Eleven

Ruth’s POV

“Hey Ruth, how about this one?” Ashton asks while lying on a large white sectional with his feet dangling off the arm rest and his arms sprawled out to test out the full comfort level of the couch just like he did with all the others that he has been pointing out.

“Ashton, I thought we agreed on the dark gray set with the ottoman?” I sit down on the brown suede sectional and grimace at the firm cushion.

We’ve been shopping in IKEA for furniture for two hours now and the only things we’ve been able to decide on is a round glass dining table and a toaster. Since we got here, Ashton has been testing out every couch for comfort every time we pass one. He hasn’t been very useful on this trip, but at least he did pick out a damn good toaster.

“Yeah, but this one reclines,” he says and pulls the lever that brings out the foot rest.

“You’re supposed to be helping me make a decision, not suggesting more pieces for me to check out.” I’m grateful that Ashton volunteered to come with me since Luke couldn’t because now I don’t have to carry anything heavy and he points out all the good appliances that I can’t afford and then shows me alternatives for a cheaper price. “Seriously, Ashton,” I groan and push myself up off the uncomfortable couch, “I need furniture. So get off your ass and help me out.”

“Fine,” he huffs and stands to his feet. “What else do you need?”

“Everything,” I mumble, “but don’t worry, the toaster is out of the way.” I lace my tone with sarcasm and shake the box with the toaster in his face.

“Can you even afford everything?” he asks incredulously.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and restrain myself from throwing this box at him. After spending this long with him I’m at my wits end. “Yes, I can afford it,” I say through gritted teeth.

He hums and pulls us over to the dining chairs in search for a set to match the table we picked out. “So how pissed off is Luke at you for hanging out with me today?” he asks and shows me a yellow upholstered chair with a white paint finish. Does he really not have a clue when it comes to interior decorating? His sense of taste is god awful.

I shake my head at his choice and he goes off to look for another. “Let’s just say I was lectured by him on the phone when he got home last night. It was the usual keep pepper spray in your purse at all times, get your gun license so you can legally carry a gun, and wear heels so that if you try to make a pass at me I can stab you with the heel.”

His eyes widen and I can only describe his expression as being extremely uncomfortable as he looks down to my feet to make sure that I’m not wearing heels. “Your brother is crazy, no offense.”

I chuckle. “None taken.” My brother is bat shit crazy, there’s no doubt about that. He means well though. With the guys that I’ve dated, none of them have treated me right and so now Luke tries (in his own way) to protect me from anyone who would take advantage of me.

“How old is Luke anyway?”

“He’s only a year younger than me, so 21,” I answer.

“Younger? I could’ve mistaken him for being older.”

“Because of his height?”

“Yeah, how did you know I was going to say that?”

“Because that’s always the reason why people assume he’s older.” Even a few members of my distant family mistake me for being the younger sibling and I’ve given up on trying to correct them after years of failed attempts.

He nods and shows me another chair, this one having a simple maple wood finish and doesn’t look like something my grandma would have in her house, not to mention that it’s selling for a great price. I give Ashton the thumbs up and find an employee to add it to my list.

“So tell me, Ruth,” Ashton starts, “why did you decide to let me come with you today?” He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t have to bribe you with dessert to get you to do something with me. I was honestly surprised by your willingness. Does this mean that you’re finally accepting me as a friend?”  

No, it means you volunteered and I didn’t want to carry anything. “Well, you’re still high up on my asshole scale, so I wouldn’t think so highly if I were you.”

“Come on,” he whines. “I’m trying here.”

He isn’t wrong. I’ve noticed how in just a short amount of time, his sarcasm and cocky-ness has lessened. He waits and thinks about what he’s going to say instead of spitting out whatever pops into his head. He still has some trouble filtering himself and that smirk that’s actually really attractive, but also very annoying at times still ticks me off.

But I like watching him try so hard.

“Fine, you can be my friend, but that doesn’t mean you’re off my scale,” I say, regretting the words as they leave my mouth because when Ashton hears them, he bites his lip and the apples of his cheeks rise.

