Page 6 of Finding Home

That was why she left home right after Christmas. She needed space and distance to sort it all out. To heal and regroup until she understood what it all meant.

The day she moved to Portland was so different from everything she’d ever known. She felt a palpable sense of relief. Like a heavy coat had been removed from her.

Here, she was free to work through her conflicting feelings at her own pace. She had distance from her parents’ forlorn and guilty looks. From her brother’s watchful eye and practical reminders that things could be so much worse (thank you Joel, but not a helpful assessment when the rug had been pulled out from under her).

Here, she didn’t owe anyone anything. In Portland, sharing this apartment with Ivy, she could be her own person. Credit card debt and all.

The gentle rub of Ivy’s hand on her back pulled Hope out of her broody trip down memory lane. She hated memory lane. Too many of her memories were either bad or built on a lie.

“First of all,” came Ivy’s voice out of the fog, “you’ve got more guts than anyone I know, and if anyone wants to challenge that, I invite them to try. Second, you’ve never hidden behind your dad. The one time I recall him bailing you out, it was because I called him. And technically, even then, it was Joel who came.”

Hope lifted her head. “Ivy—” she started, not wanting her friend to dig up their painful shared past, but Ivy ignored her interruption.

“And third, you’ve been here for just over a month. This is one job in a zillion you’ve applied for. Be patient. Good things are coming.”

Ivy rose to her feet and padded down the hall toward her bedroom. “Get your hair iron and a cute skirt. We’re going down to the bar.”

The mention of the bar brought its owner, Gabriel Walsh, to mind. The possibility of seeing him again made her heart flutter excitedly. She ignored it—or tried to. A night out wasn’t the best way to cure her dwindling bank account. She hadn’t gone down to the bar for that very reason. She couldn’t afford to drink her sorrows away. Immobilized by her melancholy, she continued sitting on the couch with her new shoes in her hand. God, self-pity was a slippery slope.

But before she knew it, Ivy was standing in front of her, hands on hips, wearing a vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt tucked into a red leather mini skirt in a way that only Ivy could make look both cool and sexy. Her hair was tousled in a just-woke-up-after-a-good-fuck way, with her bangs falling over her eyes. She blew them aside.

“Wear the shoes, Hope.” She stabbed her finger at the shoebox on Hope’s lap. “If you make them worth it, then they’re not an impulse buy anymore.” She paused with a mischievous grin. “They’re a necessity.”

Ivy bent to don her black thigh-high leather boots. “Besides, everyone knows that shoes make the outfit. And if you look good, you feel good. And if you feel good, you slay. Therefore,” she said as she straightened to stand a few inches taller in her boots. “All shoe purchases are necessary purchases.”

Fifteen minutes later, Hope had squeezed herself into her black pleather skinny pants, a loose silky tank that flirted with her waistline, and her necessity shoes. Ivy had tamed Hope’s hair and insisted she wear the cherry red lipstick she’d given her as a moving-in gift.

Studying herself in the mirror, she had to agree. Looking good did make her feel better.

When she got her purse from the closet, she saw Gabriel’s jacket hanging there. She stared at it for a moment, remembering his scent when he crouched so close to her, the feel of his skin when he touched her face, his sexy half-smile when he found those damn condoms on the floor.

Not your type. Not your type.With a stifled groan, she grabbed his jacket and reached for the door.

“What’s that?” Ivy asked, pointing at the jacket in Hope’s hand. “Actually,whoseis that?”

“Gabriel Walsh’s,” Hope said in what she hoped was a casual voice, but Ivy knew her too well.

“And why do you haveGabriel’sjacket clutched to your chest like a security blanket?”

Hope raised her chin as she considered how she could explain with as few words as possible. “Because I got caught in the rain coming home from my crappy day, and I forgot my keys, and he kindly let me into the apartment.”

“I see,” Ivy said. “And he gave you his jacket because…?”

Hope narrowed her eyes, waiting for Ivy to finish her own sentence so she wouldn’t have to.

“Because,” Ivy drawled. “You were wet?” She grinned diabolically.

“And cold. Wet AND cold,” Hope emphasized as she opened the door. “Can we go now, please?”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“You’re blushing. You like this guy, who is our landlord and who also owns the bar we are about to go to.”

“Stop it! I barely know him. Idon’tknow him,” she stressed.

Ivy looked at her with a full-on grin now.

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