Fic - It Takes Something More (Hope, Hope/Ryder) pg, 1/1
Title It Takes Something More
Summary It has always been easy for her to design the simplest solutions to the most complex problems, but she cannot, for the life of her, figure out Ryder Montgomery.
Rating pg
Author's Notes: 1,712 words. I couldn't sleep last night, so this happened. There will be probably, like, two people who read this. This is for them. They know who they are. Takes place between th The Last Boyfriend an The Perfect Hope All mistakes are mine. These characters definitely aren't.
CAN YOU TELL I AM SUPER EXCITED FOR THIS BOOK?????
The sound of music can be heard blasting through the speakers inside Owen’s - no, now Owen and Avery’s house - and Hope slips out the back door for a brief moment to herself, the heels of her rather modest shoes clicking against the wooden deck as she makes her way to the railing, beer dangling loosely between her fingers. Inside, there is the sound of some sort of commotion, a large crash, and then, subsequently, Avery’s loud laugher. Hope smiles to herself and rests her weight against the railing as she glazes out into the darkness and sighs something uncharacteristically weighted, allowing the night to draw something away from her.
All these months and she still isn’t used to the clear skies and starlight. All these months and she still misses Georgetown in her weaker moments so much she physically aches with it.
It’s a secret of hers, these moments she allows herself every once in a while, these spans of time stretching on and on until she is able to move past it, until she is able to remember the reasons she left and why those reasons were still valid. Hope was content with Jonathan by her side, with The Wickham as her employer, but she also understands what she couldn’t before - that contentment did not equate to happiness, that contentment and happiness were not two mutually exclusive things. She realizes now it was never meant to last. Knows DC was only meant to be a segue, a way to venture from point A to B. But in times like these with Clare’s baby bump starting to show and Avery’s apartment above Vesta permanently darkened, Hope couldn’t help but long to be a part of something more, something greater.
She has never been the type of person to measure her self-worth or happiness by the presence of a man in her life, but there are times when she misses the ins and outs of a relationship - the routines, the intimate knowledge you collect of the other person over time. By no means does she miss Jonathan, but she does miss the idea of Jonathan.
Or, at least, the idea of Jonathan she had in the beginning, the one she had when things were still shiny and new, so full of promise.
Avery tells Hope that she is a part of something here, something greater, something important. Hope knows her friend is mostly right. She can feel herself learning the ins and outs of the inn, the rhythm of the job, the needs of the people working alongside her, the guests. The Hope of a year ago, DC Hope in her Jimmy Choo stilettos, carrying her Chloé clutches, with all her pre-designed plans on how to get from A to B in the most efficient manner would say the success she’s achieved here in Boonsboro is a cause for celebration.
The Hope of here and now isn’t so sure it’s enough.
The back door creaks open and Hope turns her head just in time to catch DA saunter by her and down the stairs of the porch, disappearing into the darkness of Owen’s backyard. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she finishes the remainder of her now lukewarm beer in a solid swig, and watches as Ryder closes the door behind him, nodding his hello as he makes his way over to her. He has a beer in each hand, and when he’s close enough to her, he offers her the one in his left with a shrug. She raises an eyebrow, but takes the bottle regardless, setting her now empty one to the side atop the railing.
“Clare sent me to check on you,” Ryder offers. He doesn’t look at her, just rests his weight on his heels and rocks back and forth for a moment before crossing the rest of the way to her, settling into the spot beside her near the railing.
“She coddles because she can’t drink.”
His mouth spreads into a rare smile around the rim of the bottle in his hands. “She coddles because she’s a mother of three with one on the way. All she knows is coddling.”
“Well, that too.” Hope almost laughs, but offers him a small smile instead. It doesn’t feel right - laughing with Ryder. It doesn’t feel right doing anything with Ryder because he’s not exactly the most pleasant person to be around, he’s not exactly her biggest fan either, and all too easily they lapse into a silence that pops in her ears. Hope half expects him to walk away, but he doesn’t. He remains next to her, shoulder nearly flush against hers as they face the edge of Owen’s expansive backyard. “Thanks for this,” she says dumbly, her way of saying it’s okay, you can go, and if he reads it, he doesn’t care. Instead, he merely offers her a funny look from underneath that stupid baseball cap of his.
