22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hope’s phone chimed and she swore under her breath. She got up from the couch and went to turn off the alarm. Alison was deeply aggravated and deeply relieved. Three more seconds of Hope looking at her like that - that whimper - and Alison would have lost it.
She didn’t want to lose it. Hope had been trying to pretend that everything hadn’t changed because Alison had lost control once already, but Alison had known, the second she’d snapped - Hope going up on her toes like that, the ferocity of the heat that had raced through them both - everything had changed.
This conversation, even now, was changing them. That word, dominant , whispered out of Hope’s mouth like a prayer and a curse. Alison wanted to put the whole thing back in the bottle, but the tremble in Hope’s thighs as Alison pushed her, only slightly, with that little barb of twisted praise that slipped out, made it clear that the genie was out .
Hope turned back toward her now, her face flushed, so fucking unfairly hot in those tiny shorts, thighs bare, those legs… Alison was not coping.
“That alarm,” Hope announced, like she couldn’t quite believe the state of her life, “is to tell me it’s time to feed tiny baby kittens again.”
Alison laughed, because what the hell else could she do? The two of them were poised on the edge of something absolutely un-take-back-able, and now: orphaned kittens. Only Hope, she thought, desperate affection stirring in her chest. She got to her feet.
“I came here to make you dinner,” she told Hope, her voice coming out slightly gravelly. She cleared her throat. “Because I had this idea that if you were going to spend your whole night feeding kittens, that you might need someone to take care of you. ”
Hope looked surprised. And then touched. And then, slightly like she might be melting.
“Look at you,” she said softly. “Being sweet.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Alison said and Hope blinked. Alison replayed her own words. Oh god, now everything sounded like a dark hint at a come-on .
“Mm,” said Hope, not committing either way. She walked into the kitchen like she damn well knew Alison was staring at her ass, though.
Alison followed her. Hope heated up powdered milk to feed her kittens and Alison began to make a stir fry - wholesome, vegan, tofu, cashews, every fresh vegetable she could find - because she’d wanted to apologise, and because Hope was going to be up all night with fucking kittens and, god, Alison could not kiss her again, but she could make her dinner.
She paused, just briefly, to come and see the little bundle of softness that Hope held in her lap as she fed the tiny orphans, but found she had to rapidly retreat. It was too much, just far too much sweetness. Alison hid in the kitchen, pretending to cook but mostly just trying not to cry again, because motherless babies, and Hope being fucking beautiful and oh god, she’d kissed her and it had only been a few months of friendship but already Alison didn’t want to lose this, how could she have risked this? And how was it remotely possible, that in the same world where the Grants were murdering other people’s sons, Alison was sharing space with a woman who was spending her night saving kittens? It was insanity.
They ate together, electing by unspoken agreement to sit on the floor, their bowls on Hope’s coffee table, next to the low heat of the fire. Was the couch safe anymore? It was soft, with deep broad cushions; it would be so easy to push Hope back into them and- Jesus Christ, Alison, you have to stop. Yeah, the floor with a wooden table between them seemed safer. Also: no wine. Hope had filled their glasses with some kind of sweet brand of kombucha because of course she fucking had .
They sat in the low warm light and talked, the way they always talked - the kittens, Hope’s vet practice, Alison’s clients, Harry’s new love who was actually almost his age - but their usual teasing sparring was entirely absent. Alison wondered if it was because some of the tension between them had been released in that one wild kiss, but she suspected that wasn’t it at all. There was a new tension here in this room, one that felt deeply seductive but extremely unsettling; a tension that said don’t fucking tease me because we both know what will happen. They were being careful.
Alison grieved the loss of that lightness. This was all her fault, because Hope had great boundaries. Alison, though… Alison was a mess. She both couldn’t look at Hope and couldn’t stop looking at Hope; every glance seemed dangerous when Hope’s thighs were bare and her mouth soft and her hair spilling down her back. They were alone together in this house. And then there were her eyes. Hope looked back at her with deep warmth in her golden-brown eyes but Alison couldn’t unsee what she now knew was reflected back at her: want, longing , and the smallest flicker of need. She tried not to shudder, barely able to pick at her meal.
Alison insisted on clearing their plates and doing the dishes, all but ordering Hope out of the kitchen, to go take a minute to take care of her damn self before she had a night without sleep. Hope returned from the bathroom, a hint of toothpaste and some kind of cucumber-scented moisturiser, and Alison’s hands clenched into fists at her side to stop herself from pressing Hope into the wall to taste her mouth, her skin.
