Saving Hope

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Caleb

I watch the front door of the café until I see Hope emerge and start walking toward the bus stop a few yards ahead of my car. I already knew from talking with her in the café that her eyes are the most beautiful shade of green I've ever seen, but thanks to the few moments I got to share with her in the alley, I now know that she has a tiny scar on her cheek that somehow manages to add to her stunning appearance. Imperfections are what make us different, and I feel so drawn to her I'm dying to know what else she's hiding.

Her almost-black hair is pulled back into a ponytail that dances down the entire length of her back. She brushes her long bangs to the side and tucks the ends behind her ear as she slowly makes her way down the street. The café requires its waitresses to wear a smooth black skirt and a tight T-shirt that shows the name of the café on the front. Without her apron, I can make out the curve of her hips and the way her stomach tapers below her breasts. My stomach does a flip, and I laugh at myself for feeling like a stupid teenager all over again.

Her long toned legs are pale, and she's wearing a very old pair of sneakers. The whole picture gives me the impression that she works inside a lot and is always on her feet. As if on cue, she yawns as she reaches the bus stop, taking a seat on the empty bench. She pulls her phone from her pocket and checks the screen. I wonder if she's waiting for a boyfriend to call. If she is, I am pissed that he would let her sit out in the cold by herself this late at night.

I like a slice of apple pie as much as the next guy, but I came to the café today with the purpose of seeing her again. I've stopped in several times over the past few months since my sister, Madeline, introduced me to the place. Hope was our waitress that first day, and I had trouble focusing on what my sister was saying as I watched our pretty server go through the motions of doing her job. She was good at it, but her eyes kept wandering out the windows as if she was looking for something. But it was the innocent blush on Hope's face when Madeline announced she was my sister that really got to me. I felt a tightening in my gut as she stood flustered at our table.

My life is one of privilege, for which I'm grateful, but it draws women who only want one thing. If I have to go to dinner with one more bottle blonde who can tell me everything about every other woman at the country club, but has not one original thought about what she wants to do with herself, I might give up on finding my soul mate entirely. I just want a down-to-earth girl with a kind heart and dreams of her own.

I wish Hope had let me take her home. I'm concerned when she puts her purse on the armrest and lays her head down on it. She twirls her ankles before pulling them up and tucking them beneath her. She looks exhausted—what if she falls asleep? She won't be aware of anything around her. I reach for my door handle when I see her eyes drift shut—I can't leave her like that—but the roar of the bus's diesel engine announces its approach, and she opens her eyes and sits up.

My car would be a dead giveaway if I tried to follow her to make sure she made it home safely. Although it's a deep gunmetal gray, an Aston Martin never really blends in. When I see her step up onto the bus I shift into reverse and back around the corner. I'm trying so hard to play it cool with her, but just being near her has every nerve in my body on alert.

The bus disappears down the street, so I pull out slowly and head back toward my place. I don't know what it is about Hope, but watching her face crumble the way it did when those assholes took off without paying their bill made some part of me awaken. I wanted nothing more than to take care of her. I like to think I'm a thoughtful person, probably the most sensitive of all my brothers, but tonight was different. Hope is different. What happened tonight went beyond just being a nice guy. I was invested in her story, wanting—no, needing to know she would be okay.

I pull into the parking structure and wave to the guards at the gate. I don't live far from the café and right now I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. How many times a week can I go in there without looking creepy? I shake my head at myself and lock up the car before putting my key into the elevator. As I ride up to the penthouse I wonder where that bus is taking Hope. I want to imagine her being dropped off in some suburban neighborhood with white picket fences and homes with soft beds.

When the elevator doors open again, I switch on the light in my entryway and empty my pockets onto the console table. I can't get the feel of her skin out of my mind as I strip down and take a shower after my long day. As the hot water surrounds me I replay our conversation in my head, the way she laughed at my order and how cute she looked when her cheeks turned pink.

Hope wasn't wearing any make-up tonight, and that has me intrigued, as well. It isn't often that I get to spend time with women who aren't painted up and wearing so much perfume I have to breathe through my mouth, tasting it instead of becoming overwhelmed with the choking scent. She smelled different, a hint of vanilla with a touch of grease and coffee. I scrub my hands over my face, laughing a little at how ridiculous I am.

After my shower I throw on a pair of boxers and slide under my sheets. I can't sleep, though, because my thoughts keep turning back to Hope. I need to see her again. I want to know everything there is to know about her. That's something that hasn't happened to me since my first high school crush.

I click on the TV and search for a show that will take my mind off of her, but when I finally drift off to sleep she's there in my dreams. My night is restless and I end up lying awake a few hours before work with a feeling that something in my life has changed. Yesterday, I woke up and went to work without any thought of what another person might be thinking or doing with their day. Today, I have woken up with an inexplicable need to know everything about Hope and what she is doing.

My day goes much like my night, with my level of distraction reaching embarrassing heights. By lunchtime, I have given myself some boundaries in an effort to contain the chaos in my mind: I can think of her as much as I want (already lost that battle anyway), but I won't go back to the café for a few days. By then, I will have come up with a way to get her to go out with me, because if I am being honest with myself, anything less than time alone with her will just never do.