They call me stoic, but I prefer to think of myself as Ashton Chandler.
Who am I really? Just a man who built walls around myself for various reasons–including an attempt to prevent meddlesome relatives from trying to set me up with the pretty new neighbor next door.
Yes, I know she’s pretty. I’m unavailable, not blind.
My death glares bounce right off the beautiful stranger on the beach and my frosty exterior doesn’t chill her sunshine at all. Not only that, but those invisible walls that are supposed to keep everyone (especially her) out? They shatter like wafer-thin glass the moment I see her smile. If I’m not careful, I’ll start smiling.
