Chapter 12
Hunter
Afew nights later, the margarita machine finally let me hear what Paige had described.
I winced as it groaned like it was possessed, then sputtered out a sad mechanical wheeze.
I examined it, flashlight in my mouth, elbow-deep in wires and regret, half tempted to throw it in the dumpster and buy her a new one.
“There!” She shouted as she came running out of the back room. “Hear that? It’s haunted, I swear.”
“Yup, it’s definitely a hard sound to miss.”
“Right?” she muttered. “It’s sentient, I know it. Watch out before it kills us both. Death by tequila and triple sec.”
I got to work, frustrated as there seemed to be nothing actually wrong with it. “Every time I think I’ve figured you out,” I muttered to the machine, “you prove me wrong. Just like the woman who owns you.”
Behind me, Paige hummed faintly as she organized something behind the bar. I couldn’t tell what—she could’ve been stacking napkins or alphabetizing tequila—but it sounded like she was in the zone.
If I hadn’t been falling for her already, this would have pushed me closer to the edge.
There was something unexpectedly adorable about the way she concentrated, humming her off-key little song as if the rest of the world had slipped away.
She always bit her lip when she was deep in thought, her brows scrunched in mock severity, only to soften moments later with a half-smile when she found whatever she was searching for.
Even with her hair falling messily around her face and her sleeves pushed up, she managed to make the mundane—stacking boxes, straightening bottles—look cute. She wasn’t trying to be, she just was.
Weirdly, tonight reminded me of being with her after school when my dad still watched her and Piper.
Once high school started, they started going straight home instead of riding the school bus with me and my brothers back to our place.
I had never let myself feel how much I had missed her after that.
She started hanging out with Eli, and they began dating.
And they got married soon after graduation.
We had obviously remained friends, but not quite as close as when we were kids—until now.
It felt like she was mine again.
Mine? I brushed the thought aside and glanced her way, grinning to myself as she worked. Hiding a smile while she hummed her little song and jolted me back to the past—at the kitchen table, doing homework together, fighting back a grin as she hummed.
I tightened the last bolt, adjusted the switch, and listened as the machine whirred back to life. Still not quite right, still running weird—but functional. I stood and wiped my hands on a towel, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
She had one knee propped on a barstool, reaching up to adjust a box on the highest shelf, hoodie riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin. Nothing overt. Just soft, pale skin that I’d give just about anything to trace with my fingers.
I looked away. Fast.
“I’m done for now. And the freezer seems to be holding steady,” I called, trying to sound casual. “I don’t hear it anymore, do you?”
“Nope.” She grinned at me. “And the margarita monster?”
“She lives,” I said, walking toward her. “Every time I work on it, there’s a different problem. I think she’s just dramatic. Needs attention.”
“So, basically, me in machine form.”
I laughed. “Exactly. Little high-maintenance, kind of unpredictable, but if you take care of her, she runs like a dream.”
She gave me a look over her shoulder. “Flattery won’t get you out of inventory next week,” she joked. “You’re my helper now. It’s official.”
“I’d do your inventory every night if it meant I got to spend time with you like this.” The words came out softer than I meant them to.
Her smile faltered for a second. Not completely—but enough that I saw the flicker of something cross her face. Fear maybe. Attraction hopefully.
I cleared my throat and leaned against the bar, careful to give her space. “Anyway. You’re all set for now.”
“You don’t have to keep fixing things for me. I was only kidding about the inventory. I take too much help from you, Hunter.”
“I know I don’t have to,” I said, echoing what I’d told her earlier.
“I want to. And you help me too. Who’s the one who brings me chicken noodle soup whenever I’m sick?
Who drives all the way to McDonald’s for fries and a Coke whenever I get a migraine?
Who makes sure I have my favorite sugar cookies and an ugly sweater for your Christmas party every year?
And let’s not forget about the annual birthday coffee, now featuring cinnamon crumble muffins.
You’re there for me, too, Paige. Please don’t pretend that you’re not. ”
She didn’t reply. Just lowered the box she’d been fussing with and ran a hand over her ponytail. The motion lifted her hoodie again for a second, and I forced myself to look at the jukebox instead of her waist.
I was dangerously close to falling apart in the middle of a bar that smelled like the usual lemon cleaner but now also faintly like her shampoo.
“I should head out,” I said, even though I didn’t want to. “You good here?”
She nodded, surprised. “Yeah. Just finishing up. Thanks for coming.”
“Anytime.”
I hesitated in the doorway, one hand on the knob.
She didn’t look at me, but her voice stopped me. “Hunter?”
I turned.
I fully intended to wait for her in the parking lot. I just couldn’t be around her anymore without kissing her.
