"You're joking, right?" Asa's voice is laced with disbelief. "It's like you're trying to sell some cheap romantic comedy script to me. You can't make that shit up."
"Hardly romantic," I scoff with a roll of my eyes, "but yea, trust me… I am aware how it sounds. I'm not messing with you though."
After having baked a full batch of chocolate chip muffins, I decided to take Asa on a walk down the beach, mostly to give us the time to catch up on everything that's happened during the last few months of radio silence. Filled with doubt and—as it turned out—unnecessary nervousness, I wasn't sure what to expect from our talk. But, even before we stepped out of my house, we were already back to the same invincible duo we'd been before our fallout.
I forgot how good it felt to have him by my side. H may be a silly goof most of the time, but he was right about one thing—having someone you can confide in is so freeing.
"You haven't told Sal any of this?" Asa asks as we near an old swing at the bottom of a hill that a very familiar house sits on.
"No… We haven't been that close lately," I admit regretfully, knowing that I'm mostly at fault for that. "Ever since she joined that new modelling agency back in January it's like she's become a completely different person."
Admittedly, her recent behaviour has raised alarm bells for me. She's always been overly ambitious, not only because of the desire to make her family proud, but also to prove herself worthy of being mine and Asa's friend. Which, of course, is completely irrational and unnecessary, as neither of us has ever thought of her as someone lesser than us. Still, her recent obsession with climbing the social ladder has become a bit unhealthy.
"She's been acting strange," Asa senses my thoughts before I can voice them out loud. "I think something happened to her back in April."
"What do you mean?" I ask, not even bothering to hide my surprise.
"She called me one night, sounding very distressed, but wouldn't tell me what was wrong."
I find myself increasingly conflicted when it comes to Sally. At this point, it's become obvious that she's been hiding something vital from us. By the looks of it—something that has been bothering her greatly. However, as much as I'd like to pin her shitty behaviour on this unnamed problem of hers, I can't just forget the whole Ryan situation so easily. Or the fact that she only seems to contact me whenever she needs to capitalise on my fame and status.
"Maybe you should talk to her," Asa suggests.
"Trust me, you have a way higher chance of getting through to her than me," I retort, and Asa knows not to press any further. Whenever I make my decision, it's final.
We say very little as we approach the brick wall I'd walked past so many times on the way to my favourite spot. This time, instead of continuing uphill, I sit down on the old rackety swing with Asa soon following my lead.
"This is where he lives, just a minute this way," I point to our right.
"So…" Asa muses, taking a small bite of his muffin. "Your new friend must be someone important, judging by the placement of his property."
"Quite possible," I comment flippantly.
"I mean, he's got quite an esteemed bunch of neighbours," he continues, "Brad Pitt's house five minutes that way," he points his forefinger to our left, "Ellen DeGeneres, Emma Stone, Leonardo DiCaprio…"
"So?" I stop him, unsure where he's going with this.
"You're not curious at all 'bout who he is?" I shake my head in response. "Really?"
"Really," I echo. "Not knowing his identity is the best part."
"But you must have a vague idea of who he could be?" he prompts, glancing at me briefly. "Maybe he hinted at something, accidentally or not."
"Well…" I hope my voice doesn't sound too strained. "He may be working in the music industry." A goofy smile takes over my face as I think of his silly obsession with plants. "Either that, or he's a gardener who prefers doing his job in the middle of the night."
"A musician then? Singer, perhaps?" I shake my head, now thoroughly amused at the memory of the horrible performance he'd given me last night. There's no way this guy sings for a living. With his skills, or rather lack thereof, he should be a damn mime. Although, to his defense, he was utterly wasted then. "You know that I could just research celebrities living on this street—"
"No!" I can't stop the frown that befalls my face. As soon as it happens, I school my face in its usual expression of neutrality to avoid showing just how much this topic affects me. Clearly, my acting isn't up to its usual levels, judging by the curious look Asa sends my way. "I just want this to stay the way it is… for now."
"Okay, love. No need to grow agitated," he responds lightly. "Is there something bothering you about this whole thing? You can tell me."
