Page 7 of Losing Hope

Chapter Three

Hope walkedinto her big master bedroom and shut the door behind her. She knew she should probably be nervous about having this strange man in her house, but she just wasn’t. There was something about him that seemed right to her, and it wasn’t just how good he looked with his damn clothes off. She realized she wanted to spend more time with him. He made her laugh, and damn, the man turned the tables and ended up rescuing her, making it look easy as he did it. If she had to really be honest with herself, she definitely liked how it felt when his arms had scooped her up and held her. Maybe some time with another man was just what she needed.

She undid the belt around her waist and let out a long sigh. Jesus, that felt good. Unzipping the dress, she let it fall at her feet and then walked into the adjoining bathroom, taking the lamp with her. Knowing the hot water heater would have at least fifty gallons of hot water stored, she decided to take a chance on a really quick shower. She stripped out of her panties and bra and pulled her hair out of the bun she had itin.

Turning the water on, she stepped into the shower and let the cool water run over her. Not steaming hot, but still warm enough to get her feeling a bit refreshed. Hope quickly soaped up her hair, rinsed, conditioned, and then rinsed again. Grabbing her loofah, she squeezed on some body wash and scrubbed away the dirt from the day. One more rinse, and she shut the water off. She grabbed one of the towels off the rack and wrapped it around her hair, piling it up on top of her head. Taking another towel, she dried off and then applied some lotion to herskin.

Walking out into her bedroom, she found a comfy pair of black yoga pants and her favorite long-sleeved flannel shirt and pulled them both on. Whether she should wear a bra or not had her stalled for a moment, but she wasn’t a huge breasted girl, and the flannel was thick and baggy, and really, she just wanted to be comfortable. Going back into the bathroom, she pulled the towel off her head and dried her hair the best she could. Brushing out the long, blond, curly locks, she decided to just keep itdown.

She grabbed the oil lamp from the bathroom counter and made her way back downstairs. The sound of fire crackling reached her ears before she was even halfway down. The warm, smoky scent it always threw made her smile. She loved being here, power or not. As she turned into the kitchen, she could smell something else, as well. Gage was cooking?

He looked up as she entered the kitchen and smiled warmly at her. “I hope you don’t mind.” He looked at the pan on the stove, currently filled with what looked like spaghetti sauce, and shrugged. “I figured it was the least I could do since you’re stuck withme.”

“Are you kidding? If you can cook, you can stay all weekend!” She laughed and walked over to the stove so she could get a better look at what was cooking. Yep, spaghetti. Her stomach grumbled, and she looked down at it in surprise.

“Guess I’m not the only one that’s hungry.” Gage held up a bottle of wine. “Do you want a glass?”

“God, yes!” Hope took the oil lamp she was holding and set it on one of the end tables in the livingroom.

“Fire, wine, and cooking! This is better than some dates I’ve been on,” Hope joked as she walked back into the kitchen. He met her halfway and handed her the glass of wine, their fingertips brushing against each other in the process. The same surge of electricity and heat that his touch triggered earlier, tingled through her fingers, causing her to pull her hand back quickly, her eyes shooting up to meet his. His green eyes stared back, his expression intent.

She tore her eyes from his and walked past him toward the stove. “Do you need any help? Did you find everythingokay?”

“I think I’m good. When I saw it was a gas range, I almost cried. You have no idea how hungry Iam!”

Hope nodded. “For the longest time, when I was a little girl, there was a big cast iron woodstove that we did all the cooking on. Once my grandmother passed away, though, my father insisted on a putting a real stove in. My mother made him agree to gas, though, because she knew how often the power went out and wanted to make sure we could still cook if itdid.”

She moved over and sat on one of the bar stools that was on the other side of the stove.

Gage addedspaghetti to the now boiling water and then turned the sauce down to low. After stirring the pasta, he came around the counter and sat next to Hope. He could smell her sweet yet spicy scent, almost like cinnamon but then citrusy. He was tempted to lean down and inhale more deeply, but he didn’t want to frightenher.

“So, was it your mom or dad’s mom who lived here?” He took a sip of his wine and watched her. He thought she looked amazing in the dress he saw her in earlier, but seeing her now, in her element, in a flannel shirt no less, with her long hair damp and curling down her back, no one had ever looked more beautiful to him. He wanted to reach out and run his fingers through her hair to see if was as soft as it looked.

“It was my mom’s mom. My grandfather built this house for her, and my mom grew up here. When my grandmother died, she left it to my mother.” Hope took a sip of her wine and then got up and walked around to stir the pasta again. The way she looked then was unnerving, and he wished he could see right through her and into hersoul.

“So, someday, I guess your mom will leave it to you then, huh?” Gage asked.

Hope looked back at him with a sad look on her face. “It’s alreadymine.”

Gage got up and walked around the counter and up to her. “I’m sorry, Hope. You’re so young, I just didn’t even think.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. How could you know?” She took another drink of her wine, emptying her glass, then picked up the bottle and refilled it before holding the bottle up in question to see if he wanted more. He nodded, so she refilled his glass, finishing off the bottle, and then went and sat backdown.

“She died six years ago. A car accident. Right before I graduated from college.”

She looked down into her wine glass and frowned. “I mean, it’s been six years, but I still miss her every day. Life just isn’t fair sometimes. I thank God for my brother. He took care of me and made sure I survived throughit.”

“Is your dad still alive, or was he withher?”

“No, he’s still alive. He fell apart for a while after she died, though. He couldn’t get past his own grief to help us with ours.” She looked up with a sad smile on herface.

“It’s better now. He’s better now. He’s a good father.”

He looked at her for a long time, his face a blank mask, before replying, “I’m really sorry about your mother, Hope.”

He checked the pasta then and smiled again, trying to move past the somber conversation they’d just had. “This is ready. Want to get some plates forus?”

“Sure.” She got off the stool and started gathering the plates and silverware they would need, as he drained the pasta in a colander that was already waiting in the sink. She set the table and then went into the pantry to grab salt, pepper, and napkins. She brought another bottle of wine, too, and left it sitting on the counter on her way back to the table.

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