15. Hunter #3
“Not sure. Probably frozen pizza and a movie. I’m supposed to leave soon, but I’m thinking about staying a little longer.”
“Uh-uh,” Sutton says, rounding the corner. “That won’t do. You’re coming to Greer’s party.”
Easton arches a brow. “I’m not really a party kind of guy anymore.”
Sutton rolls her eyes. “You’ve never been to one of ours. It’s a Halloween party, and rumor has it that the costume competition is going to be stiff this year.” She winks at me.
“Um . . .” Easton looks at the ground.
I clap Easton on the shoulder. “Good thing you’ve got a week to figure it out, bro.” He’s really got no say in it once Sutton’s decided.
“Alright,” Easton says, “send me the information.”
Easton exits the house, and Sutton smiles at me. “I was just getting ready to go pick up lunch and bring it to you,” she says.
I wrap my hand around her back and pull her in for a kiss. Her lips taste like sugar. Most likely sour gummy worms, if I know my girl.
“It’s all good. I stopped by Ground Up to grab lunch for us and intercepted your order.”
There’s no real furniture in the house, so we pull out a ratty blanket and create a makeshift picnic right there in the middle of the living room.
She takes a bite of her grilled cheese. “This is so good.”
It’s then I notice the pink paint smudges on her chin, arm, and fronts of her leggings. “Did you lose a battle with the paintbrush today or what?”
She snorts, shoveling in another bite. “Something like that.”
“So, the pink wasn’t an accident, huh?” I raise both eyebrows.
She shakes her head. “It’s not pink. It’s blush.”
“Whatever you say, babe.” She mentioned it once, painting the bedroom pink. Most wouldn’t have believed her, but I’ve known Sutton long enough to know she hardly ever bullshit’s you—at least when there aren’t cards involved.
We eat quietly. Not hard to do with how little time to breathe she gives herself between bites. That’s one thing I love about Sutton—she’s always so put together and classy, but put food in front of her, and her inner trash raccoon comes out.
After lunch, we make our way into the bedroom. She’s so giddy to show me the color, and shockingly, I don’t hate it. “Wow, babe,” I say. “This looks great.”
She beams at my praise.
“And I admit it’s more a pinkish-tan than pink.”
Sutton rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the smile she’s trying to contain either. “Want to see the furniture I ordered?” she asks.
We lay out another blanket in the middle of the bedroom floor, and she shows me all the furniture she’s picked out on her laptop.
It’s the perfect mixture of my rustic style and her modern romantic style, a lot of raw wood tones, mixed metals, and soft colors.
I can’t contain my smile picturing how it’ll all come together.
“What’s that grin for?”
“Nothing.”
She doesn’t need to know exactly the life I’m picturing for us in this house. The life I’ve always pictured and one that seems like it’s finally coming true.
“Let’s talk about the rest of the house. Okay?” She pulls out her sketchbook.
She talks a mile a minute over the next hour, showing me her drawings for the other rooms. I love watching her in her element. She’s a damn good realtor, but it’s clear as day interior designing is where she really shines.
I stretch out on the blanket, head braced in my hand, watching her talk. Like a moth to a flame, I can’t resist reaching out and caressing her exposed ankle. She’s wearing a long sweater, checkered leggings, hair tied back in a wild ponytail, and a bare face.
“C’mere,” I say, unable to resist any longer.
“What?” She furrows her brow.
“It’s been too damn long since I’ve kissed you.”
Sutton tucks her bottom lip between her teeth. She scoots closer, mirroring my position.
“Still too far.” I wrap my arm around her and pull her to me. She yelps and has no choice but to throw her leg over my hip.
“That’s better.”
She smiles. “I missed you last night.”
Guilt crawls up my spine. “That is not how I pictured our date ending. I hated leaving you.”
Sutton pushes herself up onto her elbow, studying me. “You had a call.”
“Still doesn’t mean I liked it. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“There’s no need.” Sutton presses a kiss to my shoulder. “We both know it won’t be the last time our lives get interrupted by your job. If this thing between us is real, then that’s part of the deal, right?”
Relief washes through me at her words. “Mhmm,” I mumble, leaning up to press my lips to hers.
Sutton’s body softens immediately, a moan filling the silence of the room. At first, her kiss is sweet and shy, but it quickly morphs into a full-on make-out session, something I haven’t done since high school.
Eventually, the heat between us turns to a low simmer, and she pulls away. Splotches of red pepper her cheeks and trail down her neck. “Wow,” she says, lying back on the floor, arms spread wide.
“So,” I say, running my fingers over the soft skin of her belly, “what else you got on your to-do list?”
“I was going to start painting the bathrooms and guest rooms,” she answers quickly.
I stand and turn on the music on her phone. Sutton jumps into action, grabbing paint, trays, and new rollers. We start with the master bath, which doesn’t take long, figuring as there isn’t much wall space with vanities, mirrors, a walk-in shower, and a huge window overlooking the property.
“How did last night go?” she asks as we make our way into the small guest bath.
“It went okay,” I say. “We might have found a partial print, but forensics won’t have anything for us for a few days. Guess who called me this morning?”
She tilts her mouth to the side in concentration. “I have no clue. Who?”
“Logan.”
“Logan Logan?”
“Yup. Guess he’s running a case in Eagle Falls that might have a link to ours.”
“Sounds promising?”
She’s bent over, trimming around the base boards, but all I can concentrate on is her ass in those leggings, swaying side to side. Suddenly, she looks over her shoulder. “Stop staring at my ass, Hunt, and get to work.”
“Maybe next time you could wear a burlap sack or something.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know that’ll never happen, baby.”
There’s that nickname again. I never thought I was a nickname kind of man, but every time she calls me baby, I feel fifty feet tall. “I love it when you call me that.”
“I know.” She smiles and winks at me over her shoulder.
The afternoon passes rather quickly, and shockingly, we finish painting the guest bath and half of one of the guest rooms. By the time we pull out of the driveway and head back to her mom’s house, it’s nearly four o’clock.
We take turns in the shower, much to my dismay, and end up sprawled on the sofa. She’s scrolling through her laptop when an idea forms in my mind. I grab one of her sketchbooks and put my idea to paper.
“What are you working on so seriously over there?”
“Mind your business, woman.” I blow her a kiss.
“Don’t you woman me. It’s Sutton, babe, or baby girl.”
“Noted.” I don’t bother looking up, tongue sticking out in concentration as I draw the design for our backyard.
“Okay, with that smile and look on your face, I’ve got to know what you’re working on.”
I hold up my rough sketch for the backyard, complete with a double-seater swing attached beneath a pergola.
Sutton sucks in a breath, and a smile spreads across her face. “Hunter—” She makes gimme hands, so I hand over the notebook. “Is this . . . ?”
I nod.
“But how did you know I’ve always wanted one of these?”
I kneel down on one knee in front of her, cupping the side of her face. “Once, when we were kids, we were sitting out back making s’mores with your dad, and you mentioned it.”
Her eyes crease in shock and confusion. “I was like twelve when that happened.”
“Yeah, and?”
“That was a million years ago.” She leans into my palm.
“Sutton,” I lean forward, capturing her lips with mine. “When it comes to you, I remember everything.”