Page 33 of Hiding from Hope

In the next breath, her smile spreads across her face as she turns and heads to the couch.

“I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. That one is Charles Dickens, A—”

“A Tale of Two Cities. I know it well.” I can’t fight the smile on my face, and I trail after her as we sit on the couch next to each other, but enough distance for her to sit sideways, facing me, folding a leg up as her gaze falls on the book in her hands, moving over the cover appreciatively.

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. Wuthering Heights.” She says that one in a different tone of voice, one I hadn’t heard before, and when she raises her eyes to mine, there are words within them that I can’t pick, can’t name. “‘I am in you, and you in me, mutual in divine love.’ William Blake.” Her smile softens as her eyes search me and it feels like I’m right back in my childhood home. The two of us, in the quiet, comfortable silence, sharing something we can’t quite work out. Like I was then, I’m trapped. I can’t tear my gaze from her, can’t drive my mind to find a distraction or think of all the reasons it’s bad to want her.

This intelligent, light, funny, and stunning woman. It feels like… like… “‘I am yours. Don’t give myself back to me,’” I say, my voice rough from my dry throat. Her eyes bug before she blinks, and they go back to normal. Her chest rises and falls to the pace of my heartbeat.

“Rumi,” I finish. It might not be from any one classic, but it fits all the same.

She wets her lips, and I track the motion before her gaze drops briefly. Before she looks back up to me and her eyes sparkle, the ocean in the morning sun as her mischievous grin–my favorite of hers–spreads beautifully across her face. “‘You are, and always have been, my dream.’” I tilt my head, not recognizing that one, and narrow my eyes at her as she smiles even larger. “The Notebook.” I laugh, louder than it deserved, but purely because she found herself hilarious and I can’t help myself.

“Ace, that is not a classic.” I shake my head, the tension there but not as taut.

“Well, it’s a classic for me. That is where all girls first learned about love.”

“What did The Notebook teach you about love?”

“Well…” she trails off, leaning her head against the couch and looking to the ceiling for answers. “You know, really, not much.” She laughs and then looks back to me. “Maybe that it’s normal that I can’t make decisions. Except if my future husband yells at me for it, I think I’d slap him instead of cry.” She returns her gaze to the book and continues to laugh at herself.

“Maybe the lesson is not to settle for someone who will yell at your indecisiveness. Instead, find someone who knows you enough to make the decision for you. Or wait you out until you’re ready to decide,” I say simply, finding it completely unacceptable that she’d settle for a husband who would be anything but patient, loving, and obsessed with her. Indecisiveness or not. Or he could fucking grow a set and anticipate her needs. She’s Casey Baker, not a fucking Akkadian script that needs translating.

She looks at me with big blue eyes and a surprised smile, but pushes on with a big breath, falling further into the couch. “But it would be nice to find a guy who promises to build me a big house with a wrap-around porch, on a nice bit of land by a pretty lake. Now that would be a dream.”

“You want a big white house and a lake when you grow up, Case?” I ask, trying to sound like I’m poking fun. She giggles softly and almost bites her thumbnail, and I watch as she stops and stares a moment at the ring I gave her. A content smile warms her face as she slowly twists it and then replaces her hand in her lap. “I always imagined I’d move somewhere more remote, away from the crazy city, have land, space, and maybe a lake. Then I could raise my hoard of kids in the safety and tranquility of open air and spacious land. My little section of peace in this world.” She’s wistful as she says it, all the while looking out the window behind me, to the city.

“Sounds like a fantasy,” I say softly. She has plans and a whole life to make them happen.

She smiles and nods, her attention back to the book. “I really do love this gift. Thank you, Jessie.” I nod and pull my lips into a tight smile, trying to find anything to keep her here. Something to keep her talking to me, despite me trying to ignore my attraction and desire for her. It’s impossible not to notice how thoroughly she clears the sting of loneliness. Looking at me with those big blue eyes and heart-breaking smile. I want her to fill this space, every space, and never leave.

“So, walk me through the rest of this recipe. Mom’s going to ask me about it, and I need to not sound incompetent.” Her laugh fills the room as she throws her head back on the couch, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop myself from seeing how perfect she looks here. In my space.

Jessie

“Door’s open!” Mom calls after I’ve knocked. I swing it open, letting myself into her quaint apartment. It’s in an older building, but the owners before her renovated. It has the classic moldings, higher than usual ceilings, original wood flooring, with creamy colored walls. She’s decorated it with minimalistic designs, from artwork to greenery, the furniture simple, but elegant. Very Lillian.

“I’m so happy to see you, Jessie!” she coos from her side of the kitchen as I make my way in and put the dessert container on the counter. I make my way around her, place a kiss to her cheek before grabbing a beer from the fridge and sitting at the table.

“You made something?”

“You asked me to?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Well, I figured you’d buy something. I didn’t know you baked.” I shrug at her.

“Jenny taught me some things back in the day.” Something uneasy settles in my stomach at the thought of bringing Jenny up, when Casey was the one that helped me make the Scottish Macaroons. “I actually had help with this one, though. A, uhh… friend, she picked the recipe and showed me how to make it. A family recipe, apparently.” I’m rambling and my nervousness must be evident, because I never speak to mom about this crap and she gives me a knowing look.

“A female friend?”

“Don’t look at me like that. We’re just friends.”

“And when do I get to meet this friend?” She pulls her lips into her mouth to smother a laugh, and I roll my eyes.

“Relax, you already know her. It was Casey, Addison’s friend… from Great Falls.”

“Oh, finally.” She slaps a hand on the counter and starts laughing before busying herself with the rest of dinner.

“What the hell do you mean by finally?” I sit up straighter, suddenly defensive.

---