11. Sutton #3
I look around the empty room again, trying to imagine living in the middle of a construction zone.
“You’re a lot more relaxed about this than I’d be,” I admit.
“I am relaxed,” he says, “because you’re the one running the show.” Hunter gives a grin.
We settle on the back patio. Hunter doesn’t have much in the way of furniture—just two of those cheap, striped lawn chairs that pinch your skin if you move around too much—but the view makes the discomfort worth it.
His backyard stretches out into a sea of wildflowers and grass, their colors softened to hues of faded golds, dusty purples, and hints of rose.
The breeze moves through them in slow waves.
Trees line the edge, leaves turning and thinning, and beyond them, the sun sinks behind the mountains, casting the area in golden light.
This place is more than anything I could’ve dreamed up when I picture a place to watch the sun go down.
“You’re going to have to upgrade because these chairs are terrible,” I say.
He eyes me, suddenly serious. “I’ll take care of the backyard.”
“Okay?” I say, curious at what he’s got planned. “So, uh, Easton gave me the number for his cabinet guy. I’ll order the new ones tomorrow. Hopefully, we can get going really soon.”
We’re quiet for several minutes, fully immersed in the serenity of the space. Although most of the flowers and shrubs are dull and faded, there’s something magical about this place.
“So . . .” Hunter says and takes a swig from his beer.
“So . . . ?” I say when the awkward silence stretches too long.
“Easton’s a nice guy.”
I bury my laugh. I know exactly where this is going. “Yes, Easton is a very nice guy.”
“Are you two . . .” He clears his throat.
I can’t help but tease Hunter. “We are . . .”
The panic that flashes across his face is worth the trouble I know is coming.
Hunter chokes on his beer, nearly spitting it out.
“Jealous much?” I swallow the last dregs of my drink.
“Hell yes, I’m jealous, Sutton,” he admits.
“Don’t worry. Easton and I are only working together.”
Something that looks like relief washes over his face. “And have you given our conversation any more thought?”
“Which one would that be?” I ask coyly.
“You know exactly which one, babe.” He turns his body toward me. “Have you thought about actually giving us a chance?”
I tap my finger on my lower lip. “Maybe a little.” He doesn’t need to know I’ve thought about and replayed our conversation over and over and over.
He makes a low growl in his throat. Suddenly, he pulls my chair to him so that we’re now knee to knee. “You’re playing with fire, babe.”
I fold my lips between my teeth to contain my smile, but it only lasts a few seconds before I’m doubled over in laughter.
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
“But that’s why you keep me around, baby.”
Everything around us goes silent, seeming to hold its breath.
“Say that again,” Hunter says.
“Say what?” I swear Hunter’s actually darken.
“Call me that again.” The gravel in his voice rakes over my nerve endings.
My belly whooshes when he leans in close and braces his hands on the arms of my chair. He’s so close I can just make out the scent of his faded cologne mixed with perspiration. I lean toward him as if he’s pulled an invisible string connected to my chest.
“You like that, do you?” I practically whisper.
“I do.” His eyes never stray from mine, a silent challenge.
My breathing quickens, my body suddenly very aware of how close he is. If this is what it feels like to be this close to Hunter without the boundaries we’ve always kept between us, I can’t imagine what it will feel like if we . . .
“Sutton.”
The way he says my name feels like a warning.
His eyes dart between mine and my mouth. “Unless you’re ready to make the rumors about us true, stop thinking what you’re thinking.”
I draw closer to him, my pulse quickening as I head toward the inevitable collision course with his mouth. Then his words register, cutting through my haze.
“Wait, what?” I say, blinking. “What rumors?”
He huffs and drops his head. “Apparently, half the town has been betting on when we’d stop pretending we’re just friends.”
“Seriously?” I roll my eyes, letting out a sigh.
“Why can’t people mind their business?” I flop back against my chair, crossing my arms. It’s not like their assumptions don’t make sense—we are together practically all the time.
But I hate the idea of people talking about my personal life behind my back.
It feels intrusive, like they’re trying to extract feelings I’m not prepared to face yet or show at all.
Just like that, any little threads that Hunter managed to pry loose from my heart I reel back in, knotting them tight.
I don’t need anyone meddling in my love life—or lack thereof.
I tuck a few hairs behind my ears and gather my hair into a twist. Sitting up straighter, I press my hands under my thighs.
“C’mon,” Hunter says, pushing up from his chair and rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s getting late.”
I glance at him, trying to read his expression, not sure if it’s one of defeat or frustration. Maybe both.
“I’ve got work tomorrow. Let me walk you out.”
His quick dismissal feels like a punch to the gut.
“The sun hasn’t even fully set,” I say, forcing a light tone. “You’re already kicking me out?”
“Nope.” He smirks, a glint in his eye. “I’m giving you time.”
I narrow my eyes, my cheek pulling my mouth into a half-smirk of my own. “You’re giving me time? Time for what?”
“To decide.”
“Decide what?”
Hunter doesn’t answer, just reaches out and wraps my hand in his. Warmth blooms at the contact. He walks me to my car and holds the car door open. I slide into the driver’s seat and look up at him.
“Are you mad at me?” My voice sounds softer.
“I could never be mad at you.” He leans down, his face inches from mine, resting his forearm across the top of my car. “But maybe I haven’t been clear enough. I want you,” he says, voice low, eyes intense. “And it’s time to decide what you want.”
My heart rate accelerates as his eyes hold my own.
Without moving, he says, “I want you to give us a chance.”