Page 49 of Careless Hope

We walked up the wooden steps, the porch creaking a familiar greeting under our feet. I opened the door for her, and she stepped into the dimly lit living room. The scent of pine from the forest outside mingled with the faint hint of last night’s firewood, creating a cozy atmosphere that I usually took for granted.

“Make yourself at home,” I said, watching her take in the worn leather couches and the rustic decor that had belonged to Mama and Dad before they’d replaced them and put ‘em in storage.

“This is really nice, Walker. It feels . . . lived-in. Comfortable,” Caroline observed, her fingers trailing along the back of the couch as she walked past it.

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t just the house that felt lived-in; it was my entire life here. Every corner of this place reminded me of who I was, where I came from, and lately, where I desperately wanted to be headed—the man I needed to become.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I offered, eager to do something with my restless hands.

“Water would be great, thanks.”

I nodded and headed to the kitchen, trying not to overthinkthe way my heart raced—a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Pouring two glasses of water, I stole a moment to lean against the counter and breathe.

This was Caroline. The girl who’d left Whittier Falls as a shy, bookish teenager and come back as a woman who could probably run circles around me with her smarts. And yet, here she was, in my house, looking at me like I might have something worth offering.

“Here you go,” I said, returning to the living room to hand her the glass.

“Thank you.” Her fingers brushed mine as she took it, sending an unexpected jolt through me.

“Should we sit?” She gestured towards the couch, and I nodded, my mouth suddenly too dry to speak.

Sitting down, I tried to focus on the lake view outside the window, but it was no use. Caroline was right there, close enough that I could count the freckles dusting her cheeks, close enough that I had to remind myself to keep breathing.

“Caroline, I—” I started, unsure what I meant to say, only knowing that I had to say something, anything, to give voice to this swirling storm inside me.

“Is everything okay, Walker?” Her concern was genuine, and it was all I could do not to reach out and?—

“Everything’s fine,” I lied, managing a smile. “Just glad you’re here.”

And that was the truth, the scariest truth of all. Because having Caroline here, in my house, wasn’t like anything I’d experienced before. This was supposed to be fake, but seeing her in my home, in my world, made it all too clear that I’d somehow been developing real feelings for her. Which was not part of the plan, and had become a dangerous distraction.

“Me too,” she said softly, and her smile lit up the dim room more effectively than any lamp could.

The silence stretched between us, thick as molasses in winter. Then Caroline turned to me, her green eyes reflecting the dying light, and dropped a bombshell that ignited the air.

“I want to learn about oral sex.” Her voice was steady, but a blush crept over her fair skin.

I choked on the water I hadn’t realized I’d sipped. “You what?”

“Oral sex,” she repeated, her gaze unwavering. I knew this would come up, that was part of the deal, but the lines had blurred and the idea of her coming right out and saying it made me feel all sorts of confused. Horny, yes. But unsure how to proceed? Also yes. Confused? Extra yes.

“Caroline, you sure?”

“Of course. I need to know how to go down on a man if I want to make him happy sexually, right?”

My dick twitched and hardened at the same time a burning rage shot through my veins. This hypothetical man she was wanting to please had me ready to throw down.

Still, I’d promised her.

“Alright.” I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the weight of the responsibility she was handing me. “But we set some ground rules first. For starters, you tell me anytime you want to stop, we stop. No questions asked.”

“Of course,” she agreed quickly.

“Secondly, we go slow. We take our time, make sure you’re comfortable every step of the way.”

“Slow sounds perfect,” she murmured.

“Last rule,” I continued, “we talk about what you like, what you don’t. Open communication. Nothin’ happens without your say-so.”

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