She nods and then she shocks me by stepping forward and giving me a hug. I wrap my arms around her, loving the feel of her tucked in next to me. I give her a short squeeze and then release her. I don’t say a word. I’m absolutely sure anything I say will ruin the moment—whatever the moment is.
It takes everything in me to let go, but I force myself to step back so she can fish for her keys. There’s a fine line between returning her hug and making her uncomfortable, and I’m determined to stay on the right side of it.
Alex slips the house key into her lock and turns toward me.
“Goodnight, Jesse.” She smiles softly.
“Goodnight, Alex.”
She steps inside and I remain on her porch until the door clicks shut.
Then I walk down her walkway with a smile that feels bone deep—one that feels a lot like belonging somewhere at last.
Chapter 8
Alex
Things are not always what they seem;
the first appearance deceives many.
~ Phaedrus
My bed isa slice of heaven—warm, soft, a nest of blankets in the cool of the house. I’ve never been one to sleep in, but today is my second day off in a row, and I’m taking advantage.
I roll over, curling into the pillow and dreamily staring at nothing. My mind rolls through last night like I’m replaying movie highlights. Jesse at the party—his watchful eyes always tracking me, reminding me of his presence. Jesse driving me home—holding my door, smiling through the dark, laughing with abandon. Jesse at my doorstep—protective, warm, manly.
Now I’m waiting for a preview of the sequel to that movie reel—something that tells me what comes next.
I don’t know what possessed me to step closer and give him that hug. He hugged me back. We weren’t on a date, but gazing into his eyes at the end of the night made me wish we were. When I leaned close, the scent of winter clung to him—crisp air,a warm hearth, and the faintest trace of spices. It wasn’t cologne. It was just … him.
I lingered in his arms a little longer than I should have. I wonder if he noticed. I normally read him well, but through the darkness and the way he shuttered his expression, standing back until I made it inside—I couldn’t get a read on him.
Even remembering it now sends a flutter low in my stomach, the kind that’s half anticipation, half warning.
Is it wrong to be thinking about him as more than a colleague? I’m here to prove myself—to fit into this community. I didn’t come here for romantic complications.
I left a painful breakup behind me in New York, and I still carry pieces of the fallout. I promised myself I wouldn’t repeat that mistake here.
I’m smiling. I shouldn’t be, but thoughts of Jesse draw up a contented smile and a warmth that’s even cozier than my bed. I love the way he becomes a little awkward at the most unexpected times, and yet at others he’s all strength and serious lines. He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.
He doesn’t see himself the way I see him. This town has taken him for granted. It upsets me to think of it—him living here all these years, the brunt of jokes, as he said himself. I want to shake the whole bunch of them. Could I be the person who makes a difference? Should I? Or is it wiser for me to focus on my original reasons for coming here?
Maybe I’m imagining all of it. He might not feel a thing for me outside a camaraderie at work. If this is one-sided, I’ll feel foolish. And I’ll have stuck my neck out for nothing, making our workplace interactions more awkward than they were the day after he cuffed me. I smile wider at those memories. Only Jesse.
As cozy as my bed is, I start to feel antsy, so I get up and slip my feet into my slippers, grabbing my phone and scrolling through social media, landing on posts of my friends in NYC.Seeing them on streets and at shops that were home to me for my whole life should send a pang of homesickness through me. Instead, I’m eager to get dressed to do something here, in Bordeaux.
I want to stop in on someone, so I shower, get in my car and drive the few blocks to a one-story white house with a smaller porch. When I knock, the door swings open and Memaw’s face lights up brighter than the lights on the town square tree.
“Well now, Alex. I’m so glad you came by. Bill’s out with his friends. They grab coffee in town on Monday mornings. Gives me a little time alone.”
“Oh. Is this bad timing?” I ask Memaw.
“No, dear. It’s perfect.” She widens the door and I step in, tugging my boots off in her entryway.
The smell of coffee, furniture polish, and something faintly floral—like powder and lace doilies—wraps around me, warm like a hug.
A slow, sly smile spreads across Memaw’s face. “You can tell me everything about you and that partner of yours and it will just be between the two of us.”