“Perfect.”

We continue shopping for another hour and end up finding a nice fluffy white rug for the living room, some pots and pans recommended by Ashton, plates, silverware, glassware, and every other essential for the kitchen. I hold off on getting any extra things in favor of my savings account seeing that it had a ball after being touched for the first time in so long and I’d rather buy things gradually and not all at once.

I have to wait a few days for the shipment of the large pieces of furniture which means I’m going to be stuck in an empty apartment for a little while longer. At least I’ll have a rug and all my appliances to keep me company in the meantime. I still have to wait for Calum to bring over my dresser and desk from his and Serena’s apartment, but that won’t be until later tonight when he gets off work. I don’t really like the idea of having to do my work on a box as an alternative until I actually get my desk. I’ve been slacking lately and now work is piling up and I have so much to do and no motivation to do it.

Ashton helps me bring up all the bags from my car (which thankfully only takes one trip) and sits them on the kitchen island before helping me un-box everything and getting distracted with the bubble wrap from the packaging.

“So what are you doing for the rest of the day?” he asks while popping the bubble wrap in his hands.

I rip the bubble wrap from his hands and pop a few myself, a smile creeping on my face as I do so. “I have to work.”

“Where do you work?”

“Here,” I say and he tilts his head to the side. “I work from home.”

“That’s convenient,” he says and picks up another piece of bubble wrap from the box that held the glassware.

“You’re telling me. I can stay in my pajamas all day and no one can get after me because I don’t have to see anyone.”

“I tried doing that once at the bakery, but a lot of the customers complained and told me to put some clothes on,” he jokes and I can’t stop the laugh that escapes my lips. “Where exactly do you work if you have no furniture except for your bed?”

I guide Ashton over to my bedroom where on a box sits my laptop and on the floor is a binder full of descriptions for each job that I have to do for all of my clients who have hired me. “There’s my temporary office,” I say, gesturing to the box.

Ashton’s eyes flicker between the box and me. “And you plan to work here?”

“I don’t really have a choice. Calum won’t be here with my desk until tonight so I have to improvise.” Without my permission, Ashton picks up my laptop and binder and begins walking out of my room and over to the front door. “What the hell are you doing?” I shout.

He stops and turns to me. “You’re not going to work here in an empty place and you sure as hell won’t be working on that pathetic box that you call a ‘desk.’ I may not have a dining table or desk, but I do have a furnished apartment with a coffee table that you can work on.”

“You’re asking me to work at your place?”   

“Yes.”

It’s actually a tempting offer. When I tried working after everyone left last night, there was an eerie feeling to the apartment and I swear I could hear water dripping even though none of the water faucets were running. So far, the box has collapsed a total of four times when I started typing on my laptop and I’m pretty sure if my laptop falls again, I will most likely have to invest in another one and I’d rather not have to purchase a third laptop this year.

Ashton’s hazel-green eyes focus on mine as he awaits my response. With his free hand, he brushes a curl out of his face and then gestures to the door.

I bite my lip and then let out a long sigh. “Let’s go,” I say, defeated. I lock my door and follow Ashton into his apartment where he sets my stuff on the coffee table in the living room. “Are you sure this is okay?” I ask as he scurries off into the kitchen. “I don’t want to be an intrusion.”

His chuckle echoes into the living room. “You demanded that I showed you my apartment and now you’re worrying about intrusion? It’s fine, Ruth. You just do your thing and I’ll do mine.”

He has a point. I swing around the cream couch and take a seat in front of my laptop, opening and powering it up. Looking through my binder, I start off small and begin working on an advertisement for a new vampire book that is just as bad as the Twilight series. Once finishing it, I email the file to the author and begin searching for my next project.

In the kitchen, the only sounds that can be heard are of Ashton pulling things out and setting them on the counter followed by complete silence until his voice rings through the room. “So what is your job?”

