Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
EVE
FOUR YEARS LATER
M y lip gloss falls out of my bag and onto the seat, promptly followed by a pack of gum. I curse under my breath as I continue rifling through the tote’s contents, desperately trying to find my headphones. I’m positive I put them in here, and the three-hour flight to Atlanta is going to feel a lot longer if I can’t listen to the latest C is for Crime episode I downloaded.
“Excuse me, miss?”
“One second,” I say, digging deeper. That almost felt like the rubber coating of a wire. I can’t use the ones without a wire without losing one.
The plane’s loudspeaker crackles to life, preparing for some announcement, and my fingers finally close around an ear bud.
I pull the headphones out of my bag triumphantly, then glance up. There’s a line of several scowling passengers standing in the aisle that I trace to my row. Specifically, to the tall figure waiting for me to move so he can take the seat I’m blocking.
“Oh, sorry—oh my God.”
I forget about my headphones—and my bag, which topples to the floor—as I leap up and throw my arms around Hunter.
He grunts when our bodies collide, apparently not expecting such an enthusiastic greeting. His mistake.
“What are you doing here?” I exclaim, pulling back just far enough to see his face.
“I decided to fly to Atlanta via New York. Well, via Salt Lake City and New York. I couldn’t get a direct flight to JFK.”
“Excuse me, could you have this conversation somewhere else? You’re blocking the aisle,” the grumpy woman behind Hunter says.
“Sorry,” he tells her politely, then hefts his suitcase into the overhead compartment like it weighs nothing and slides past me into the open seat.
The woman who was behind him continues down the aisle with her huge bag. How she got that past the gate agent is a mystery. I’m positive it extends beyond the allotted inches.
I focus on Hunter. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
He leans down, picking up the lip gloss and gum that ended up on the floor and stowing them back in my bag. Then he reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together. “It’s not every weekend our best friends marry each other. I figured that merited a special trip.”
“You didn’t need to add that much time to your flight.”
“I know I didn’t.” He kisses the back of my hand. “Did you think of anything you forgot yet?”
“No, but I’m positive there’s something.”
He smiles.
“Have you talked to Conor recently?” I ask.
“Not this week. His mom flew in early to help Harlow with the last-minute preparations, and he was hoping to show her around Tampa Bay before they headed up to Atlanta. I think he wanted to make Anna feel extra special before Hugh and Allison arrived.”
“That was thoughtful of him.”
“Speaking of thoughtful…” He leans closer and kisses me.
I’m laughing, but it disappears as soon as his tongue touches mine. I moan into his mouth, louder than is really appropriate for a public place.
Hunter smirks when he leans back, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger. I cut it to just past my shoulders a few weeks ago, wanting to try a different style after having long hair for so long. It also means I wear it down more often, which Hunter seems to appreciate.
“How was it?” I ask quietly.
He sighs. “Sad. But mostly okay.”
Hunter’s grandfather passed away last week. It was sudden, a heart attack, and I wasn’t able to go because my boss was out of town and I couldn’t get anyone to cover the gallery for me. So Hunter went back to Casper alone for the funeral that was held yesterday. Up until five minutes ago, I thought that meant I was meeting him in Atlanta for Harlow and Conor’s wedding this weekend.
“You saw Sean?” I ask.
“Yeah, he was there. He’s still working at the auto shop, and seems to be enjoying it. Still showing up at NA. And he said he’s dating someone, but I didn’t get any details. Also mentioned coming to visit us in New York soon, but he’s said that before and it’s never happened, so…” He shrugs.
Hunter’s good at managing expectations when it comes to his brother. Maybe too good. It’s been four years since Sean’s overdose, and as far as we know, he’s stayed sober since. But Hunter still flinches every time Sean calls.
Some things just take time, I guess.
“My dad called last night. Lily won her art contest.”
“Good for her.”
“He asked about the holidays again. Wants us to come visit, maybe stay with them.”
“Are you ready for that?” Hunter asks.
I gnaw on my lower lip. “I don’t know. I told him I’d talk to you about it.”
It took me six months to call my dad after graduation. It was right after I got a receptionist job at the gallery where I now work as a buyer. The gallery where some of my paintings hang on the walls.
Our first conversation was awkward. So was our second. Lots of them have contained awkward moments, actually. But I kept calling. And he did too. We abandoned our former strict schedule, and that lack of structure helped some.
We’ll never have a normal father-daughter relationship, but we have a relationship. Maybe it’ll continue to improve, or maybe it’ll always be a little stilted. Either way, I won’t have to wonder what if .
“I’m up for it if you are,” Hunter tells me. “We went to my folks’ last year.”
I shudder at the memory. I loved visiting his family. I hated skiing. Hunter talked me into it.
He grew up skiing, and is naturally athletic. I’d never skied before, and am naturally clumsy. Honestly, I’m shocked I didn’t break any bones.
“No skiing next time,” he promises, knowing exactly why I’m grimacing right now. “We can go sledding instead.”
“How about you do the winter sports, and I’ll stay inside?”
“I’m adding it to your list.”
I glare at him. “Don’t you dare.”
My fuck-it list has become a running joke between us. Anytime there’s something I don’t want to do but Hunter does, he suggests I add it. I’ve caved on a few things, like skiing, but after that catastrophe I swore I was going to hold my ground on any future additions.
Problem is, I still get giddy around Hunter Morgan.
And since I admitted that to him, he uses it to his advantage.
The intercom comes to life again, this time with an announcement for the flight crew to prepare the cabin for takeoff.
I snap on my seat belt and tighten it around my waist.
Hunter’s still holding my hand, rubbing lazy circles around my knuckles.
I missed him. We moved in together two years ago, when he graduated from Penn and moved to New York, and since then there haven’t been many nights we’ve spent apart. I slept terribly the past few nights simply because his side of the bed was empty.
“Rowan had the baby,” I say as we wait for our plane to leave the gate. “A boy. Ben posted a photo.”
We had lunch with Ben and his wife six months ago. They came to the city for a weekend getaway, and I suggested meeting up after Hunter said he was up for it.
I hadn’t seen Ben since graduation. He’s running his family’s seafood store on his own now, and Rowan works as a librarian in Port Haven. During dinner, Ben told me he’s working on a documentary about the town’s history and Rowan is helping him with the research. They’re perfect for each other.
“When did we get so old people our age are having kids?” Hunter wonders.
“Ten years ago, technically. That’s how old my mom was when she had me. On purpose? Now, I guess.”
He squeezes my hand. “Do you ever think about it?”
My heart rate quickens. “Having kids?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not ready right now. But yes, I think about it. Maybe in a year or two?”
After you finally propose.
“After I finally propose?”
For a second, I think I spoke aloud.
Hunter smirks. “You can give me shit for it. Conor sure has. But he always has to be first with everything, so I’m not sure why he’s surprised he beat me to the punch.”
“I’m not going to give you shit. There’s no clock. But I like the idea of being married first, yeah.”
Not that you need to be married to have a baby together. But my own childhood was so un traditional, I like the idea of doing things in the typical order. Of having my last name be the same as my kid’s.
Hunter squeezes my hand again. “Me too.”