Page 1 of Finding Home

CHAPTERONE

Hope Morgan thought she learned her lesson on impulse buys long ago. They were almost always followed by regret. If not immediately, then definitely when the credit card bill showed up. But today, Hope couldn’t let anything, not even the threat of debt, take the joy out of her most recent splurge.

In fact, as she exited her favorite shoe store in downtown Portland, swinging the chic bag that held her new elegant, yet sexy, stilettos, she couldn’t drum up a single ounce of regret.

This wasn’t an impulse buy, but a celebratory treat. After a month of diligent online job hunting, resume editing, and pounding the pavement the old-fashioned way, she’d finally met with success.

She walked down the street, smiling as she recalled the interview she had that morning with one of the city’s biggest marketing firms. Not only was it her second interview, but it’d gone perfectly.

The first drops of cold January rain landed on her forehead as her phone started ringing in her purse. Sidestepping for cover under the nearest storefront awning, she dug out her phone and smiled when she saw the name of the company she’d interviewed with on the screen.

“Hope Morgan,” she said eagerly into the phone.

“Ms. Morgan,” came the monotone voice of the HR rep she’d met that morning. “I’m glad I caught you. We didn’t want to keep you waiting if we didn’t have to.”

A loaded pause on the other end of the line caused the first tendril of apprehension to curl in her gut.

“Ms. Morgan, you were an excellent candidate. Your education, professionalism, and experience are what had us calling you for a second interview.”

Youwerean excellent candidate. As his words sank in, her stomach dropped.

“Unfortunately…” he continued, confirming her worst fear in a single word.

Her hand holding the phone to her ear shook.

“Unfortunately,” he repeated. “We interviewed another excellent candidate, and we’ve decided to go with him as he has more experience.”

Hope said nothing. She couldn’t. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d start crying in the middle of a public street.

“Ms. Morgan, are you still there?” Monotone HR guy asked.

She took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m here. I’d like to thank you for the opportunity and the interviews. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

After the world’s most awkward goodbye, the call ended. With a sigh, she slumped against the shop window. The chic bag holding the stilettos now weighed her down, and the raindrops had turned into a full-fledged downpour.

Having moved the week between Christmas and New Year, she’d lived in Portland for over a month now. She’d given herself one month to find a job, one month to start contributing to society.

Four weeks later, she felt no closer to that goal.

Was it too much to ask to finally make her own way? To get a job on her own merits without depending on her wealthy family for support? To submit a resume without listing her influential father as a reference?

Apparently so.

The cold rain now pelted down, reaching her under the storefront’s awning, dampening her smart suit jacket and matching pencil skirt. The Pearl District apartment that she shared with her best friend, Ivy, was a twenty-minute walk away. Her heels tapped the pavement as she headed for it. If she kept up this pace, she’d make it in fifteen.

All she wanted was to get inside, go straight to her freezer, and have an indulgent counseling session with her therapists: Ben and Jerry.

Sixteen minutes later, soaked completely through and shivering uncontrollably, she reached the front door of the building she loved. Restored in the last decade, it had a beautiful brick facade. She and Ivy lived on the second floor above the popular street-level bar called Bowie’s. Ivy had been here for three years before Hope became her roommate, and Hope felt grateful because in her current state, there was no way she’d be able to afford her own place in the heart of this city.

Still shivering, Hope set down her shopping bag to attack her purse with both hands and reach the bottom where her keys were likely hiding. Just as she hunched over her bag, the front door burst open and nearly bowled her over.

“Oh, hey!” Cathy, the postal worker she’d met a few times before, sidestepped her to reach the sidewalk. “Sorry, hun, I nearly knocked you over.”

Hope scrambled to grab the door and keep it open. “No worries. I was—” She eyeballed Cathy’s raincoat with more than a little jealousy, wondering if the woman would be willing to trade it for the shoes she’d just bought. Too late. Cathy was already on her way to the next stop on her route.

Safely inside, Hope trudged up the steep staircase leading to the second floor, still digging through her purse. Where were her damn keys? When she reached her apartment door, she dropped to her knees and dumped the entire contents of her purse on the floor.

Groaning, she rifled through crumpled receipts, an assortment of lip glosses, a mascara wand, a half-eaten Luna bar, two packs of gum, and a long strand of glow-in-the-dark condoms she’d won at the bridal shower Ivy had dragged her to last weekend.

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