Page 12 of Chasing Hope

I’m no longer upstairs in the bed where I fell asleep but on the couch in the living room

Turning to the side, I find a glass of water Matteo left for me on the coffee table and thank him mentally for it because my throat is painfully raw from all the screaming. I keep looking around the darkened apartment, the only light emanating from the TV, the volume on low, acting as background noise. I try to figure out what woke me when I suddenly hear it—a faint drill sound from upstairs.

Trailing upstairs, I round the corner, only to stop in my tracks. At first, I think I’m still sleeping, that I must be dreaming or my eyes are deceiving me. I blink a few times to rule out the latter, but the sight before me doesn’t change.

Matteo whips his head my way, his back straightening as that infamous internal wall of his slams up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ignoring that, I gesture around the room I originally fell asleep in. He must have moved me at some point. “What is all of this?”

Matteo puts the drill down before sliding his hands in his pockets. “I thought this might make you feel more comfortable. You know, since it’s going to take some time to get you back on your feet and find a place.”

It takes a moment for his statement to truly sink in, for the changes in front of me to make sense, and when they do, I can’t hide the surprise from my voice. “You redecorated your guest room for me?”

Matteo’s eyes don’t leave mine as he dips his chin in answer.

I’m stunned speechless. I’m afraid to check the clock, afraid to see how long I was asleep for, because in that little time, Matteo filled the room with everything I love, placing all my favorites in one space.

Little does he know, he’s one of them.

Pulling my eyes from his is a struggle but it’s a battle I’m used to, a current I’m always fighting against. I try to take a cue from Matteo and lock away my reactions but I can’t. He brought the ocean to me.

The comforter is a gorgeous light blue and white pattern. He’s placed seashell décor on the bedside tables, prints of whales and dolphins swimming line the walls, and the drill that woke me up was being used to hang a TV.

Valenti went out and bought me aTV.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” I stutter.

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s nothing.”

My head snaps toward him, my eyes wide and no doubt red-rimmed. “It’s not nothing.”

Allowing myself to truly take in the sight of him for the first time in…years, I struggle not to be swept away.

Matteo’s father is Columbian, his mother Venezuelan, and it combined to make deep black curly hair cut close to his scalp, asix-foot-five frame with broad shoulders and muscles, and the most gorgeous glowing brown skin. It glistens with sweat now, the rich color making his emerald eyes shine. He’s stoic,alwaysstoic, but there was a little sliver that poked out when we interacted.

I never saw it rise to the surface with anyone else, and growing up with him practically living at our house, I watched,constantly, and that spark only ever came out forme.

It made me think things I never should have. It’s what got my heart broken all those years ago.

And yet, I clearly didn’t learn my lesson because that spark is present again now, and it’s doing things to my insides that I didn’t think my body was capable of feeling any longer.

I forgot how much I love to try and decipher that look of his.

It’s addicting—he’s addicting.

Swallowing thickly, I step forward, wanting to hug him, but hesitation stops me in my tracks. He must see it in my expression because in the next breath he’s frowning at me, his hands twitching by his sides before he shakes his head and sits back on his heel. “I hope this makes you feel comfortable enough.”

“It’s more than enough. Thank you,” I whisper, surprised I’m not crying again but maybe I’ve run out of tears.

Is that even possible?

Matteo shrugs as if this isn’t the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, but I should be used to these grand gestures followed by nonchalance. After all, growing up he’d hand me the moon only to turn around and say it was nothing.

Reaching forward, he picks up a remote, logging into his streaming services. “I figured you’d want to watch your apocalypse movies.”