Page 14 of Curious Hearts (The Healing Hearts #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ali watched as Jessica laughed, the tension visibly draining from her shoulders. The transformation was striking—the poised investment director gave way to someone softer, more genuine. This was the Jessica that Ali increasingly looked forward to seeing.

“The Patels took it remarkably well,” Ali observed, following Jessica to the kitchen where they began clearing dishes.

“They’re more adaptable than my parents,” Jessica said, stacking plates. “Always have been.”

They worked together in surprisingly comfortable synchronization. Ali found herself intensely aware of Jessica’s proximity—the brush of fingers passing plates, her perfume mixing with candle smoke. Each small contact sent a current through her skin.

“Vikram seems nice,” Ali said, trying to sound casual while hating herself for fishing. “You two have known each other a long time?”

Jessica paused stacking plates. “Since college. We dated briefly sophomore year, but neither of us were interested in a relationship that went beyond appeasing expectations.” She added quickly, “There was no physical attraction.”

Ali felt an embarrassing rush of relief. “Well, that explains the grandchildren comments.”

“My mother’s been campaigning since my twenty-fifth birthday. She believes a woman’s biological clock has an expiration date at thirty-five, after which your ovaries apparently shrivel into dust.”

Ali laughed. “My mom’s the opposite. Every time I mention children, she reminds me that she’s too young to be a grandmother and suggests I get another rescue instead.”

They moved through the house, gathering wine glasses.

The easy rhythm felt intimate, domestic.

Ali caught herself imagining other evenings like this—without the parents, just the two of them and the cats, talking about their days over dinner.

She forced the thought away, knowing how dangerous such fantasies could be.

“I’m sorry about the cats escaping,” Ali said eventually. “I should have gone up and checked on them before dinner. Mr. Darcy’s an escape artist.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Jessica stopped and looked at her with those huge dark eyes, and Ali thought she’d melt right into the floor.

Damn, she is gorgeous.

“But it’s why you invited me… to look after the cats.”

Jessica looked momentarily stunned before finding her voice. “No, I mean, well, yes but?—”

Ali watched, mesmerized. Jessica Taylor, the most put-together woman Ali had ever met, was floundering, scrambling for words, although the reason as to why she was so knocked off balance was unclear.

It couldn’t be anything to do with the way she had been looking at her all night, could it?

The same reason she was so obviously trying not to look at her now.

Ali began to wish she had worn this dress to the first meeting.

What if she just took that step a tiny bit closer, removed the distance between them?

But as soon as Ali moved, Jessica turned and started stacking the glasses into the sink.

“In a way, it’s a relief,” she said, never allowing their gaze to meet. “Now they know, and I don’t have to keep hiding it.”

Ali frowned. Was Jessica talking about the cats?

During dinner, Ali had observed the complex family dynamics with new understanding.

How Jessica modulated her voice to match her parents’.

The careful distance she maintained even while appearing engaged.

This was Jessica’s armor—a performance honed through years of practice.

The perfect embodiment of their expectations, perhaps?

“Your parents are exactly as you described them,” Ali said, drying a wine glass carefully.

“I warned you.”

“You did. But I wasn’t prepared for how precisely your mother could deliver passive-aggressive criticism while smiling.”

“It’s her superpower. Along with the ability to make any of my achievements sound vaguely disappointing.” Jessica gave a humorless chuckle, then seemed to lose herself in thought.

While they worked, Ali kept thinking about how easily Jessica and Vikram had interacted.

They shared the easy familiarity of people who’d grown up in the same world, understood the same unspoken rules.

They looked good together—and were undoubtedly, everything, one hundred percent everything, Jessica’s parents wanted.

“For what it’s worth,” Ali said carefully, “your parents seemed to approve of Vikram.”

“They’ve been trying to make that match happen for a decade.

” Jessica rolled her eyes. “He’s literally perfect on paper: Yale, legal background, biracial like me—with an Indian mom and Black dad—from a ‘good family.’ That’s Mom’s polite way of saying ‘right connections, right background.’ She’s always wanted me with someone who understands both sides of my heritage. ”

“But he’s not perfect for you?”

Jessica shook her head. “We both figured out pretty quickly that we make better friends than partners. Neither of us felt... that way. Besides, his career is in London now.”

“Besides ,” thought Ali. What an odd thing to say. It was almost as if the geography was a factor in the decision.

By the time they’d finished cleaning, Ali knew she should leave. It was late, and the evening had been emotionally draining. But something kept her lingering, helping Jessica arrange the last of the dishes, both of them working far more slowly than necessary.

“I should probably head out,” Ali finally said, though she made no move toward the door.

“Of course.” Jessica nodded, equally unmoving.

There was something between them, Ali was certain.

But she’d been here before, misreading signals, falling too hard, too fast, crushing on straight women.

According to the therapist she’d been seeing at the time, she was unconsciously protecting herself from entering into a real relationship by crushing on women who would never reciprocate, emotionally or physically.

Another piece of baggage Amy didn’t take with her when she walked out six years ago.

As they reached the front door, Ali turned, reluctant to leave. “Thank you for including me tonight. Despite the cat chaos, it was... nice.”

“Thank you for coming,” Jessica said softly. “I don’t think I could have faced that dinner alone.”

“Anytime. That’s what friends are for.”

Something flickered in Jessica’s expression at the word “friends”—a subtle warming, a softening around the eyes. Then, surprising them both, she stepped forward and pulled Ali into a hug.

It lasted only seconds, but Ali’s senses went into overdrive—the press of Jessica’s body against hers, the silk of her dress beneath Ali’s palms, the faint scent of her perfume, the way Jessica’s breath hitched slightly. Ali’s heart hammered so loudly she was certain Jessica must feel it.

“Goodnight, Ali,” Jessica whispered, pulling back too soon.

“Night, Jessica.”

Ali fumbled for her keys as she walked to her car, her skin still tingling everywhere Jessica had touched her. She could feel those dark eyes watching from the doorway but didn’t trust herself to look back. Her hands were literally trembling as she started the engine.

Because Ali Ritchie, who prided herself on reading animal behavior and understanding non-verbal cues, couldn’t shake the feeling that Jessica Taylor—brilliant, controlled, supposedly straight Jessica Taylor—had held onto her just a heartbeat longer than friendship required.