“I’m compelled to ask you the same question,” he said. “Do you think I’m the same as him?”
Silence filled the library, and I felt conflicted, trying to see things from a different perspective, trying not to let my scars taint what was before me now.
“No,” I whispered.
“Me either,” he responded, and the space between us became charged with an electric sort of energy at this realization.
I felt myself wanting to go over to him. To feel his touch again. I wanted to let my walls down completely now that I’d let them fall halfway. How nice it would feel not to hold back anymore.
But I had to. Because I couldn’t compromise everything here. There was a risk of getting hurt again, only in different ways.
Even if I wasn’t afraid of him in the way I was of Dr. Pike, I still didn’t want to get involved with my boss and my landlord. It was asking for something to explode. It would be like holding a match near a pile of perfect kindling.
I cleared my throat. “I appreciate you listening to me. I haven’t really gotten all that off my chest before.”
“Me either,” he admitted.
“Jay—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Hope. We can just let this moment be what it is. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Thank you.” I felt my whole body relax a little.
“You should get some sleep.”
I reached for my package and held it in front of my chest like a shield. Thankfully, it was dark, so he couldn’t really see the blush tinting my cheeks.
“Yeah, I probably should.”
I turned to leave the library.
“Are you still okay to go with me this weekend to the CE conference?” Jay’s voice suddenly echoed off the tall ceiling again.
I turned back to face him. “Yeah, I’m planning on it.”
“I’ll be waiting outside for you. Seven o’clock.”
“See you,” I said, walking toward the door again. “Goodnight, Jay.”
“Goodnight,Amapolita.”
CHAPTER 38
Iwoke up before my alarm.
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of my bedroom, and for a moment I simply lay there, light peppering my face as I stared at the ceiling, trying to get a grasp on reality.
Trying to grasp everything that had occurred only eight hours ago.
Lindy Parker.
It still felt like a dream. Like something I must’ve made up in my head.
My favorite author. The woman whose books lined my shelves, dog-eared and spines cracked from excessive reading. The author who sparked my passion to write.
Jay’s mother.
I rolled onto my side and stared at my nightstand, where one of Lindy’s paperbacks lay face down. I’d never once stopped to wonder who her son was. And I certainly never would’ve guessed he was jogging through the trails of Big Bear with his dog, or knittingwith women at a nursing home, or being a freaking dentist.