Then she said, so quietly I barely heard her: “I can’t stop thinking about the pie. It was my favorite.”
“I know. I remember.” I didn’t wait for more. I didn’t push. I just said, “Night, Paige,” and stepped out into the cool dark of the parking lot, hands jammed in my pockets with my heart doing backflips.
The sky was clear. The stars were lit up like sharp points weaving through the trees in the distance. And I felt like I’d left something inside the bar I wasn’t sure I’d get back.
Maybe it was just the pie plate I had yet to bring home, but maybe it was something more, and I should go back in and find out.
I took two steps across the gravel and came to a stop. I stood there in the dark, staring at the truck like it might tell me what the hell I was supposed to do next.
She’d said she used to love that pie. But the way she said it? It was like it meant something more. Like I meant something to her. Maybe she was ready to be more than friends, and maybe she was too scared to say the words out loud or make a move.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, wondering if I should’ve stayed. If I should’ve said more. Or if there was even any more to say at all.
The door creaked open behind me.
“Hunter,” she said softly.
I turned. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, like she’d come outside before she could change her mind.
Her expression was tight, unreadable, but her eyes looked like they were full of something she couldn’t hold in much longer.
“Did you forget to tell me something?” I asked, voice low. Hope pounding through my veins like a fucking freight train.
She stared at me for a second. Then she stepped off the porch.
One step. Then another.
She walked right up to me, wrapped her fingers in the front of my hoodie, yanked me down to her level, and kissed me.
No warning. No hesitation.
Just kissed me like she’d run out of reasons not to.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow.
It was months—years—of tension crashing into one moment. Her mouth was hot and soft, and she pulled me closer like she didn’t want me to move. And I kissed her back like I’d been waiting my whole damn life to hold her like this. Because in this moment, I realized I had.
I gripped her waist, fingers sliding against that soft, pale sliver of skin I’d ached to touch only moments before.
Her breath stuttered against my lips, and I deepened the kiss just enough to let her know I wasn’t going anywhere unless she made me.
And then, just as fast as it started, she broke the kiss and took a step back.
She was breathing hard. We both were.
Her eyes widened like she couldn’t believe what she’d just done.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Because this wasn’t about me, it was about her and what she needed from me right now.
Her fingers hovered near her mouth. “Shit,” she whispered.
Still, I waited. Silent.
And then, with her voice drifting away in the evening breeze. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Okay,” I said, voice steady. “But it did.”
She looked up at me, searching for something.
I didn’t offer her an answer. Or ask her what she wanted from me. Because if I did, she’d run away. I knew it.
Instead, I just reached out, tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and said, “Do you want me to pretend it didn’t happen?”
Her eyes flashed. “No,” she said, voice shaking. “I don’t. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I meant that when I said it before.”
My heart knocked once against my ribs. Hard.
She was still close. Still looking at me like she might bolt or break, like she wasn’t sure which part of her would win.
I didn’t touch her. I let the moment hang, soft and open, until she made the choice again—stepping closer, right into my space, pressing a hand to my chest like she needed to feel my heartbeat before she could believe any of this was real.
“Tell me I’m not losing my mind,” she whispered.
“You’re not,” I said, my voice rough. “But if you are, I’ll go with you.”
“Tell me I won’t ruin everything and drive you away,” she pleaded. “I can’t lose you.”
“That would be impossible.”
That was all it took. She surged up again, kissed me harder this time—hotter, hungrier, like the dam had broken and she didn’t care about anything but getting her hands on me.
I groaned against her mouth and returned her kiss with everything I’d been holding back. My hand slid around her waist, pulling her in until her body hit mine and she gasped into the kiss, fingers tightening in my hoodie like she couldn’t get close enough.
She was warm and soft and real in my arms, and the way she kissed me—like she was starving, like she’d waited just as long as I had—undid something in me. Unlocked a piece of my heart that had always belonged only to her.
“Paige,” I murmured against her lips, letting my hand slide up her back to drift into her hair. “You’ve got to tell me when to stop.”
She shook her head, kissed me again. Then broke away, breathing hard.
“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to stop.”
My hands stilled on her hips as her eyes searched mine—wide, wild, a little scared, but absolutely sure.
“But I do want to slow down,” she said, softer now. “Because if I don’t, I’m going to fall all the way into whatever this is. And I don’t know if I’ll survive it if it doesn’t work.”
I rested my forehead against hers, trying to steady the thudding in my chest.
“What if it doesn’t fall apart? What if it all works out? What if I’m always here to catch you when or if you fall?”
“Maybe that’s what scares me the most.”
And I held her.
Right there in the gravel lot, under the flickering purple neon and the quiet hum of everything that was finally starting.
Neither of us said anything else.