid at fifty," the auctioneer says. From there on everything that comes out of his mouth is gibberish.

Hands shoot up in competition to place the highest bid and all I can think is who are these people and why do they have so much money? More importantly, why are they so interested in my painting?

"If I heard correctly, someone just bid three hundred," Emmie says, scoping out all the bidders.

"Who is it?" I ask, scanning the crowd.

"Some tall guy. I can't see his face though."

"Sold, for three hundred!" the auctioneer yells, and I stretch my neck out as far as it goes just to see who paid an ungodly amount for my painting. "Sir, will you come claim your painting?"

I put Emmie down on the ground, take her hand, and curve around the crowd, following the man who is struggling to reach the auctioneer. When I reach the front of the crowd, I stop in my tracks, witnessing the last person I thought would ever come to an event relating to art emerging out.

"Dad?"

_____

A/N: Ashton's dad is back. Why do you think he's there? And why did he buy Ashton's painting? I'm trying to speed things up so that I can get to the wedding which is why this chapter is a little short. Also, I made the Ashlia playlist public on Spotify! Just search for #Ashlia Playlist. If you have trouble finding it, let me know!

Question of the day: Are any of you going to one of the ROWYSO tour dates? I'm going on August 7th in Dallas!

Thank you all for continuing to read and support this story!

Love you! -Rebecca xoxoxoxo