Hesitating, I think of how to word my half truth. How do I properly describe the situation I find myself in? If I admit that my thoughts have been constantly plagued by this enigmatic H-person, he may get a wrong idea. I could go for a more honest answer instead, which would mean telling Asa that I'm absolutely taken aback by how easy it is for me to connect with this stranger. But that, in turn, sounds bogus.
"Have you ever met someone that you just had an instant connection with?" I ask, deciding to put focus on him first. "Like… You feel that this person understands you on a deeper level. Which, of course, is completely unrealistic since you've just met."
"Of course. You," Asa says, unwavering in his answer. "And later on, Sal."
His surprise at my question is palpable. The guilt floods me all at once. It's so easy for him to say the words, and solidify the meaning of our friendship. Meanwhile, all I can think of is that I've never felt so free interacting with another person before, not even him or Sally. For me, there's always been a certain level of wariness present whenever I'd met someone new; it's just the way my brain had been programmed to work back in my early childhood.
Don't trust anyone except your parents and manager. Remain a mystery. Never let any of your real feelings slip out.
And yes, while I've certainly opened up to both Asa and Sally in time, it sure as hell hadn't been this way since the very beginning. For some reason, it's different with H.
"I didn't mean to be so forward," Asa starts after my prolonged silence. "I assumed you expected this answer when you started this line of conversation. You know I've always been nothing but honest with you."
Not about everything, it would seem, since he sure as hell didn't mind hiding his real feelings for me for years. Or so he claims.
"But, if you don't feel the same way about our friendship…" Asa trails off, and I suddenly become aware that he's still talking to me.
"Of course I do," I lie easily, covering his hand with mine. "I'm just surprised, because I feel… Similar, about that guy. And it's confusing, because I don't even know who he is, and I've barely met him like two weeks ago." Again, half truth.
"Why do you say this as if it's a bad thing?" he prods. "Is it because the possibility of someone else than me and Sal getting to know you feels so daunting?"
I scoff, "Of course that would be your natural conclusion."
"Oh come on," he snorts loudly. "We've been best friends for nearly twelve years. There have been ups and downs in our relationship, sure, but I know you. I know you hate meeting new people for the sole reason of them hardly ever seeing behind the wall you'd built around yourself. But how do you expect them to, if you never let them try?"
"They only ever see one thing," I argue. "Doherty's golden kid."
"And do you let them see beyond that? No. So stop complaining about it," he closed his mouth, but his lips were set in a firm frown. "I don't want us to argue. We've barely made up."
"We're not fighting. We are having a calm and rational exchange of opinions," I smirk, making him chuckle. This is the term we used whenever our arguments threatened to get out of hand; it usually worked well to diffuse the situation. "Hypothetically speaking, let's say you're right in your assumption about me. That I really am scared of letting someone in. How do you propose I proceed with this relationship then?"
"Let it unfold naturally. Let's see whether my prediction about either one of you eventually asking to meet in person turns out to be correct. You can worry about the problem of him learning who you are when...or if…it comes to it," he pauses briefly, locking his serious eyes with mine. "But all this can happen only after you make sure that he's not some psychopath waiting to murder you. I'm worried about you, love. You're hanging around some guy's house, alone, at night. It's not safe."
He's got a point here, I have to give him that.
"But Asa, but I told you that I don't want to know who he is," I remind him stubbornly.
"Then let me check," he requests. "I won't tell you. And I won't share it with anyone else either. Not even Sally."
I shake my head. Only Asa would want permission for something that he can do without my knowledge anyway. "This isn't a good idea."
"Why not? All I want is to make sure that you're not putting yourself in danger."
"But you'll tell me who he is!" I roll my eyes.
"I won't," he holds up his crossed fingers to his heart. "Swear to God. Besides, we don't even know whether he's someone we can research online. Maybe I won't even find anything on him."
I'm quiet for a moment, a small pout forming. "Promise you won't tell me?"
"Promise." This time it's his turn to roll his eyes at my stubbornness. Not giving me a moment to change my mind, he plucks his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. "Should I do it now?"
