Page 61 of Hiding from Hope

Like he can read my mind, as I pull up Jessie’s chat, a text comes in.

Whatever is happening here feels different. I can’t tell if I’m disappointed this isn’t some swoony love message about how he misses me, but then, also, I have no idea how to answer this glorified booty call because… well, I have no idea what we’re doing.

My heart feels heavy because despite how far I try to bury my feelings, I know I’m falling, and I’m falling hard and fast. Like a train derailed, I can’t seem to stop. He’s hung up on Jenny. He can’t let himself fall, and even if he were, he’d stop himself. He’d pull back. And pulling back when I’m falling? Who would catch me?

So I don’t second guess myself. I lock my phone and pocket it. I can’t let myself dwell on the what ifs. I don’t want to think about whether we made a mistake crossing that final line. I honestly can’t even think what I’m going to have for dinner, let alone mustering the energy to contemplate my… situation-ship.

The rest of the walk home is a blur, the trees and cars all merging to one as I let my brain empty and I try to focus simply on walking my tired sack of bones up the stairs, into the elevator, then through my apartment door. By the time I’m inside, the apartment is dark, cold, and lonely. I flick a switch… and for the first time since I moved in, I hate it.

I hate its emptiness. I hate the space and how clean it is. It smells like Rosie’s lemon cleaner and Addison’s indoor plants.

I want it to smell like home. I want it to feel like home.

Somehow finding the energy, I change into my pajamas, connect my phone to the speaker, hit play, and head for the kitchen.

Wildfire by Cautious Clay plays and my heart does a little skip.

“I love this song.” I pause a beat to turn it louder, singing along to the lyrics and getting lost in kneading the pastry for my apple cinnamon slices. It’s an easy recipe. After the pastry is made, you simply peel, slice, and coat the apples. A delicious buttery cinnamon spice mix, lay them on the pastry, cut into rectangles and bake. It’s nothing flashy, but these apple slices were my favorite post-school snack to bake with Mom. Back then, it was with store-bought pastry rather than homemade. But I need this today, need to get lost in the song and in the therapy of making some magic out of something plain.

The moment the tray of apple slices is in the oven, the song changes and Noah Reid’s rendition of Simply the Best comes on, making my heart pull tighter. I’m a tired silly idiot and I’ve put my love playlist on shuffle, and instead of powering through my tired bones, I feel the aching loneliness from before sink back in.

I need to stop doing this to myself, stop wallowing—

“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.” I had turned to change the song, and instead my heart leaps out of my chest. I must have missed the front door opening and closing. With a hand to my chest, I lean back against the counter to catch my breath.

“No god here, sunshine, just me.” Jessie winks and smiles with the delivery of his line, his shoulders relaxing, and he takes in the room as he walks with purpose toward me. Not stopping to pause or taking a moment to feel any awkwardness, Jessie uses a firm hand to grip my jaw and pulls my lips to his. His kiss is quick, demanding, and breath stealing as I feel him surround me.

As quickly as he approached, he turns, stealing a glass from the cabinet above me and filling it with water and walking into the living room.

“Umm, what… I mean, not that I’m upset by the kiss and all… Jess, what are you doing here?”

“I like when you call me Jess,” he says in a low voice, his back to me as he leans over Addison’s plants and tips a bit of the water into them. “Addison gave me a key for while she is gone, to water her plants, so I’m watering her plants.”

“But, I live here?”

“You do live here.” The smug bastard is almost chuckling as he finishes watering the plants and saunters back over to me.

“Why would you need to water the plants?” I cross my arms and tilt my head, trying my best to understand what the hell is going on here.

“She didn’t want you to be stuck with that because she knows how busy you are. Plus, I wasn’t going to say no to the key.”

“And why’s that?” He closes the rest of the distance between us, placing the glass in the sink before he comes to stand in front of me, wrapping his arms firmly around my lower back and pulling me to him.

“Because then you can’t retreat into your head and avoid talking to me about all the things we need to talk about.” I swallow. Oh. “Why’d you blow me off, Ace?”

“I didn—”

“You did. Why?” His question isn’t aggressive, just sure. Because this broody lumberjack is suddenly full of confidence, and with the way his eyes trail a burning path across my face, he can see everything. I bring my hands to my face to cover the blush and hide the way I want to cry, scream, and fall asleep all at once.

“Jessie, you aren—”

“Say I’m not ready for you.” He pulls my hands from my face and forces me to stare up at his serious eyes. “Say I can’t handle you or take care of you. I dare you.” I hope he didn’t hear my attempt to gulp down air.

“Your message was a glorified booty call.” I slap at his chest, but his eyes just darken in challenge as a half-smile pulls at his lips.

“As much as I’d love to have a repeat of last night, it wasn’t a booty call. I knew you were busy and wouldn’t have eaten.” True. “I was sussing your plans because I wanted to take you out.” He kisses my cheek delicately, and without my permission, butterflies take flight in my stomach and my chest aches.

He can’t give himself to you.

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