“Gotta wait for DA,” Ryder mutters, motioning into the distance with his bottle of beer. Hope nods; lets it go.
They try their hand at silence again, and she’s never been one that felt the urge to fill lapses in conversation with needless words, but Ryder has the uncanny ability to tug at the string holding it all together and begin a slow, steady unravel, and she feels it now. Feels her nerves rubbing themselves raw as he shifts his weight and brushes his shoulder firmly against hers, causing the arousal to coil warmly and deftly in the pit of her stomach - something she has come to associate with him and also, promptly, shove immediately away.
Because he’s Ryder and she’s Hope and it’s just been a while, that’s all.
It’s nothing more, nothing less.
“You can’t see stars in Georgetown,” Hope says quietly, and rather dumbly, her mouth moving and the words falling before she can stop them. She doesn’t look at him, but she can feel him looking at her - knows the smile tugging at the left corner of his mouth is condescending at best.
“No,” he mutters. “I figure there aren’t.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he continues, “Do you miss it?”
“Georgetown?”
“Yeah.”
She nods without thinking, taking another sip of her beer. “I do,” she confides. “In a way. Not everything, just… certain things.”
“Country living isn’t for everyone,” he shrugs and Hope knows him well enough to know he means it as some sort of dig.
A year ago she would have let it anger her, would have let him bait her into an argument.
Now, she merely counters, “City living isn’t for everyone,” and tries not to be surprised at the feel of his soft laughter pressing into her skin.
“I bet I could hack it.”
Hope snorts something completely unladylike and it illicits a smile from him - small, uncharacteristic, genuine as it spreads across his mouth. She quite likes the sight of it. Finds herself filing it away for later.
“I’d like to see you try,” she snickers.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. I’d like to see you last one day in DC… without a map. And that small town charm and swagger will get you absolutely nowhere. Kindness in the city is perceived as a threat, not a default mode.” Hope takes another long swig of her beer and turns towards him fully, watching as he does the same. “You wouldn’t last a day.”
“Did you just admit that you find me charming?”
Everything about the way he says it - the light, flirty tone, the look in his eye, the soft curl of his mouth - catches her off guard and she nearly chokes on her beer, coughs a little to try and cover it up. The tips of her ears tint pink and she ducks her head, avoiding eye contact.
It’s moments like these when she remembers all too easily: New Years Eve, a kiss that was everything but friendly, the way Ryder’s hands had pressed into her spine, right between her shoulder blades as if he was holding her to him, afraid to let her go. She remembers the way he tasted - the beer and pretzels, the hint of unexpected mint lingering beneath the surface. She remembers the daze afterwards, the way his warmth had settled deep under her skin and lingered for hours.
It’s moments like these when the animosity between them simmers into something deeper, something just as caustic, but with much more ability to wreak havoc.
It’s moments like these when Ryder manages to unhinge her completely.
And she hates him for it. She does. It has always been easy for her to design the simplest solutions to the most complex problems, but she cannot, for the life of her, figure out Ryder Montgomery.
Ryder is expectant as he looks at her now, and she’s just about to open her mouth, trying to devise the best way to respond, trying to remember how to accurately form words, when DA lazily makes his way back to them. He plops down at their feet, his tail flopping against the deck as he waits, and Hope and Ryder both look at him for beat, then at each other.
Somebody shouts his name from inside - Beckett, she thinks - and Ryder pushes himself away from the railing, reaching past Hope to collect her empty bottle from before. His fingers brush her elbow as he pulls away, his eyes slamming into hers, holding her gaze. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t ignore the warmth she feels start to spread from deep in her stomach all the way to her toes - not right away, anyway.
“You should come back in,” he says softly. At their feet, DA thumps his tail happily once more against the deck. “You’re missing the party.”
Hope nods, swallowing thickly. “I will.”
There’s something there, she thinks idly as she watches him walk away, simmering just below the surface, just out of reach. They have these moments, these rare, fleeting moments where they manage to let their guards down, manage to treat one another without unbridled animosity. They are nice, these moments, but Hope also recognizes the lie in them. Knows they will never, ever amount to anything - this much she knows, this much she counts on.
