Near Touch

Chapter 15: Red Herring

"Dad, is that really necessary?" Amy called out, her hands buried inside the sleeves of her shirt. She aimed a kick at the grass in front of her house which was still a little damp from the afternoon. Turning away from her father on the front porch, she tried in vain to warm her cold ears. The freezing November night was apparently the most opportune moment a parent could go bat-shit crazy.

Ashton offered an apologetic smile. "I couldn't remember which one was your window."

Amy wanted to sound unfazed when she addressed the poor, confused boy in front of her but before she had a chance, her father's voice rang sharply from behind - "I do not appreciate young men who throw rocks at my house."

It would have been fine if only he didn't have his hunting shotgun to drive his point above and beyond.

I can't believe this is happening to me right now, Amy thought reddening with embarrassment.

"At least he has the grace not to climb inside her room," Anne chided from inside the living room. Leigh laughed, peeking like a puppy from the window, thoroughly enjoying herself at this nightly neighborhood circus.

Amy's father didn't relent. "I don't care! His father still owes me poker money."

"Dad, please just stop," Amy muttered, rubbing her neck. "Ashton I am sorry, but this really isn't a good time."

He shook his head, nervously running a hand through his short, sandy hair. "I know. I was just worried because you weren't answering your phone."

She studied her feet, feeling overwhelmed. Amy mumbled incoherent excuses, shivering slightly as a rogue breeze rustled the white ash tree in her neighbor's yard. She missed her beanie.

"Here," Ashton said, taking off his fawn jacket. But just as he moved to wrap it around her shoulders, her father violently pointed the weapon in his direction. Ashton looked at him with his full megawatt puppy-eyed stare - the one that could easily melt stone-cold statues - and his arms raised in surrender.

It didn't work.

"Dad, stop embarrassing me!" Amy whined, burying her scrunched-up face in her hands as she sought refuge in a mess of tawny hair.

Maintaining distance with a tight-lipped smile, Ashton gingerly handed the jacket to Amy who gratefully shrugged it on. It was soft, warm, and the closest thing to comfort Amy had felt all day. "So, what did you wanna talk about?"

"It's alright. I'll tell you about it in the morning," Ashton answered, taking a step away. Whatever form of mad courage had seized him seemed to have been doused with her father's overprotective rage.

Amy felt the moment come to an end but she wasn't ready to let him go. He was one of the few normal things in her life. Her words tumbled out in a breathy rush. "C'mon you cannot possibly expect me to survive the suspense, Ashton."

"Trust me, you have much better odds of survival than I do right now," he said, throwing a cautionary glance at her father, who had thankfully lowered the weapon by then.

Amy could feel that he yearned for her touch. An unfamiliar longing hung between them, like fine spider silk caught in dewy dawn. Ashton thrust his hands deep into the pocket of his jeans and began walking away. But it wasn't supposed to end like this. Not without knowing.

"Please tell me?"

Ashton paused in his tracks, looking back quizzically. He mulled it over, looking impossibly cute. "Meet me at the DQ tomorrow?"