I turn around and just barely, I can see the back of his curly head over the bar area. “I’m a freelance PR/publicist and writer.”

“You don’t seem like the public relations type of person,” he says.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t seem like the baker type when I first met you, but I was proved wrong,” I counter.

“True. So what exactly do you do?”

“I basically create ads, send some emails to publishers and sponsors, set up meetings, and sometimes put together book signings. The writing portion of my job is basically writing different forms of creative writing and sending it off to publishers for quick money. It doesn’t pay a lot but I make a stable living with my PR job, so it acts as a fun pastime.” I shut my laptop and make my way over to the kitchen where Ashton stands in front of a two tier cake with a piping bag filled with a deep purple icing.

When my feet hit the tile flooring, Ashton glances over his shoulder for a second before continuing piping lines on the cake. I move around him and to the other side of the island, placing my crossed arms on the counter and watch as he creates linear designs on the cake.

“Is this another wedding cake?” I ask and he doesn’t move his eyes away from the cake.

“Yup,” he replies and adjusts the piping bag in his hand. “The bride wanted a Mardi Gras theme and I’m testing out how the colors will look together.” He sets aside the piping bag and grabs another that is filled with a beautiful green shade. His arms move slowly and carefully as he begins piping a ribbon shape along the base of the cake.

“How many cake orders do you get usually?”

“It really depends on the season. Spring normally gets the most orders because for some reason every bride wants to get married at that time. But on average, it’s about twenty-five to thirty per month.”

My eyes widen. “Holy shit. How do you manage to make all of them?”

“I’m not the only one who makes them. My parents take on several at a time and some of the other workers at the bakery do a couple as well. I do the majority of them with Michael as my right-hand man. We get at least six done every week depending on the size.”

“Wow,” I breathe. I can barely get six projects done for work on a weekly basis and he does it all the time.

Ashton’s face is full of concentration; his eyes are slightly narrowed and his jaw clenched. He moves the turntable and extends his piping outwards. He stays fixated on his work and even as I speak to him, he doesn’t get distracted. His lips are slightly parted and when I trail my eyes up his face again, his eyes shift to me. I look away quickly and stare at the cake, but my eyes flicker back over to Ashton and a smirk plays on his lips.

It’s no doubt that Ashton is attractive—his personality shrouds that most of the time, but as I watch him work, the asshole baker who I first met is nowhere to be seen. He’s conversing like a normal person and isn’t annoying the living shit out of me like this morning. He actually looks like a decent, well-rounded person even with the smirk that hasn’t yet faltered.

I shake my head and let all these thoughts escape my mind. “I should get back to work,” I say tremulously and move away from the island. Ashton’s eyes follow me as I move out of the kitchen and back over to the living room.

“Hey, Ruth?” Ashton hollers just as I open my laptop. “Can you come here for a second?”

Reluctantly, I get up and head back into the kitchen where he is leaning against the counter. “What’s up?”

“Hold your hand out,” he demands.

My eyebrows knit together. “What for?”

He sighs. “Just trust me.” With a bit of hesitation I nod and I hold my hand towards him and he turns it to make my palm face upwards. In his right hand, he holds a piping bag filled with red icing and begins squeezing it on my hand. He pipes crescent shapes in the middle of my palm until it forms a rose that looks almost life-like.

“What’s this for?” I ask breathlessly as I examine the beautiful rose.   

“Think of it as a token of my appreciation for allowing me to be your friend.” Instead of a smirk, a warm smile finds its way to his lips and I swear I stopped breathing for a good six seconds before dropping back down to reality.

His attempt to change my mind just might not be impossible like I initially assumed.  

_________

A/N:

Why is it so hard to write these chapters? Ugh. Hopefully I’ll get into the groove of things again with this story. Thank you all for reading! Please keep on voting, commenting, and sharing! Also, if you didn’t know, I have a new Michael Clifford fanfic called Foster Home so if you like Michael with cats, then maybe you’ll like it! So please check it out! Thank you guys again!

-Rebecca xoxoxoxo

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