Page 93 of Charm and Conquer

"You sound just like you did when I was a teenager." I smile, but I don't feel happy. "I listened, Mom, but that doesn't mean I believe it. I want to believe it. I'm going to try to believe it. But you could be wrong. You aren't infallible."

"She's not wrong," Honey says, her voice firm and sure.

"You are nothing like Dad," Daisy agrees. "And Asher is an idiot if he blames you for what Dad did."

"Asher's not an idiot," Honey says. "Don't you think love is enough to overcome the past?"

I stare at her, confounded. "No one said anything about love."

"But you do love him," Honey says. "I see the way you look at him. And he loves you."

Her words sink into me and my heart cracks. I hope she's wrong. I hope Asher doesn't love me. I don't want him to feel this pain. "I do love him." It feels good to finally say the words aloud. "And that's why I'm not going to force him to make an impossible decision. I'm not going to make him dump me and I'm not going to ask him to love the daughter of the man who ruined his life."

"Oh, honey," Mom says gently. "Don't you think that should be his decision?"

I swipe at my damp cheeks and swallow back more tears. "Will you be here for a while?" I ask Mom, desperate to change the subject.

"All week. The Sullivan cousins said something about stopping here next weekend for a re-match with Sam Oakley. Something about a trail race?"

I roll my eyes. I don't have the energy for a family weekend or to wonder who let the family know about the race. I've got more important things to worry about. "I'll see you when I get back."

***

The apartment complex is under construction and busy with people in hard hats climbing ladders and carrying materials. There are at least seven people up on the roofs, but I'm looking for the guy on the ground, the one with the clipboard who looks like he's in charge.

"Mr. Winfield?" I ask, stepping up to him where he stands next to a work truck. Even though I understand he's not Asher's biological father, I'd still irrationally expected Mr. Winfield to be a big guy, tall and broad like Asher. In actuality, he's not muchtaller than me, maybe five eight, five nine. He looks like he was probably strong once, but the years have softened him.

He turns to me, his face craggy with gray stubble and skin like dark leather from years of working outside. "This is a work site, young lady, you need to step out of the debris zone."

He points to the other side of the truck and I go. "Sorry about that. Do you have a few minutes to speak to me about something?"

Mr. Winfield checks his watch and tilts his head back to look up at the roof, before turning to me. "What is this about?"

"It's personal." I didn't expect him to be such a hard sell. "I'd rather not get into what it's about where anyone can overhear us."

The older man frowns, but his green eyes sparkle. "How about you start with your name? That's not too personal is it?"

"Um, no, of course not." But I don't want to say it here. I'm afraid he might react badly just at the mention of it. I clear my throat, still a bit froggy from my cold. "I'm Clover Weston, sir."

He frowns and eyes me warily. "You're the one's been twisting my Asher all into knots. The daughter of a con-artist."

"I am."

"You here to talk about Asher? 'Cause if you're looking for tips on how to beat him out for the gym, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"No, I—"

"If you ask me, you've gotten under Asher's skin. I've never seen him so crazy about a woman. He talks about you all the time, and not just because he's worried you might convince Russell to sell you the gym."

My chest tightens. I'm crazy about Asher too, but that doesn't matter anymore. "This is actually—"

"Not that I think you've got a shot, I'm sorry to say. Asher and Russell are real close and I expect Russell's just drawingthings out to give Asher time to save up his money. If you think seducing my boy is going to convince him to give up the gym, you're underestimating him."

I wince at the shot, but it doesn't matter what Bruce Winfield thinks of me. "This isn't about Asher or the gym, Mr. Winfield."

All of Mr. Winfield's good humor vanishes in an instant. He nods and points to a picnic table at the edge of the parking lot. "We can talk over there, Miss Weston."

"Please. Call me Clover."