7. Hunter
Hunter
“Ha!” Sutton laughs, holding her hand against her chest in mock offense. “And how would you know what I look like freshly fucked?”
I can’t help the small, satisfied smirk tugging at my lips. She freezes, cheeks flaming, and it hits me—this is why I’m done playing it safe. I’ve been holding back for years, pretending timing matters more than truth. It doesn’t.
Not anymore. No more half measures. No more pretending that our forever isn’t in the eyes of the person across from us.
I know she feels it too. I see it every time she looks at me like that. “Sutton, you were in that hotel room same as me.”
“Oh god.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I thought we decided never to mention that again.”
I step away from the railing and into her space, stopping inches from her bare feet. My eyes drag up her body and zero in on the smooth expanse of her neck. “We didn’t decide anything.”
I reach forward, slipping my hand around the smooth column of her neck.
Her pulse beats a wild rhythm beneath my thumb.
“You might have decided something in that brain of yours, but me? I’ve been imagining what you’d look like if it were me who’d made you come instead.
And this”—I look down at her body, tugging on the corner of her white blouse—“is pretty close to my imagination.”
Sutton covers my lower hand with hers, stopping me from untucking her shirt even more. It’s a rarity for her to be the messy, unconcerned version of herself. Even though it’s my favorite when she’s just Sutton, the beautiful mess I’ve been in love with since I was a teenager.
“You think about that?” She whispers, her hand sliding along my arm to grip my forearm. Her eyes sparkle, seemingly entranced, and I’m not even sure she realizes how far she’s leaning into my space.
“Almost every day.” My fingers slide under the edge of her top, teasing the baby-soft skin on her hip.
Find a key. Rachel’s words weave their way to the forefront of my mind.
“I wonder.” I smile. “Will you say my name differently when I’m inside you?”
“I’m . . .” She sucks in a sharp breath, folding her lips between her teeth. “You, uh, didn’t interrupt anything.” Her alabaster skin does nothing to hide her reddening cheeks. “I lost track of time, and the storm knocked out my signal.”
She wants me to let this go, let her change the subject. I push a little harder. “Babe, that wasn’t what I asked.”
“Hunter,” she whispers. “You can’t say things like that.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” My hand rests perfectly in the dip of her waist.
“B-because we’re just friends, remember?” Her stomach quivers as the lie falls from her lips.
“Of course we’re friends. Always have been and always will be. But you know we’re a lot more than just friends. So tell me, Sutton, do you think about it?”
She runs her hand from my arm, up my chest, and dives her perfectly manicured fingers into the back of my hair. A million expressions flash across her face.
When I wrap my other hand around her back and pull her body flush with mine, she’s forced to drape her other arm around my shoulder.
Only a few inches separate my lips from hers.
I want nothing more than to close the distance, but I know the only way I’ll unlock Sutton is to do it slowly, methodically.
“Sutton.” I nudge harder, her name a command.
Her green eyes sparkle when she looks at me, the corners softening.
“All the time,” she whispers.
“Good.” I grin, those three words music to my ears. I dip my head to the right and run my nose along the slope of her cheek and whisper in her ear, “Then why did you join a dating app?”
She jerks away, eyes practically bulging out of her head. “Who told you?”
“Chris.” I tuck my hands into my pockets. “Apparently, half the guys in town are forming a queue to ask you out.”
“Thanks, Navy.” She mumbles something else, but it’s inaudible as she whirls around and disappears inside. I step over the threshold, unable to take my eyes off the way her slacks hug her body. She quickens her pace, her bare feet slapping against the wood floors as she stomps into the dining room.
One of her sketchbooks and a bag of pencils are scattered over the table. I approach the chair that’s pushed back and turn her notebook toward me. Each page is filled with sketches of room designs and even a rough blueprint of a kitchen. My kitchen to be exact.
“What’s all this?”
“Just some sketches. It was raining, and I couldn’t really leave. I was just messing around.”
I smile and turn the book toward her. “This is my kitchen.”
“It is.” She runs her fingers over the page.
“You actually going to take me up on my offer?”
“About that.” She eases into the chair and folds her arms on the tabletop. “I might have told the Weeks that you hired me to remodel your house.”
“So, you’re agreeing to do it then?”
“They’re really interested in this property.
” She gestures around us. “But they have hesitations on tackling a remodel. I might have mentioned I’m getting into design and that you hired me.
Then I offered to help them turn this place into a B and B.
” She puffs out her cheeks and releases a breath.
“They’re going to think about it and let me know Monday. ”
I settle at the table on her right and flip through the sketchbook again.
One thing Sutton’s always had is an eye for transforming something battered and forgotten into something beautiful and timeless.
There’s sketch after sketch of my master bath and bedroom, guest rooms and baths, and even the beginnings of the great room.
A sudden surge of pride flares through my body, seeing her visions for the house.
“Sutton, these are incredible.”
