#harrietmclaughlin

Aspen was much refreshed. She'd slept like a rock in her own bed after making sure her room was put back together as best as possible. She'd eaten her father's cooking, gotten to hug her entire family, and she already had plans on how to get Mickey back around her finger. Topped all off with the amazing massage she'd just gotten, and she was practically glowing as she strolled into the diner at the club and spotted a very familiar head of brunette hair.

"So what are we drinking? Mimosas to celebrate my return?" Arms wrapping around Hattie in a hug from the side, she let go so she could slide into her chair. "What's with this look you got on?" If there was one thing she could read, it was faces, especially those she knew sometimes even better than her own.

“hey, harriet!” asher called, having already tried to get her attention for the past minute. when she didn’t turn, he quickened his pace, long legs making it easy to catch up. being 6'3 definitely had its advantages.

david liked harriet as a worker. he did not know her as a person, which suited him perfectly well. david had never understood the need some people had to turn every workplace into a second family. he preferred to arrive with his coffee, put in his earbuds, listen to legends and myths, and be left alone to do the work in front of him. harriet allowed that. mostly.

asher could believe it that britney or anyone in this town with too much time and too sharp an eye absolutely could have sat on that photo until opening week of his shop, waiting for the exact right moment to toss it into the middle of everything and watch what caught fire, but that wasn’t the part that bothered him most. asher wasn’t ashamed of kissing ezra in public. he wasn’t ashamed of ezra at all. people kept acting like the scandal was the kiss itself, like asher should feel exposed or embarrassed, when he didn’t. what worried him was everything around it.

his mother’s surprise. the concerned looks. the people asking if he was okay with the photo getting out. the others laughing it off like, of course, classic asher stone kissing whoever happened to be available, turning his life into one more charming little story for the town to pass around. he was used to that. what he could not handle was the thought of hurting harriet. that was the piece sitting heavy in his chest as he grabbed his keys. weeks ago, under the trees, with cider on her mouth and her legs around him and every reasonable thought in his head gone useless, he had promised her he would ask her out again. not like the first time. not hungover after a hurricane with debris everywhere. he had wanted to do it right and plan something special. wanted to give her a moment that belonged only to them. and then there had been the shop with the opening. claude's confession. rowan’s song with fitz. ezra with his chickens. everything stacking up until days slipped by faster than he could hold them. he had told himself there would be time. now it felt like he had run out of it.

once aspen peeled away to spend time with the reynolds family, asher and hattie made a quiet, mutual decision to steer clear of that particular orbit for a while. so he led her toward the games instead. their hands swung lazily between them as they walked, fingers still linked, the noise of the festival rising around them in bursts of music, laughter, and bells from the booths. “okay,” asher said, glancing toward the rows of prizes hanging overhead. “i want you to look at every booth and pick whatever you want.” he squeezed her hand lightly, grin widening. “and i’ll get it for you.”

they had managed to exchange hellos earlier, before the ribbon cutting, just long enough for asher to give harriet the good frequency records shirt he had promised her then everything had happened at once. someone called his name. ruth waved him over. winnie darling needed him near the front. people were gathering outside, phones were coming out, and asher was being pulled into position to make a speech he had practiced three times and immediately forgot the second everyone looked at him. then the ribbon was cut, the doors opened, and the shop filled with people. good frequency records was suddenly alive.

people congratulated him, hugged him, asked questions, told him how proud they were, asked where the bathroom was, complimented the mural, wanted to know when the first performance started. asher moved through it all with a bright grin and a heart beating too fast, trying to be everywhere at once. somewhere in the middle of it, he lost track of hattie and not for lack of looking.

the performances were about to start when he spotted her again. asher’s whole face changed. he grinned, slipping through the crowd until he could slide up beside her, close enough that his shoulder almost brushed hers. “hey.” the word came out softer than the rest of the room deserved. his gaze moved over her face and the smile on his mouth turned hopelessly fond before he could do anything about it. then he noticed the shirt. the good frequency records shirt. his shirt on her.

asher picked his way through the carnival grounds, stepping around broken boards and soaked scraps of signage, taking in the wreckage like his brain was trying to make sense of it after the fact. he was supposed to be part of the search committee now helping look for anyone from town who was still missing. his head pounded with a dull insistence, but it was better than the night before, better than waking up to the wind screaming and the windows blasting open like the storm had decided it wanted inside. that had been terrifying. he didn’t like remembering how fast his heart had gone, how helpless it had felt.

asher dragged a hand through his damp hair, took a breath, and forced himself back into motion. one foot in front of the other. keep moving. keep looking. he was turning away from the wreck of his booth when he spotted harriet. and, instantly, his face lit up—like the sight of her made the whole morning slightly less bleak. you’d think he’d stop being surprised at this point, the way they kept ending up in the same places, at the same times. if asher believed in kismet, he’d call it that. instead, he just grinned like an idiot and headed her way.

“find any dead bodies yet?” he called, the words coming out with his usual easy audacity with dark humor as a life raft. his eyes bright like he was trying to keep the moment from getting too heavy.