"Now?" I ask, surprised.
"Yeah," he sends a knowing look my way. "Like I said—I know you. Need to do this fast before you inevitably change your mind. Let's see…"
I can't help but feel a little flutter of excitement in my stomach as he scrolls through various sites that hold information on recent property sales in the area. One would presume that this would remain a private matter between the interested parties. There is no such thing as privacy in this industry though. If the person living under this address is indeed someone of importance, there will be a mention of it online.
"And…?" I murmur after a couple of minutes, noticing that Asa is now putting his phone back in his pocket. My head swimming with worry, I wonder whether I need to prepare myself for a possibly crushing piece of information. What if my new "friend" is some Hollywood hot-shot Asa and I mutually hate? Or what if he's a creepy fifty year-old man with an oddly young-sounding voice? Wait… No, that is simply not possible.
In vain, I try to read anything from Asa's face, but he seems completely unaffected. Looks like he's utilising his best acting skills. "Tell me!" I demand.
"What is there to say?" he asks with a cocked eyebrow. "I checked."
"Exactly!" I throw my hands in the air.
"Love…You didn't want to know," he reminds me with a gentle smile.
"Is he like…" I think of the proper way to phrase my question. Then, I simply shrug my shoulder. "Y'know?"
"He won't try to murder you, I can tell you that much," he says, a hint of amusement shining through. "You also might need to consider a different name for him than Psychopath or Stalker. I'm pretty sure he's neither of those."
"So you know him!" I observe, gauging his reaction, but again there is none. "You found him so fast, which clearly means you didn't have to do a deeper search."
"Accurate observation, Miss Doherty," he jokes.
"On a scale 1 to 10, how famous is he?" I try again, unable to quell my curiosity any longer.
"Again, you did not want to know, and I am honouring your wishes," he retorts in a fake posh accent. I can tell Asa is drawing much pleasure from this conversation. "Remember that you can just check it yourself if you want."
"I just need to know… Is there a possibility of me bumping into him somewhere?" My gaze flickers between his warm eyes.
"Let's just leave it up to fate," Asa answers mysteriously.
__________
The moment I arrive at my favourite spot, I can already tell it's going to be different this time.
A large, hand-woven pink blanket is strewn across the spot where I usually sit. I don't even need to look closer in the dark to spot the four glass food containers lined in the centre of it, accompanied by a small bottle of water. Now the ominous text I had received earlier, warning me to arrive on an empty stomach, is beginning to make sense.
Stepping forward, I turn on flashlight mode on my phone to inspect the note and a single tulip duct-taped to the fence.
"Cherry, you're late," he greets me in the same cheery tone he usually adapts around me. "Was wondering whether you bailed on me and I'd have to eat all this by myself."
"I wasn't aware we had agreed on an hour."
"Oh, but we did," I can basically hear the smile in his voice. "I told you to meet me at ten, which you answered with a 'maybe', so I proceeded to pester you until you gave me a 'fine' about… " He trails off, and there is a short pause during which I imagine he's checking his phone. "...Five texts later."
"That 'fine' applied to an entirely different question," I bicker.
"You have an answer for everything, don't you Cherry?" he grumbles, and I smile at this very accurate description of me.
"What's all this?" I change the subject, referring to the food in front of me.
"Well, I foolishly asked you to join me on this fence date before I realised that I have no clue what you eat," he admits sheepishly. "So, there's a vegan, vegetarian, and pescatarian version…"
"Which one is the 'I eat it all' box?" I tease, just to get a reaction out of him.
"Uhm," he seems to falter for a second. "I don't know why, but I somehow assumed you don't eat meat. My bad. But I can order somethin' real quick if you just wait—"
"H, relax, I actually don't eat meat that often at all," I can't help but chuckle at the little stammer in his voice. The silence that befalls us after that line is thick with tension, until I can't take it anymore and snap, "What?!"
"You—" he sounds both befuddled and thrilled at once. "You just called me 'H'!"
"N-no," I fumble, my voice cracking, not in an endearing way either. "You heard it wrong. Clean your ears or something."
