Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Michelle
Still ten weeks pregnant
I stand outside Code Red, a few blocks from my apartment. My lip won’t have any skin left on it by the time Hunter gets here. Not that he’s late. No, I’m ten minutes early, in case I caught traffic. You know, on the sidewalks.
Something pulls me to look to the left, and I spot Hunter walking up the street toward me. He’s focused on the sidewalk in front of him and doesn’t see me yet, so I enjoy the chance to take him in. His head bobs slightly, so I assume he’s listening to music. He’s wearing jeans that fit tight across his thighs. I make a mental note to check out his butt later. His tattoos are covered by a blazer, but the button-down shirt underneath boasts a colorful floral pattern that should make him look like he’s headed for a Jimmy Buffet concert. Instead, it suits him. Hunter. The father of my child.
I’m back to chewing on my lip and look down at my midi sundress and wedge sandals. It’s the same jade color as the lace bodysuit I wore that night. He seemed to like it then, and I figure it can’t hurt anything now.
Suddenly a hand is on my face. I should startle, but his cedar scent is familiar right away. He pulls down on my chin to remove my lip from my mouth.
“I want to do that.”
I burst out laughing. “Quoting Christian Grey? Is that how you think this evening is going to go?”
His grin could light up a mineshaft as he drops his hand. “I figured corny pick up lines are our thing. Inspiration struck.” He looks me up and down. “You look beautiful.”
My skin heats, and I once again curse my red hair and fair skin.
“Shall we?” he says, pointing at the door.
“Sounds great. I’m starving.” I walk in through the door he holds for me. He gives his name at the hostess stand, and after a moment, she leads us to a booth in the back. She promises a waitress will be by with waters soon and leaves us to get settled.
“So, while I walked up from the Metro, I recognized a few things. Your apartment is close to here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I wondered if that was part of the appeal to this place.”
“No, I didn’t realize. I’m glad you didn’t have to go far, but I don’t want you to think I picked it being presumptuous or anything. I didn’t compare it to your address. The vibe seemed cool, and the red made me think of you. Plus, there’s a prohibition vibe to this place too. Hayden says the cocktails are amazing. Once he stopped giving me a hard time about skipping poker night.”
“You’re skipping poker night? You didn’t need to do that.”
“Red, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Five minutes into the evening and I’m positive my cheeks will be sore from smiling more than I have in the past month. I stop looking at the food to look at their drinks menu. I scan for mocktails and am relieved to see a variety of options. Maybe I can order one and slip under the radar it doesn’t have any alcohol in it.
The waitress comes by to take our orders. I open my eyes a little wider when I say my drink’s name and, being a girl’s girl, she gets the hint and doesn’t confirm if I know it’s spirit free. I see Hunter scanning the menu for my drink after he says his order, so go in for a distraction.
“So, 50 Shades of Grey , huh?”
“What’s your question?” he asks, leaning forward on the table. He took his jacket off when we sat down and revealed a set of rolled-up sleeves my eyes keep being drawn to.
“My question is . . . you’ve read them?”
He traces my gaze to his forearms and flexes them a bit. How does he ...
“My stepmother is a big romance reader. I moved with my dad to her town after I graduated from high school. Only me and my youngest brother, Spencer, lived there full-time. He had school as an avenue to make friends. I didn’t really try to make any connections there. I got one random job after another and spent a lot of time at home. It turns out there is only so much internet you can surf, so I started sneaking books off her bookshelf. Though, turns out, I’m not as sneaky as I thought. She started to leave ones she thought I’d like sitting at the front of the shelves.”
I smile, resting my head in my hand. “That’s really sweet.” I pause for a second and decide to probe a little bit. We’re going to get personal by the end of the night anyway. “You said you read with your stepmother?”
It’s already a dark room, but I can see Hunter’s eyes as they darken. “Yeah, Margaret. She’s wonderful. No evil stepmother trope here. My mom died when I was eight. Dad worked hard to keep all five of us together and pay off the debt left behind. We all dealt with it differently. My way tended to be more . . . destructive.”
“Is that when the tattoo habit started? ”
He rubs his arm absentmindedly. “No, nothing like that. We lived in a different small town then, but everyone knew the Brandt brothers, especially the troublemaker Hunter. No tattoo artist within thirty miles would touch me while I was underage, and I didn’t have a way to get farther. But I had plans, for sure. I don’t have a record, but I think small-town life is also to thank for that.”
I nod. “Grief can impact people in lots of different ways.”
“What about your family?” he asks, picking up a piece of bread someone dropped off on the table while we were talking.