So she lets it go.
Summary It has always been easy for her to design the simplest solutions to the most complex problems, but she cannot, for the life of her, figure out Ryder Montgomery.
Rating pg
Author's Notes: 1,712 words. I couldn't sleep last night, so this happened. There will be probably, like, two people who read this. This is for them. They know who they are. Takes place between th The Last Boyfriend an The Perfect Hope All mistakes are mine. These characters definitely aren't.
CAN YOU TELL I AM SUPER EXCITED FOR THIS BOOK?????
The sound of music can be heard blasting through the speakers inside Owen’s - no, now Owen and Avery’s house - and Hope slips out the back door for a brief moment to herself, the heels of her rather modest shoes clicking against the wooden deck as she makes her way to the railing, beer dangling loosely between her fingers. Inside, there is the sound of some sort of commotion, a large crash, and then, subsequently, Avery’s loud laugher. Hope smiles to herself and rests her weight against the railing as she glazes out into the darkness and sighs something uncharacteristically weighted, allowing the night to draw something away from her.
All these months and she still isn’t used to the clear skies and starlight. All these months and she still misses Georgetown in her weaker moments so much she physically aches with it.
It’s a secret of hers, these moments she allows herself every once in a while, these spans of time stretching on and on until she is able to move past it, until she is able to remember the reasons she left and why those reasons were still valid. Hope was content with Jonathan by her side, with The Wickham as her employer, but she also understands what she couldn’t before - that contentment did not equate to happiness, that contentment and happiness were not two mutually exclusive things. She realizes now it was never meant to last. Knows DC was only meant to be a segue, a way to venture from point A to B. But in times like these with Clare’s baby bump starting to show and Avery’s apartment above Vesta permanently darkened, Hope couldn’t help but long to be a part of something more, something greater.
She has never been the type of person to measure her self-worth or happiness by the presence of a man in her life, but there are times when she misses the ins and outs of a relationship - the routines, the intimate knowledge you collect of the other person over time. By no means does she miss Jonathan, but she does miss the idea of Jonathan.
Or, at least, the idea of Jonathan she had in the beginning, the one she had when things were still shiny and new, so full of promise.
Avery tells Hope that she is a part of something here, something greater, something important. Hope knows her friend is mostly right. She can feel herself learning the ins and outs of the inn, the rhythm of the job, the needs of the people working alongside her, the guests. The Hope of a year ago, DC Hope in her Jimmy Choo stilettos, carrying her Chloé clutches, with all her pre-designed plans on how to get from A to B in the most efficient manner would say the success she’s achieved here in Boonsboro is a cause for celebration.
The Hope of here and now isn’t so sure it’s enough.
The back door creaks open and Hope turns her head just in time to catch DA saunter by her and down the stairs of the porch, disappearing into the darkness of Owen’s backyard. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she finishes the remainder of her now lukewarm beer in a solid swig, and watches as Ryder closes the door behind him, nodding his hello as he makes his way over to her. He has a beer in each hand, and when he’s close enough to her, he offers her the one in his left with a shrug. She raises an eyebrow, but takes the bottle regardless, setting her now empty one to the side atop the railing.
“Clare sent me to check on you,” Ryder offers. He doesn’t look at her, just rests his weight on his heels and rocks back and forth for a moment before crossing the rest of the way to her, settling into the spot beside her near the railing.
“She coddles because she can’t drink.”
His mouth spreads into a rare smile around the rim of the bottle in his hands. “She coddles because she’s a mother of three with one on the way. All she knows is coddling.”
“Well, that too.” Hope almost laughs, but offers him a small smile instead. It doesn’t feel right - laughing with Ryder. It doesn’t feel right doing anything with Ryder because he’s not exactly the most pleasant person to be around, he’s not exactly her biggest fan either, and all too easily they lapse into a silence that pops in her ears. Hope half expects him to walk away, but he doesn’t. He remains next to her, shoulder nearly flush against hers as they face the edge of Owen’s expansive backyard. “Thanks for this,” she says dumbly, her way of saying it’s okay, you can go, and if he reads it, he doesn’t care. Instead, he merely offers her a funny look from underneath that stupid baseball cap of his.