Hope though, caught the look in her eyes as she passed. She went still, her teeth sinking into her lip, almost seeming to stop breathing. Then she rolled her eyes with a little laugh, and backed away into the darkened living room.
“ Ali,” she said, with a hint of reproach in her tone. “Just… come and talk to me. Please?” She went and sat neatly on one end of the couch, as if allowing Alison that much space would be any kind of safe distance. Alison steeled herself. She was an adult. She had self-control. She could do this. She followed Hope to the couch and sat as far away as she could. They looked at each other, helplessly, in the soft, dim light.
“What are we going to do?” Hope whispered. It felt monumental, an acknowledgement, finally, that the kiss between them wasn’t the no big deal that Hope had tried to claim. And now, perversely, Alison wanted that nonchalance back, because this - actually having to deal with this - was a lot.
She swallowed. She knew what she wanted to do, with every fibre of her being. It started with going up on her knees and reaching down to peel that big loose long-sleeved t-shirt off of Hope, getting to see Hope’s eyes go wide, looking up at her with all that need , and it ended with Alison taking every damn thing she wanted. Hope trembled slightly and Alison knew instantly her intentions had flashed clearly in her eyes. She made herself sit absolutely still.
“We can’t do this,” she finally managed to say. Hope just watched. She nodded, even as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “ I can’t do this,” Alison clarified. “I’m not…” she trailed off. Not ready, not capable, not whole, not safe for you. “I don’t want to risk our friendship. You mean a lot to me, Hope. ”
“I like that,” Hope said softly. “I like that you care about me. I care about you, too.”
Something flickered deeply inside Alison. It hurt her, in the best possible way, hearing Hope say those words. Hope had always demonstrated to her that she cared, from the very first time they’d met. But now, hearing it out loud, sweet and serious, when the possibility of so much more shimmered just out of reach? It made everything feel a thousand times more dangerous.
For a moment, throwing caution to the wind felt by far the safer option. Because if on any level Alison was capable of pretending that just sex was a thing for her, the idea of chalking this whole feeling up to lust and letting it blow up - as hot and fast and short-lasting as she knew it would be - seemed much easier.
Because the other option? The other option was that Alison was rapidly becoming Camille. Her heart took two seconds to ache for the young woman. To want Hope, but to be stuck - so close, but so far; so intimate, but way outside of the intimacy you longed for - it was agony.
Hope was still watching her face. Alison wondered if she was presenting like ice again, steeling herself to take another step back, or if every warring emotion was playing out in her eyes.
“Friendship then,” Hope murmured finally. She seemed to be under the same spell as Alison, afraid to ruin the tenuous connection between them, but wavering with longing. “We can do that.” She swallowed, visibly. “I mean, it’s just lust, right?”
Alison’s fingernails dug into her own palm.
“Yeah,” she said softly, even as she wondered if her own words were a lie. “Just lust.”
Well, thought Alison, as she woke up the next morning in Hope’s bed. Talk about mixed messages.
She was alone, curled into pillows that smelled slightly of cucumber-scented moisturiser and just… oh . She inhaled deeply and tried not to let the moan slip out of her lips at being surrounded so entirely in Hope’s scent. This, right here, was her actual heaven. Hope’s soft sheets, her simple perfect bedroom. Her bed. There was nowhere else in the world she could imagine wanting to be more.
The light was just past dawn and in a house this size she could not only detect the smell of coffee starting to waft in from the kitchen, but she could hear the sound of the shower running from the room next door. She sat up, and tried to pull herself back to any semblance of normality.
It had been her fault. Again. She should have left, right after they’d agreed to keep their friendship intact, to not cross any more lines, to stay on their own sides of the couch and not give into that urge to meld themselves into each other. And yet here she was, in Hope’s bed and it was all her own doing.
Because the next time Hope’s phone had chimed, Alison had volunteered to help her. Hope showed her how to mix the kitten formula, how to hold the tiny little body in the right position to drink safely, how to let them drink until they had their fill. How to help them do their tiny kitten business, to keep them clean, to let them snuggle up beside their sibling for warmth and then start the process on the next one. Hope was just so Hope like this, her blend of knowledge and skill, ease and sweetness.
“You’re exhausted,” Alison accused her, as Hope started to melt into the couch cushions.