I suppose I should have seen this coming, since I probed into his. I take a breath in and say it fast. “My Dad skipped town when I was three. I haven’t seen him since. My mom did a decent job of not bringing men into the house while I still lived there, but it was one deadbeat after another. If she happened to find a good one, she’d find some flaw and leave him for a change. I spent a lot of time at the neighbors, or when she felt I was old enough, home alone. It’s not the healthiest relationship in my life.”
“You’re an only child?”
I nod. “As far as I know at least. I’ve always been scared to do one of those DNA test kits. Find my dad with some other family that could make him stay? They were young when they had me. Logically, I know neither of them was ready, but it left its mark.” My arm goes across my stomach absentmindedly while I talk. I tell myself I’m not repeating the cycle. I’m over twenty years older than my mom was when she had me. I consider men with the opposite instincts of how my mom would look at them. No guarantee what Hunter will want, once I tell him, but he deserves to know.
The waitress passes by for the fourth time, and we finally put in our order. Hunter talks with her about the dishes for a few minutes, taking her recommendation for an appetizer and main course. I’m not the most adventurous eater on a good day and I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Jax and Laurel earlier I thought my morning sickness was starting.
“So, is food your thing?” I ask, grabbing a piece of bread myself.
“I’d call it one of my things, yeah.” His eyes look around and he clears his throat. “I, uh, actually just finished my associate’s degree in culinary arts. They say it’s never too late to go back to school.”
I take a drink of the mocktail the waitress dropped off. I’m impressed by the smooth service they provide without interrupting. A great place for a date. Though, I don’t expect to have many more of those anytime soon.
“That’s great. And I heard that sarcasm there at the end. Not everyone knows what they want to do with their life at eighteen, or hell, even at twenty-eight!”
“Twenty-eight was about the age for me, actually. I moved out on my own after catching my dad and Margaret on the couch coming home at 2:00 a.m. one too many times.” I snort laugh. “Hey, when you find love again after raising five sons, he can get it. But it’s not something I need to see.”
“That’s fair. And probably healthy. But you were saying you moved out?”
“I did, and I realized very quickly how used to Margaret’s cooking I was. She loves to cook, and always made too much, so she’d leave leftovers in the fridge for me to heat up after a shift, or as a midnight snack after the bars closed. Remember, small-town New England. You walk to and from the bars, when there aren’t feet of snow on the ground.”
I grew up in Middle America, where if you didn’t have a car, you might not see another soul for a week. I understand the concept now, but couldn’t imagine it before college.
“So I asked her for a few easy starter recipes. I mastered those and then started experimenting with little changes here and there. Making things my own. I tried harder and more complex recipes, and before I knew it, I was the one cooking for them. I passed an advertisement for the culinary program at the community college in the next town over just under two years ago, and here I am.”
He takes a big swallow of his drink, his cheeks pink. It seems he’s not used to talking about his accomplishments or celebrating his wins. Very interesting.
“So, I couldn’t help but notice you said you moved out when you were twenty-eight.”
He groans. “I hoped you wouldn’t pick up on that. I know what you must think, me living at home. But it took a while to pull my head out of my ass. But here I am. Fully de-assed. There’s something about you that makes me not want to hide those parts of me.”
I take a big gulp of my drink, wishing it had something stronger when I think of what I’m hiding from him. The waitress arrives with our dinners. After making sure we have everything we need, she tells us to enjoy our food. I hope we can—we didn’t ask which dish pairs best with life-altering news.
“Thank you for being honest.” I pick up the thread. “But no, you didn’t let me finish. I’m more am doing the math. If twenty-eight is only a few years ago for you, that confirms the ninety-three in your handle is because you were born in 1993?”
“That’s right. And let me guess. The eighty-five in yours is because you were born in 1985?”
I nod with my mouth full of a bite of my salad.
“So, you’re a few years older than me.”
“I’m a third grader older than you, Hunter.”
He takes a bite of his sandwich, looking thoughtful and somehow looking hot with juice running down his face. The glistening on his chin reminds me of the other time we were together and he got his chin wet.
I take another big gulp of my drink. Maybe it’s best this doesn’t have any alcohol in it, the way I’m chugging it.
“I’ve never really considered myself a cougar kinda guy, but then again, I’ve never met a woman like you before. ”
I roll my eyes at his line, and somehow, it seems the movement detaches my brain from my mouth.
“How about a MILF kinda guy? Are you one of those?”
Hunter slows his chewing and swallows. “I mean, I’m not saying it’s never happened, but I don’t go looking for them.” He sets his sandwich down, looking confused.
It’s not nice to play with your food before you change their life forever, Michelle.
“Hunter, I’m pregnant.”