Page 37 of Careless Hope

I gave a quick rap on the door—a rhythmic tap-tap-tap that seemed loud on the quiet street. My fingers drummed against my thigh, callused from years of roping and riding, as I waited for her to answer. This was no ordinary hook-up; this was Caroline Cressley, the sweet, shy bookworm who’d gone off to the big city and come back better for it. And here I was, set to teach her something more personal than any riding lesson I’d ever given.

The idea that she needed lessons in the first place was wild. Sure, I could maybe believe the socially awkward Caroline from high school didn’t have much experience. But this Caroline? The confident doctor who had style and grace?

The fact that she still felt so unsure of herself when it came tothe opposite sex surprised the hell out of me. And gave me an irrational anger that had me wanting to track down any man she’d ever had a bad encounter with and beat some sense into them. Did they not see how sweet she was? How enticing?

How the hell had she never been swept off her feet?

Before I could further ponder the absurdity, the door swung open, and there she stood, her auburn hair catching the last of the evening light. “Hey, Walker,” she greeted, a hint of my same nervousness mirrored in her green eyes.

“Evenin’, Caroline,” I managed, stepping into her foyer, the warmth of her house contrasting the cool spring evening.

“Your place is nice,” I said, which was an understatement.

The foyer was grand, with high ceilings adorned by an elegant chandelier that cast a warm glow over the polished wooden floor. The walls were painted in a soft blue, with intricate molding framing several paintings of pastoral landscapes.

To the left, a graceful staircase curved upward, its banister carved with delicate floral patterns. The steps themselves were worn in the center from years of use, a testament to the life that had unfolded within these walls.

“Thanks. I’m finally getting around to decorating, but most of it was done before I moved in.”

She led me to the living room on the right, a room painted in a deep yellow. I’d never thought to paint a room yellow before, but the color looked like it was made especially for this space.

We sat across from each other, me on the edge of an overstuffed armchair that looked like it belonged in one of those fancy catalogs, and Caroline perched primly on her sofa. The space between us was all at once too close and too distant, charged with something I hadn’t expected.

“Okay, so how do we do this?” Caroline asked, her voice steady but her fingers twistingin her lap.

“Caroline, relax. It’s like riding a horse; you gotta feel it out as you go. Too much thinking will just throw you off balance.” I leaned forward, elbows on knees, trying to bridge the space with some easygoing charm. “Trust me.”

“But that’s just it, Walker. I don’t ride horses. My brain—it works best with structure, plans. I need to understand the steps before I can . . . perform them,” she explained, her gaze earnest.

“Listen,” I said, trying to ease her into my way of thinking without spooking her, “the best things in life ain’t about following instructions from a book. You’ve got to let go a little. Feel the rhythm of it.”

“Rhythm, right,” she muttered more to herself than to me, her analytical mind turning over every word. “But there’s got to be a starting point, a basic technique or?—”

“Caroline,” I interrupted gently, “you’re smart, sophisticated. You’ve got instincts. Trust them.” Maybe it was the soft pleading in my voice or the way I hoped my gaze held hers, but I needed her to see that sometimes, life—and love—required a leap of faith.

“Instincts,” she repeated, her tone shifting from doubtful to contemplative. “Alright, then. Let’s start with instincts.”

“Good choice.” I nodded, feeling a twinge of pride that she was willing to meet me halfway. “Now, let’s talk about what comes naturally to you . . . ”

Caroline’s brows furrowed as if she were struggling to grasp a concept. “What comes naturally to me?” She repeated, her lips forming the words slowly, as if tasting each syllable. It struck me then, how even in her attempts to understand the idea, she looked beautiful in her vulnerability.

“Yeah,” I replied with an easy smile, wanting to reassure her rather than overwhelm. “Just tell me what you do when you’renot thinking about it. You know, those things that feel right without second-guessing.”

She sat back against the plush cushion of her sofa, the soft yellow of the room casting a warm glow over her features. I watched as a small frown of concentration smoothed into a contemplative expression. Her eyes met mine, verdant and filled with determination.

“Helping others,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but unwavering. “Listening. Making people feel comfortable and cared for.”

I nodded, impressed by her honesty and the sincerity that shone through her words. “See, now you’re getting it,” I encouraged, leaning back in the chair with newfound ease. “That’s the real you, the Caroline that people are drawn to.”

A wave of something tender and protective washed over me then, a connection forming between us as she opened up. And for a moment, I saw beyond the confident doctor façade she wore—beneath it all was a woman who simply wanted to connect.

“That’s your foundation,” I continued, my voice softening with a rare sincerity. “You’ve got this natural way of caring for folks that shines through, no matter what.”

“You think?”

“I know. Now, that kinda thing can also be applied to dating. Even to sex. When you’re unsure where to begin, start with what comes naturally. You like to give comfort, make people feel better. Lean into that and you’ll figure out what comes next without having to think about it.

She flashed me a small, grateful smile, and the air between us seemed to warm with understanding.

---