“Gotta wait for DA,” Ryder mutters, motioning into the distance with his bottle of beer. Hope nods; lets it go.
They try their hand at silence again, and she’s never been one that felt the urge to fill lapses in conversation with needless words, but Ryder has the uncanny ability to tug at the string holding it all together and begin a slow, steady unravel, and she feels it now. Feels her nerves rubbing themselves raw as he shifts his weight and brushes his shoulder firmly against hers, causing the arousal to coil warmly and deftly in the pit of her stomach - something she has come to associate with him and also, promptly, shove immediately away.
Because he’s Ryder and she’s Hope and it’s just been a while, that’s all.
It’s nothing more, nothing less.
“You can’t see stars in Georgetown,” Hope says quietly, and rather dumbly, her mouth moving and the words falling before she can stop them. She doesn’t look at him, but she can feel him looking at her - knows the smile tugging at the left corner of his mouth is condescending at best.
“No,” he mutters. “I figure there aren’t.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he continues, “Do you miss it?”
“Georgetown?”
“Yeah.”
She nods without thinking, taking another sip of her beer. “I do,” she confides. “In a way. Not everything, just… certain things.”
“Country living isn’t for everyone,” he shrugs and Hope knows him well enough to know he means it as some sort of dig.
A year ago she would have let it anger her, would have let him bait her into an argument.
Now, she merely counters, “City living isn’t for everyone,” and tries not to be surprised at the feel of his soft laughter pressing into her skin.
“I bet I could hack it.”
Hope snorts something completely unladylike and it illicits a smile from him - small, uncharacteristic, genuine as it spreads across his mouth. She quite likes the sight of it. Finds herself filing it away for later.
“I’d like to see you try,” she snickers.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. I’d like to see you last one day in DC… without a map. And that small town charm and swagger will get you absolutely nowhere. Kindness in the city is perceived as a threat, not a default mode.” Hope takes another long swig of her beer and turns towards him fully, watching as he does the same. “You wouldn’t last a day.”
“Did you just admit that you find me charming?”
Everything about the way he says it - the light, flirty tone, the look in his eye, the soft curl of his mouth - catches her off guard and she nearly chokes on her beer, coughs a little to try and cover it up. The tips of her ears tint pink and she ducks her head, avoiding eye contact.
It’s moments like these when she remembers all too easily: New Years Eve, a kiss that was everything but friendly, the way Ryder’s hands had pressed into her spine, right between her shoulder blades as if he was holding her to him, afraid to let her go. She remembers the way he tasted - the beer and pretzels, the hint of unexpected mint lingering beneath the surface. She remembers the daze afterwards, the way his warmth had settled deep under her skin and lingered for hours.
It’s moments like these when the animosity between them simmers into something deeper, something just as caustic, but with much more ability to wreak havoc.
It’s moments like these when Ryder manages to unhinge her completely.
And she hates him for it. She does. It has always been easy for her to design the simplest solutions to the most complex problems, but she cannot, for the life of her, figure out Ryder Montgomery.
Ryder is expectant as he looks at her now, and she’s just about to open her mouth, trying to devise the best way to respond, trying to remember how to accurately form words, when DA lazily makes his way back to them. He plops down at their feet, his tail flopping against the deck as he waits, and Hope and Ryder both look at him for beat, then at each other.
Somebody shouts his name from inside - Beckett, she thinks - and Ryder pushes himself away from the railing, reaching past Hope to collect her empty bottle from before. His fingers brush her elbow as he pulls away, his eyes slamming into hers, holding her gaze. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t ignore the warmth she feels start to spread from deep in her stomach all the way to her toes - not right away, anyway.
“You should come back in,” he says softly. At their feet, DA thumps his tail happily once more against the deck. “You’re missing the party.”
Hope nods, swallowing thickly. “I will.”
There’s something there, she thinks idly as she watches him walk away, simmering just below the surface, just out of reach. They have these moments, these rare, fleeting moments where they manage to let their guards down, manage to treat one another without unbridled animosity. They are nice, these moments, but Hope also recognizes the lie in them. Knows they will never, ever amount to anything - this much she knows, this much she counts on.
So she lets it go.