“I mean, it’s late,” Hope agreed. “I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night either,” she added. Alison nodded slowly. If Hope was alluding to lying awake fretting about a kiss that couldn’t be explained, then… same. She should go. Let Hope get a nap before the next alarm went off.
“Go to bed,” she said instead. “I’ll do the next shift.”
“Ali,” Hope protested. “This is my job.”
“I’m pretty sure your job is supposed to end when the clinic closes,” Alison told her. “And I’m also sure you’ve got a full day to get through tomorrow, too. Let me help you. ”
Hope looked at her for a long moment, her gaze slightly blurred with exhaustion, but her expression intensely soft.
“You’re being sweet again,” she said, her voice husky with tiredness. “And it’s honestly kind of difficult for me to handle.”
“You’ll cope,” Alison told her, her voice impressively even in the face of all that warm, sleepy-eyed gratitude.
“Thank you,” Hope said. “Help yourself to anything you want. Anything at all.”
“Mm,” Alison just about managed. Hope’s lower lip twitched at her expression.
“I’ll be back for the next round,” she said.
Jesus Christ.
“ K.” Her voice came out faintly.
“Goodnight.”
Alison had fallen back on the couch as Hope had left and tried to recover herself. She’d felt quite unable to leave, thinking of Hope alone in the early hours: tired, still working. She remembered, still, that feeling from motherhood: four a.m., exhausted, hauled out of bed for the needs of someone helpless, feeling like the only person awake on the planet. Surely it wasn’t quite within the bounds of friendship to crave so deeply to alleviate someone else’s burden.
It was even more than that, though. Hope’s home always felt like somewhere she didn’t want to leave. It gave her the weirdest nagging feeling, like here was her real life. Not alone in her lake house, not driving in her car, not at a fundraiser in Melbourne, or really anywhere else at all. Just here in this beautiful, peaceful little space.
She set her own alarm, gently stoked and banked up the fire and tiptoed to the pretty kitchen to make a cup of tea in a lovely, earthenware mug. Then she curled up on the big cushy linen sofa to read a cosy novel stolen from Hope’s shelf. This, she reminded herself - as she tried not to ache at the thought of Hope just down the hall - was only more proof that she’d made the right choice. Because she didn’t want to risk not having this in her life.
She and Hope had a couple of sleepy exchanges in the night, and somehow, she’d acquiesced when Hope told her she didn’t have a guest room, but she did have an empty bed now she was up for the last round. Alison had crumpled into the soft sweetness that was Hope’s bedsheets, still warm from her body, and now… here she was.
Hearing the shower shut off she hurriedly got out of bed and tugged on her jeans. Hope’s clothes were in here and she did not want to be around for that moment .
“Good morning,” Hope greeted her, as Alison made it to the corridor just as Hope wafted out of the bathroom wearing nothing but fragrant fruity steam and a rose pink towel. Her smile reflected the sheer awkwardness of their situation.
“Morning.” Alison carefully averted her eyes.
“Coffee’s in the kitchen,” Hope told her over her shoulder as Alison passed by her quickly.
Hope was beside her again, all too soon, glowing in lavender-coloured scrubs, her hair swept up high and neat, the two of them sipping coffee together in the quiet of the little cottage kitchen.
“How long will the kittens need to be bottle fed for?” Alison asked her, leaning against the bench as Hope sliced tomatoes to put on their toast.
“Probably another three or four weeks or so,” she said. “They’re going to a local rescuer today.”
“Oh.” Alison tried to hide her disappointment.
“You’re heartbroken,” Hope observed, neatly arranging the tomato slices on the toast like it was a piece of art. She turned to hand Alison her plate, her eyes gentle and teasing. “It’s Bryan isn’t it? He’s stolen your heart. ”
It was true that the tiny piece of black fluff - with an almost perfect white moustache marking his face - had made her go uncharacteristically gooey. But the truth was a lot more complex. Alison had imagined other nights like the one they’d just shared. The vision hit her like a steam train: Hope’s home in the quiet hours of the night, Hope’s bed, Hope’s eyes, Hope, Hope… Hope.
He’s not the one stealing my heart. The words jumped into Alison’s mind so clearly that for a second she thought she’d said them out loud. Her eyes went wide. Very carefully, she put the untouched plate of perfect toast down on the bench as she said the words that even nine hours ago would have been about three months too late.
“I have to go.”