Page 9 of Someday Not Soon

Not seeing him is for the best. Because seeing him would only trigger a flood of even more memories.

And more memories are the last fucking thing I need right now.

I arrive at the oceanside mansion Friday morning. Madi and her fiancé Noah made the decision earlier this year to combine their bachelor and bachelorette party. In lue of separate events, they opted for this particular ritzy oceanside rental with the intention of bonding both sides of their wedding party. While I’m disappointed I won’t get to witness Madi’s boisterous laugh while oiled up, loin-clothed strippers gyrate around her, I am looking forward to being near the ocean. This will be as close to a vacation as I’ve had in years.

I type in the code to unlock the heavy plank front door, and step into the quiet Spanish-styled mansion. I’m the first one here, since Madi convinced me that a change of scenery from the dead-parents-home to a seaside mansion would do my mental health good.

Looking around, I feel like I’ve entered into a third dimension. The place is beyond gorgeous, with breathtaking architecture throughout—arched windows and door frames, exposed dark beams against gleaming white walls, and breathtaking floor-to-ceiling windows. The entire front of the house offers a panoramic view of the swirling ocean right beside the property. The focal point of the foyer is a wrought-iron railed wooden staircase, spiraling gracefully upward like a corkscrew, connecting all three stories.

After exploring the downstairs, I ascend the wooden staircase. Every step I take produces a creak from the stairs, slicing through the stillness of the house. In each hand, I carry plastic shopping bags full of party food and bachelorette essentials. Although it’s a combined partynow, I couldn’t have Madi miss out on the classySame Penis Foreverbanner, and penis-shaped lollipops.

But once I’m nearly to the second floor, I freeze mid-step. I hear the faint sound of an authoritative voice emitting through speakers. It drones on and on, accompanied by the rhythmic thump of rubber soles walking across the hardwood floor.

Either I’m in the wrong house or there’s been a break-in. Madi had told me no one else would be here until after 5:00 p.m. When I pulled into the driveway, there had been no other cars beside my own.

Dropping to all fours, I crawl up the final steps to catch a glimpse of where the noise is coming from. The hard flooring bites into my knees as I lean forward to listen.

My stomach drops. That drawling voice is clearly from a TED Talk.

And there’s only one person I know who loves those damn speeches.

Jude motherfucking Beckett.

Perhaps I’ll be lucky, and it won’t turn out to be him. Maybe this particular burglar also has a fondness for motivational speeches? My brain dishes out excuse after excuse of how this possibly cannot be the one person I really hoped to not see.

Poking my head around the corner, I catch sight of the intruder’s backside. He’s a tall man with a deliberately messy, dark head of hair. Also, his ass isn’t half bad. It’s actually really fantastic.

Fucking hell. I’m 82 percent sure that’s Jude standingthere. But the other 18 percent isn’t so convinced. Ithasbeen a decade since I last saw him after all.

For all I know, he could’ve shrunk five inches or gone completely bald. I’ve done everything I can to block out any news about him, to avoid even the slightest mention of his name. The reminder cuts too deep. And I think Madi, with that unspoken intuition of hers, knows better than to bring up her brother. For the most part, she’s kept him out of our conversations, and I’ve been grateful for it—until now.

There’s still time to turn back around and go downstairs. Maybe leave the house altogether. Drive the full thirty miles back home so I don’t have to come face-to-face with him for the first time since he left ten years ago.

When Madi told me her brother couldn’t get the days off of work, I thought, perhaps for the first time in my life, I did have some luck on my side. Best case scenario, I imagined her brother and I would make eye contact on their packed wedding day, never speaking, and maintaining that same distance we’ve become so good at.

This…this is the worst case scenario. There’s no buffer of anyone else. Only us. Seeing each other after ten years. After we had the best sex I’vestillever had. After I fell for him and then woke up to him gone one morning.

“Hello?” Jude steps out from around the corner. We both jump, startling one another.

“Oh my god. You scared the hell out of me.” I breathe hard, hand on my heart, as it pounds from shock. The sight of him is like a tidal wave, nearly knocking me over with the amount of unresolved issues from our past.

He looks equally as shocked, looking me up and down with wide eyes, a hand tugging on the ends of his hair. “Holy shit. Ella. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” I reply, awkwardly. As he takes in the sight of me, a shiver goes up my spine. But I swallow that feeling down and feign casualness. “I thought you were robbing the house. I was ready to throw my shoe at you.”

“Not sure how much damage a pink runningshoe would do,” he replies, with an amused smile.

“Technicalities.”

He laughs, and I resent the flicker of pride I feel at having made him smile. I shouldn’t care. I still want to hate him, even though there’s really no reason to, considering it all happened so long ago.

I’m not sure if my heart is still hammering away due to scaring each other, or if it’s because somehow he’s gotten even more attractive over the last ten years. It doesn’t seem like it’d be possible, considering he was already the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. Yet, here we are. Time has only done him well. The lines and angles of his face are more defined. The day-old scruff on his jaw contrasts the blue of his eyes. His once gym rat body is still fit, but more lean. He’s familiar and different all in the same breath.

Gripping the back of his neck, he asks, “So how’ve you been? How’s life?”

“Doing okay. Washington is beautiful. Work is good.” It’s a half-face lie.My parents I’ve never gotten along with are dead, leaving me with a wealth of complicated grief. I’m lonely as hell in a new state all by myself. And work is wildlyunfulfilling. But word-vomiting all of that truth seems like a little too much to off-load on him.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replies.

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