Page 38 of Someday Not Soon

We hang up, and I’m left staring at the phone, with absolutely no idea where to begin fixing this problem. All I know is that I have to do it for one of my very favorite people in the world, and I’ve got about twenty-four hours to make it happen.

I’m humble enough to know when I need help, and this is definitely one of those times.

Ella

Hey, are you at work?

Jude

I’m home. Is everything okay?

Ella

Would you be able to help me with something? It’s not exactly a fun thing.

Jude

Whatever it is, I’m down to help.

Ella

And here I thought I’d have to get on my knees and beg.

Jude

Careful, El. Saying things like that might give me ideas.

Ella

Sorry.

Jude

It’s not a bad thing.

Ella

So, it’s a good thing?

Jude

When it comes to you, it’s always a good thing.

Flirting with Jude feels too natural. We consistently toe that line of taking our friendship too far. With every message, and every interaction, he makes me want to push us over that edge and free fall into the consequences.

But more than anything, I just want to be near him before we disappear from each other’s lives for another decade.

A half hour later, I pull up to Jude’s house. He told me to meet him here to figure out our next step. It feels an awfullot like stepping into enemy territory. But apparently, we’re friends now, and friends hang out at each other’s houses. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

As I walk up the front porch steps, I take in the stunning craftsman. It looks like a house straight out of a magazine, with its dark wooden beams, freshly mowed lawn, and neat shrubs lining the walkway. A twinge of jealousy hits me, knowing he gets to live in this picture-perfect home that’s almost identical to the one we used to fantasize about owning all those years ago.

In a different world, maybe we would have made our relationship work through all the years of his schooling. Maybe we would have moved into this very house and built a perfect little family together in the suburbs.

Instead, we’re worlds apart. I’m alone as I can get, with no living immediate relatives, and stuck in a job I secretly loathe. Meanwhile, he has two-thirds of his perfect life secured—his dream job and dream home. All he needs now is a perfect little wife. It stings more than I’d like to admit, even though she doesn’t exist in his life yet. But she will eventually, and that’s what stings.

My heart is in my throat as I gently rap my knuckles against the wood of his front door. When he answers, all I want to do is stare at him. He was attractive to begin with, but the years have only done him well. So well, in fact, that he seems unreal with his dark hair, blue eyes, that perfect smile. Time hasn’t changed a thing, least of all my attraction to him.

He opens the door, and I step inside, my eyes scanning every detail, eager to see if the interior is what I imaginedit would be like. We had spent hours talking about a house like this—original crown molding and hardwood floors, tall ceilings, exposed beams, and a red brick fireplace. I can picture him perfectly in this space—cooking dinner over the industrial stove, reading a book in the tufted chair by the fire.

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