"My hearing is just fine, love," he responds slyly, "and so is my personal hygiene. What have I done to deserve this honour?"
I rack my brain for a sarcastic comeback, but it's hard to think when I'm admittedly a bit taken aback by all the sweet gestures he's been bombarding me with. The little notes, flowers, comforting me whenever I'm sad, and now preparing a full-blown picnic for me—it's all certainly working in his favour. He knows how to charm a person, and he does it well.
"It's the free food. Usually does the trick," I finally settle on saying, keeping my voice controlled.
"So you're saying it was that easy?!" I bite the inside of my cheek at his overexcited tone. He truly can be an adorable dork. "All it took was cooking for you… Should have thought of it ages ago."
"Cooking?" I repeat dubiously. "You cooked all this?"
"Yes," he answers through a mouthful of something. Just then, my phone pings with an incoming text.
H: Stomach is the way to a woman's heart ❤️ H x
"Why are you texting me?! I'm right here!" I whine.
"I needed visual aid," he says, no doubt referring to the heart emoji.
I roll my eyes at his foolishness. "You can stop with the 'H' at the end now. You won."
"Yes!" he whoops in joy.
I grin widely, because his positivity is infectious, and I can't resist feeling it too even though he'd just tricked me into finally getting what he wanted.
Then, a sudden idea floods my mind—an entertaining way of testing his honesty. And also...a little payback. "I'd love to hear all about the process of making these dishes. I'm a bit of a foodie myself," I say innocently.
"Sure," he answers, no hesitation.
Popping the first container open, I see a rather appetising mix of macaroni, walnuts and spinach dressed in orange sauce. A simple pasta in pumpkin sauce, it would seem.
But… does he know the ingredients?
"Ah, that's really good," I compliment honestly. Chewing on the food slowly, I search for flavours that anyone who's not well versed in the art of cooking would miss. "What spices did you use?"
"Not much, salt and pepper for taste." Just as I'm about to call him out for being a liar, he adds, "Ah, and nutmeg."
I waver in my resolve, for a moment considering that he may have in fact cooked the dishes in front of me. But just as I consider it, I immediately reject it. No way this man can be an excellent cook too.
Lucky guess, that's what it was.
"What about the blue one?" I ask, referring to the container with an azure lid.
"It's a simple baked salmon recipe. You basically rub it with a mixture of melted butter, rosemary, garlic, thyme, oregano and a bit of brown sugar. Add some lemon juice, salt, pepper and place in the oven for fifteen minutes," he lists it all out so slowly that I feel like I could fall asleep before he finishes his thought. "I am a decent cook, Cherry, but anything more complicated is outside my skill range. Though I'd like to learn. I love learning new things," his voice takes on a teasing edge. "Is the interrogation over now? I'm hungry."
I feel heat rise in my cheeks despite the chilly air. Looks like my attempt to make him crack under pressure wasn't as subtle as I'd thought. "I like the pumpkin pasta the most," I offer meekly.
"You better, it's my mum's recipe," he retorts threateningly, as if I'd get my ass beaten for even considering a different answer.
"Tell her to add garlic though," I answer casually. "Spinach needs garlic. It's totally flavourless on its own."
"Fuck me! I'd hoped you wouldn't notice, but it was in the recipe, I just forgot to buy it this morning," he admits with a groan. "Mum would be so disappointed in me."
It's funny how just a little mention of his mother and their obviously close relationship causes my heart to clench in pain, a pang of jealousy following soon after. Being around people with picture-perfect families has always been a particularly painful ordeal for me. No matter how hard I try to stop myself from feeling that way, I always end up with the same depressing set of thoughts.
"You cook with her often, then?" I blurt out, my verbal filter unable to stop the words from escaping my lips. I mentally facepalm myself.
He doesn't seem to be taken aback by my personal question though, plainly stating, "Not as much as I'd like. What about you?"
"Cooking is somewhat of a hobby of mine. I haven't been doing much lately, so experimenting in the kitchen has become my way of passing the time," I find myself sharing. "I prefer baking, though. It's relaxing."
