Asher planned on going right home, tired from the long day, but he made a detour, arriving at Clara’s house. The simple thought of her brought a smile to his face and this odd flutter in his stomach. The real thing, Bowie called it; could it be? Lights glowed outside the clinic as well as on her porch. At this hour Asher expected to find her lounging inside, Tatters, her nickname for the fuzzy fella, somewhere nearby. Would she have already consumed dinner? Should he have stopped to get something along the way? If he stayed was there any chance he’d be able to weasel out of her the truth on her feelings of Valentine’s Day? Maybe he should ask her outright.
Or not.
Asher frowned. Who knew this was so tricky? Then again, why do I keep expecting this relationship to be like my previous ones
