Page 8 of A Little More Hope

I tried to speak, but the lump stuck in my throat prevented any words from getting past. “Hi,” I eventually croaked. Clearing my throat a couple of times, I tried again, louder this time so he’d hear me through the glass. “Hi, I’m Mason. Mason Wilder.” I squatted down, my eyes level with his. His grin widened, lighting up his whole face, and I was utterly mesmerized.

“Mason,” he confirmed, and I liked how my name sounded in his smooth voice.

This weird scenario of us talking, one on either side of a glass wall, should feel stupid, but for some reason it wasn’t at all. He’d sensed my distress and intuitively worked out how to help overcome the issue. No one had managed to make me relax in months, yet he’d managed to do so in seconds with hardly any effort at all.

“I wanted to come by and introduce myself.” He gestured with his head toward the other house. “I moved in next door”—he scrunched his face—“which you probably guessed by now.”

I smiled. Actually smiled. “Yeah, I figured you had.”

He turned sheepish. “I think I might have caught you off guard last night.” His statement was nicely phrased, and far better than saying he’d scared me half to death. “I’m sorry,” he continued. “I should have indicated I was there instead of hiding in the shadows.”

“It’s fine,” I said, trying to minimize my reaction as if it was nothing, instead of the panic-inducing episode it turned out to be. “I guess I didn’t expect anyone to be there; that’s all.”

“Yeah, I understand. I’d have gotten the jitters too if I found someone skulking around in the dark.” He grinned at me, and I automatically grinned back.

“What happened to the previous owner?” I asked. “The place looks lived in from what I’ve seen.” As soon as the words came out, a flush crept up my cheeks as I inadvertently revealed I’d taken a look inside.

From the outside the house appeared unoccupied, as the exterior was fairly run down, so I had only checked the place out to satisfy my professional curiosity. And to maybe pass the details on to Ty since he dealt with the housing side of the business. However, a closer look had me changing my opinion. A half-read newspaper sat on the arm of the sofa, reading glasses resting on top. An empty plate and a mug were placed on a small metal table beside it. Plus, clothes were piled up on an ironing board waiting to be attended to.

“Went over to take a peek, huh?” he teased.

“It— No, I—” This was silly. Since when did I get tongue-tied around people?

“The house does need a little work.” Thankfully, he let me off the hook, though a little work didn’t in any way cover what was needed to bring the place back from its current dilapidated state.

“So, you do get out?” he asked. “You don’t stay inside all the time?”

I shook my head. “No, not all the time.”

He mulled my answer over. “I guess I’m the only me who has you wanting to run and hide behind locked doors then, huh?” There was something odd about the way he responded, the resignation in his tone confusing me. “It belonged to my aunt,” he continued softly, and I had to take a second to work out we’d returned to my earlier question. “She died. Heart attack.” He looked away, his face pinched. “I wasn’t there.”

“I’m so sorry.” I replied, not sure what else to say. I was never much good at handling other people’s emotional stuff, empathy not being my strong point. But here, with Ashton, I had the urge to comfort him, to ease some of his pain. Not questioning why, I twisted the key, pressed down on the handle, and pulled the door keeping us apart open toward me.

“Come in,” I urged gently, surprised at the calmness in my voice, because in my chest my heart pounded like a drum. What was I doing letting him inside? I didn’t know him, didn’t know anything about him. He could be waiting to lull me into a false sense of security before attacking me, for all I knew.

I was being irrational, and of course, Ashton wasn’t likely to be an ax murderer or shoot me in the head, but the ever-present fear always simmered below the surface, ready to break free, given the slightest opportunity. I tried hard to work through that fear, to beat it, not let it win, but staying strong was proving tougher than I expected.

The warmth returning to Ashton’s face at my gesture partly eased my turbulent thoughts, confirming letting him inside my sanctuary had been the right decision. I’d have to be careful, but as long as I remained vigilant and prepared to fight, I’d be okay.

Scrambling to my feet, I stood awkwardly while Ashton got calmly to his as if trying not to spook me. He placed the chair in its original position, which I liked, his consideration showing politeness and respect. He walked over to me, crossed the threshold and entered the house. Keeping his distance, giving me space, he held out his hand. I eyed it suspiciously. Should I reciprocate? He might yank me forward if I did, twisting mine behind my back before attacking me. Looking up at the expression on his face, it was clear he sensed my struggle, and I marveled at how intuitive the man was. Did he act the same with everyone, or only me?

He didn’t try to force me, instead he stayed exactly where he was, hand extended, waiting. After an age, I lowered my eyes to watch and tentatively reached across the space placing my own hand in his, his slim fingers automatically enclosing me in his grip.

I hadn’t let anyone touch me since I’d come out of the hospital so wasn’t in any way prepared for how the sensations of his fingers on mine affected me. His hand was warm, his palm smooth, but the tingling electricity feathering over my skin and up my arm was what surprised me most.

Having been without physical contact for so long, my brain registered every minute detail about his response to me—the pulse under his skin beating faster than normal, the warmth from his hand growing, getting hotter the longer we were linked together, the slight catch of his breath.

All these tells registered as our hands entwined, and in that second, I’d never been so connected to anyone in my life.

“You okay?” Ashton asked me, his voice deeper, huskier, without the glass barrier separating us.

Nodding and realizing I still held his hand, I reluctantly released him, cooler air swirling around my palm as my arm lowered to my side.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I said, and I got a shrug in return, his response indicating he wasn't going to say any more about his aunt. “Please, won’t you sit down?”

He walked over and dropped onto the sofa making himself comfortable, his eyes taking in the room. After he’d done a sweep he whistled, long and low, making me smirk. “Nice place.” The fingers, which moments before were shaking my hand, traveled over the dark black fabric on the sofa, absently caressing the fibers, making me wonder how they’d feel gliding along the nape of my neck.

Jolting at the thought, I gave myself a mental shake, trying to figure out where the notion had come from, and deciding I must seriously be lacking female company if I kept thinking about some guy’s fingers touching me. Yet I couldn’t look away as he placed his arm on the back of the sofa, the only thing missing being someone for it to be draped around.

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