“I know. And that’s how I want to keep it. It’s not me. Hasn’t been me for a long time.”

Ash sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I know what you mean,” he says, chuckling awkwardly, and I take a sip of my coffee and just look at him for a second when I realize he’s right. If anyone knows what it feels like, it’s Ash. After all he’s been through, everyone around him has just decided who he is and what he’s going to do, even though he’s trying his hardest just to start over. It sucks.

“Well, I figure, fuck it. Right?” He picks up a rake that had been hidden under a pile of boxes just a few minutes ago, its tines stuck deep in the sandy earth. He pries it loose and dusts it off, then uses it as a leaning post as Bruiser sidles up to him and plops down beside him in the one patch of shade. “The people around here, they don’t know you. They don’t know me, either. So fuck them. I’m trying. They’re not. And I just have to accept that. I mean—” he takes a deep breath and blows it out, like he’s trying to calm himself down before he gets too worked up “—if they can’t accept me, then I just have to live with it, I guess.”

I nod, and try to smile even though my heart is breaking for him. “Yeah,” I say. “You’ve paid for what happened. You served your time. If they can’t accept that, well, they’re not your problem.”

“Exactly,” Ash says, but his voice isn’t as upbeat as I was hoping it would be. Instead, he’s just . . . resigned. He tugs the rake free from the ground and walks it over to the shed, leaning it against the siding next to the shovel and all the other gardening tools we’ve found so far. I don’t know why my mother even had all these things. She never gardened a day in her life. Her yard didn’t even have room for a garden, not the way it was covered in junk.

“So,” Ash says, making his way back over to where I’m sitting on the porch. He draws out the word into three long syllables as I glance up from the box I’m sorting through. I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting.

“Yes?”

“Change of topic,” he says, and shoves his hands into his pockets. It’s hot enough out today that he’s ditched his hoodie, but his T-shirt is back in place. It’s a shame.

A damn shame.

“What’s with the other tattoo?”

“What?” I ask, my brain taking a minute to catch up. For an instant I’m terrified that he caught me sneaking looks at him, but when I look at his face, there’s no mocking or anger. Just curiosity. He jerks his chin toward me, and I realize he’s talking about my tattoos, not his.

“The one on your upper arm,” he says. “What does it say?”

When I realize which one he’s talking about, I can’t help it. I start laughing, because the irony is just ridiculous. He’s scowling at me a little, though, so I shake it off and clear my throat before I answer him. “It’s an old Polish saying,” I say. “It’s a saying that a friend of mine used to use all the time.” Because Roth made me work for the meaning, even though he said it every chance he got. So I’m just upholding the tradition.

“Yeah,” Ash says, rolling his eyes. “I know it’s Polish. Well, no, I don’t. But I can tell it’s not in English since I can’t fucking read it. What I want to know is what does it mean?”

I want to tell him, want to see the smile spread across his face when he realizes just what it says. But even though he smiles around me all the time, I know he isn’t happy. Not really.

I can change that. At least, I think I can. I hope. But it needs to be one thing at a time. He needs to know that all the good doesn’t just come at once and then get snatched away. There’s good in life all the time, and he deserves his fair share, no matter how bad he messed up.

“Well,” I say, drawing the word out just like he had. “I’ll give you a choice.” I set my cup of coffee down on the step next to me, and reach for my purse, pulling it into my lap. “You can either have what my tattoo means, or—” I pull out the little blue plastic bag I’d shoved in there earlier and hold it up “—you can have the present I got you.”

Ash kind of blinks at me for a second, confused. “Present?” he asks, and as I watch, his face goes through half a dozen emotions, from confused to wary to downright suspicious before ending up at hopeful in a matter of seconds. But I can still see the caution in his hopeful gaze, and it pulls at something in my chest. How long has it been since the last time he got a present? No strings attached. Just a simple gift from someone trying to put a smile on his face.

Something tells me it’s been awhile.

A long while. At least five years.

The bag trembles in my hand as I try to swallow around the lump forming in my throat. “Yeah,” I say, waving the bag back and forth a little bit, hoping to tempt him. “A present.”

Luckily for me, the store is too small to brand their bags, because otherwise it would have given away the surprise. I try not to think too hard about the fact that I really want to surprise Ash.

“You . . . ” As I watch, Ash takes a shaky breath and blows it out, reaching up to run a nervous hand through his hair. It sticks up in all directions, and he looks like a little kid. It’s awkward and adorable at the same time. If only the rest of the people in Avenue could see Ash like I do. All of his problems would be gone. “You actually bought me a present. Like, actually went out and bought me something.” He stares at me like he’s expecting me to respond, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I did, so I stay quiet until he breaks and asks, “Why?”

I can’t quite manage to stifle the groan that fights its way out of my chest. “Because I wanted to, okay?. And I bought it because I knew it was the one thing that we’d never find in this damn house.” Which is absolutely true. No matter how much random junk and crap my mother had laid her hands on, I knew that this wasn’t one of them. My mother never wanted anything to do with pets or animals in her house, especially after my dad died. “So what’s it gonna be?” I ask, and waggle the bag at him. “The present, or the tattoo? It’s your choice.”

I know what his choice is even before he makes a move, but I still can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face when he steps forward and takes the bag from me. Nor can I stop the warmth that spreads in my belly at the sight of his shy smile. I knew he’d like it, I think as he opens the bag and his shy smile turns into a freaking sunbeam. Bruiser is twining around his legs like a puppy, his tail going crazy with excitement as Ash pulls out the collar and leash combo I’d purchased that morning.

“I hope it’s big enough,” I say, kicking my legs out in front of me so that I can lean back against the wooden deck post. “I kind of had to guess.” Which hadn’t been easy. Even the pet-store people in this town seemed to have it out for me. The guy in the store had followed me around the entire time I’d been in there, and had eyed me like I was some kind of master criminal who was after his bags of kitty litter. It was unnatural.

Ash looks up at me, and I’m taken aback by the tears in his eyes. “Thank you,” he says and then hesitates. He wants to say something else. I know it. But instead he just reaches up with his free hand and scrubs away his tears before they fall. Then he leans down and starts putting the collar on Bruiser.

The silence between us grows until it becomes unbearable, so I pull myself to my feet and wipe my hands against my shorts.

“Come on,” I say awkwardly, trying to look anywhere but at Ash. “We should get back to work.”

***

I watch as Ash pulls the loaded-up station wagon out of the driveway and chugs along down the street. Finally, as it turns the corner and disappears, I let out the breath I’ve been holding for what feels like forever. Good. He’s gone.