the conclusion of chapter one and the hole in chapter four

“Hello, Isabel.”

She frowned, finished her sentence, then pursed her lips and looked up. “Hello, Gage.” Forcing her lips to form some semblance of a smile, she set her pen down, struggled for patience, to tamp down the memories, the feelings that swirled within her. She felt fourteen again.

She didn’t like the feeling.

So she did her best to ignore it, did her best to stick herself in the here and now, to remember her manners. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You working on a paper?”

“No, I’m writing a book.”

He leaned back, studied her with wide eyes, then laughed.

It was a laugh she remembered well. He had directed it her way time and time again. And not because she had said something witty.

“You have time to go to school and write a book? I’m impressed.” He thought for a moment. “With all the things I was involved in on campus, I had a hard enough time concentrating on my classes.”

Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. “I’m finishing in December.” God, what does he have to be here for?

She’d had a crush on him, a big bad senior, when she was a freshman in high school. Had thought he was good-looking then. He was even more so now. His blonde hair had darkened to brown. And those eyes, a cornflower blue, were just as captivating. She wondered if they could be as cruel.

Get up and leave, Isa.

Yet she stayed.

“You’re finishing this semester? Congratulations! What are you getting your degree in?”

“English.” She was trying, and failing, to keep her mind on the story. Dammit, this would’ve been good, too. Odd how she could ignore everything else, but one person could come along and screw her up.

“So, are you working?”

“Not right now. You?”

“I’m working at my father’s law firm. In my last year of law school.” He leaned forward. “Listen. I need to get back to my friends, but I wanted to see if maybe we could go have a cup of coffee or something tomorrow night. Catch up.”

“Why?”

He stared at her for a moment, his head cocked to the side just slightly, his brow furrowed, his eyes intent on hers. “To catch up,” he repeated. Reached over the table to toy with the strands of hair that had fallen over her shoulder, the ends nearly touching the table. The strands shifted, just slightly, when he did so, when she jerked. “And because I like the look of you.”

Different memories came to mind then. Flashes of trees, of the ground, of two boys, of sneering faces. Different feelings. Pain, fear and anger, barreled to the surface, not replacing those of longing, desperation and humiliation, but intensifying them.

She’d heard those words before.

Isabel bowed her head, folded her hands in her lap, twisted her fingers, took a steadying breath to calm her now racing heart, to cast the memories aside and force her mind to think of now. “No.”

He leaned back. “I’m sorry?”

She brought her head up, steeled her gaze, then leveled it on his. “No,” she repeated, her voice steadier, more resolute. “I don’t drink coffee.” She forced a smile. “But thanks for asking. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. It was good to see you. Good luck in law school.” She picked up the pen, resumed her writing. Though she knew he still sat there, watching her, she refused to look up.

He waited for what seemed to be several minutes, then rose, settled a hand on her shoulder, which had her practically jumping off the bench and her eyes snapping to his. “It was good to see you, too,” he said, then turned and walked away.

She watched him go, then closed her eyes, cursed herself for letting bad memories ruin a perfectly good opportunity, then tried to shift her attention back to the story.

. . .

She caught the shrill ring of the phone just as she let herself into the house, ran through the living room to the kitchen to answer. “Hello?”

“Hello, Isabel.”

“Gage.” She could hear the grin in his voice. Could recall the expression on his face from the other night. She was, however, unmoved. “How’d you get this number?”

“They have this thing called a phone book.”

She imagined the grin widening slightly. Sighed, but away from the phone so he couldn’t hear. Of course. Opened the refrigerator, grabbed a can of Coke and popped the top. “Okay. What do you want?”

“Drinks. Doesn’t have to be coffee. Conversation. Company.”

She sipped, twisted the cord around her finger. “Do you normally have trouble taking no for an answer?”

“Not usually. It’s just drinks.”

so when i wrote this scene the first time she consented. and then i didn't like that she did, so i took it out. and now i'm debating putting it back in.

because she's all about reese. but she doesn't think he's all about her. because he's not. yet.

so ... should she do drinks or no?

read about the gang. click here.

(c) twenty-eleven. jennifer k. griffin, otherwise known as c.c. this publication is the exclusive property of c.c. and is protected under the united states copyright act of nineteen seventy-six and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws. the contents of this post, and any other c.c.-crafted picky post for that matter, may not be reproduced as a whole or in part, by any means whatsoever, without c.c.'s consent. all rights reserved. in other words, steal this, and i will follow you to the depths of hell and the edge of forever and kick your puny, thieving ass. thanks. :]

this was (also) a matlock project. learn about that here.