“You think so? I wasn’t sure if you’d like them, so I just . . .”
“You just what?” I cover her hand with mine.
She smiles, but won’t look at me. “I just pretended like it was my house too.”
I return her smile. “I hope someday it is.”
“What about Rachel?”
Her question explodes like a grenade between us.
“Rachel?” I’m completely confused. “What about her?”
“I saw you two on your date last weekend.” She rubs her hands over her face and smooths back some fly-aways. Her eyes refuse to meet mine.
I shake my head, gathering her hands in mine. “That wasn’t a date, Sutton. I told you I lost a bet.”
“Must have been some bet.” If jealousy had a color, it’d be the same that flares in her eyes.
I don’t know where all this is coming from. She didn’t mention anything about Rachel that night or the next day. Hell, it hadn’t even been a thought in my mind that this was running through hers. Is this why she’s been MIA this week?
“Sutton, you know as well as anyone, I haven’t been on an actual date since before summer.”
“It looked like one.”
Only Sutton could take an innocent situation and overthink it to death, making horrible assumptions instead of talking to me.
Most people in town who see me out with a woman do the same.
I get it. From the outside looking in, it might appear like I’ve dated a lot.
Sure, I’ve dated. But none of it stuck. None of it felt right.
Because it wasn’t Sutton.
“I have dated a lot,” I say, “but that’s only because I’ve been waiting—”
Her hand suddenly whips out, and she presses her finger over my lips. “Don’t.”
I shake my head. We’ve done this for far too long, letting too many things—wrong timing, mixed signals, misunderstandings, and fear—get in the way. If she’s finally ready to date again, I’ll be damned if she doesn’t know where I stand.
“I date a lot because I’ve been waiting for you,” I mumble around her finger.
She drops her forehead to my chest at the same time her hand falls to her side. “Why did you have to tell me that?”
“Sutton.” I smooth my hand down her arm and wrap it around her wrist. She’s taken off her multitude of bracelets, and I relish her skin’s softness. “I know you’ve been through hell. I know that you’re scared. I know you locked your heart away to protect it.”
She presses her forehead into the center of my chest and pulls back to look at me. Her eyes plead with me not to verbalize these feelings, to leave them in the space of unspoken truths and promises between us.
But I can’t.
Not anymore.
“You have to know . . .” I breathe deeply, cupping the sides of her cheeks. My body softens, every ounce of hesitation exiting with each second that passes. “You have to know that if you’re finally ready to give someone the key to your heart, I was always going to be the first in line.”
“Hunter.” She leans her cheek into my right palm, and her eyes fall shut. “This is not what I was expecting when you showed up here.”
“Me either, but here we are.”
“I’m not sure if I’m ready. I know that sounds insane. It’s been six years since Brandon and everything else, but I’m scared to open myself back up to that kind of pain again. I opened my heart to so many things, and what happened?” Her face softens in quiet contemplation. “It all crumbled.”
There’s no denying that her world fell apart all those years ago. And ever since, she’s clung to what’s familiar—controlling every aspect of her life and keeping people at arm’s length.
“What if,” she says, opening her eyes. “What if we try this and everything falls apart? Not only would I lose the love of my life, but I’d lose my best friend.”
My heart thunders at her choice of words.
“How can you be talking about losing anything when we haven’t even started yet?
” I lift my eyebrows. “I get it, Sut. But what if this could be the best thing that’s ever happened to you?
To me? What if it doesn’t fall apart? What if instead of losing anything we finally get what we’ve both been praying for? ”
She matches my smile.
“Sutton, I can’t remember a time when I haven’t had feelings for you. If you don’t have feelings for me, then just tell me. It’ll hurt like hell but at least I’ll know.”
“You know I have feelings for you.” Tears line her eyes. “I’ve never been good at hiding them.”
“No more trying to hide them, okay?”
She nods.
“I’ve spent too many years not telling you how I feel. I can’t do it anymore.” I swipe my thumbs under her eyes, catching a single tear. “Just think about trying to be an us, okay?”
“Okay.” She nods again, releasing another thread.
I breathe out slowly, like I’ve been holding it for years.
“So . . . about this remodel,” I say quietly. “You’re officially saying yes to doing it, right?”
Sutton pulls away from me. “You really want me to work on your house?”
“There’s no one else I trust to get it right but you.”
She studies the sketches for a long moment. “Then, I guess you’ve got yourself an interior designer.”
I break out into a huge grin.
“I want to hear all about your plans,” I say, gesturing to her sketches of my house. “Let me grab the food before you tell me more.” I head back into the rain and toward my truck.
“The food?” She calls after me.
“Yeah, babe. Food,” I yell over my shoulder. “You always forget to eat.”
“Not always.”
I shake my head, rain soaking through my shirt.
She can pretend this is just a remodel.
That I’m just another project she can manage and keep at arm’s length.
I know it isn’t.