"What's the last thing you baked?" is his next question.
"Chocolate chip muffins."
"Mhm, tell me how you made it?" he requests in that deep and inquisitive tone of his. I've noticed that it's his thing—asking others to talk so he doesn't have to do it himself. He truly is gifted in the art of evasion. Either that, or he just likes to listen and drink in other people's life stories.
Regardless of which option it is, I end up recounting my day to him. I start by telling him about a surprise visit from a friend whom I haven't seen in months. About the way I felt both terrified and thrilled to see him again.
All of it without names, places, or any possibly revealing details.
At some point, I move on to the part where Asa and I baked together, complete with a detailed step-by-step recipe. However, it's when I mention Sally that he grows truly interested.
"Why do you think your friend is hiding things from you?"
"I think talking to my…other friend…helped me realise that her behaviour has been off for the last few months at least," I admit.
"And both of you are only noticing it now? You said she's your best friend," H points out.
"I guess… Maybe I was trying to convince myself that nothing was wrong." Plausible deniability. Sometimes it's so much easier to pretend the problem doesn't exist instead of facing it head-on.
"And you never tried to ask her about it?"
"I did!" I huff, because his question sounds almost accusatory. "She doesn't want to talk. She pretends it's nothing, and it's not like I can literally force the truth out of her."
"But you're confident she's hurting?" he checks.
Biting down on my lip, I shook my head at myself, feeling my chin shake. "Yes."
"Then you need to keep trying," H says firmly. "Sometimes people hide the truth because they're ashamed, or it's too painful to admit. But nothing good ever comes out of lies."
"I don't like putting my nose in other people's business. Everyone deserves some privacy." Or at least, that's how it should be. Because the reality is much, much different—especially for people like me.
H lets out a small chuckle, more like a snort. "That I agree with."
His fast and blunt response makes me think back to my afternoon outing with Asa. How his online search lasted no more than a few minutes. How easy it was to find information on the man behind the fence.
He's just like me, I realise. He's struggling with the exact same problem of constantly being in the public eye, of having to fight for every brief moment of privacy.
However, out of the two of us, I am the only one aware of our similarities. And it needs to stay that way.
Drawing in a long breath, I ask, "How do I make her talk?"
"I don't know the right answer to that question, but I guess you just need to make sure she feels comfortable enough to open up to you."
"That's it? That's your advice?" I sigh, feeling utterly dejected. Seeing how I've learned the hard way just how persuasive this man can be, I was expecting better guidance from him.
"I'm no expert, Cherry."
"Are you joking right now?" I frown. "You keep bending me to your will! And I keep falling for it, time after time. How do you do that?"
"Wrong. I've never had to try so hard before. It took me hours to convince you to come here this evening. It was more texting than I've done this entire month," he chuckles. "Not to mention the weeks I spent trying to make you say 'H' instead of some witty insult. Though I have to admit, it was quite entertaining. M'gonna miss that."
"Don't worry, Pumpkin, we can always revert to our old ways," I smirk.
"Cherry, no!"
I laugh at his expense.
"So, how do you usually make someone comfortable enough to open up to you?" I say, asking a follow-up question to his earlier statement.
"Well…" he's musing now. "Eye-contact is important. With you, I don't have that luxury. Hence why I'm forced to try a different approach."
A shiver runs down my spine. In my mind, I can almost picture a set of eyes burning into mine. Though I have no idea what they look like—whether they're big or small; brown or blue; round or narrow—I am absolutely certain they're striking.
"What if that doesn't work?"
"If you're out of options…" he pauses. "Well, then you need to get her drunk."
Now that's a proper piece of advice.
__________
Here's another chapter, I hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you for all the reads and votes this story got since the last update. It doesn't seem like much, but considering that it's a new book, it makes me really happy.
Let me know your thoughts on this chapter. What secret is Sally hiding? Will Asa end up spilling H's real identity to Cherry? And what did you think of their little fence date tonight?
Any Fine Line lyric references you picked up this time?
Xx Cathy
💫 Please show your support and vote by clicking the little star below. ⭐👇