26. TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SIX
I scan the parking lot like a hawk.
There’s no sign of Dan, but I’m second-guessing my choices. Never in my wildest dreams did I think Hunter would request one of my go-to breakfast foods: canned corn beef hash.
I mean, it’s god-tier processed potato mush, but he’s…fancy.
When he told me his craving, I blurted the first diner I knew that had the goods, eager to get him what he wanted.
Why, you might ask? I have no fucking idea.
After his shower, Hunter seemed withdrawn and miserable.
Like the pristine tile and frosted glass shower doors personally offended him.
It threw me off completely. At first, I thought he was trying to get rid of me, but then he got handsy and sweet, smiling at me like I hung the damn moon.
But that shower did something, and I’m slightly paranoid about our flimsy situation.
I could’ve picked a different diner, though.
Chewing my thumb nervously, I lean forward again, craning my neck in search of the psychopath who sent his goons to assault and fuck me up. He’s not here. I have to accept that. At least he’s not outside.
“What’s wrong? I thought you said this place was good?” Hunter asks, sliding the e-brake into place.
“It is,” I rush out. Slowly meeting his gaze, my stomach sinks like a giant rock. “There is just this… dude that doesn’t like me. He hangs around here sometimes,” I admit.
His jaw ticks. “Raymond?”
I shake my head, fiddling with the drawstring of my hoodie. “No. Not him. A different guy.”
“What does he look like?”
A pathetic tremor passes through me while I keep shaking my head. I don’t want to describe Dan—don’t want him even being in the same sentence as Hunter. “Can we go somewhere else? I’m sure we can find good corned beef somewhere,” I beg shamelessly.
“Gray,” he coos, twisting in his seat. “You have to stop assuming I will blow a gasket if something changes. I didn’t have my heart set on this restaurant, and even if I did, I’d never force you to go into it when you’re uncomfortable.”
“It’s not that,” I argue. “I didn’t think you’d be mad at that. You seemed so excited over the food, and after your shower, you looked upset. I wanted to keep our day good. That’s all.” The confession surprises me. I hadn’t meant to say all that.
More and more, I’m dropping my guard with this guy.
I’m letting him in—allowing him to see the raw, beat-up pulp beneath my scales.
And when his eyes soften, understanding and something…
else passing his features, my heart flutters hard.
I’m playing with fucking fire when it comes to Hunter, knowing that eventually I’ll get burned.
“Our day is good,” he insists. “And I know just the place we can go to for breakfast. Might be a bit of a drive, though.”
“Let’s go,” I beam, eager to get as far away as possible.
I’m just full of contradictions this morning.
The hour-and-a-half drive was worth it.
Nestled in the back of the quaint country-style restaurant called Old Barrel, the sweet waitress who looks like someone’s grandma slides our massive plates over the plaid tablecloth.
My mouth waters as the pungent smell of corn beef hash hits my nose, the edges of the mash perfectly crisped and sitting next to a pile of scrambled eggs.
Hunter got his eggs poached, which I still don’t know what the fuck that means.
They look… moist.
“Thanks, Annie,” Hunter says because apparently they know each other.
“Anytime, handsome.” She winks at me before walking off.
My eyes ping-pong between the plate and Hunter’s amused face as he carefully unrolls the napkin from the silverware. He flattens it over the table and rearranges the butter knife on the left side. I arch an eyebrow at him, prompting a soft chuckle.
“Habit.”
“You didn’t do that before.”
Hunter blushes, nibbling the corner of his lip, eyes on his plate.
It’s more obvious now that his beard is trimmed so short.
“I wasn’t allowed to talk whenever my family went out to eat.
And I never liked how many different forks and spoons were on the table.
So I’d always put the biggest one on the left.
It soothed me, I guess. Made me feel like I had a job to do other than sit there while my dad talked. ”
“And now?” Because there are only three on the table. A butter knife, fork, and spoon. Plus, I think he knows I’d never tell him not to talk.
“And now,” he sighs, finally looking at me, “well, I guess I’m a bit nervous.”
“Why?”
“Other than on business, I’ve never done this before. Gone out to eat with…a friend.”
A loud thump slams against my ribs. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He winces like that’s embarrassing. It’s not.
“That’s…well, that’s fucking sad, Hunter,” I blurt. When his hand lifts to tear through his thick, silky hair, I scramble to calm his nerves. “I—I’m happy it’s me, then. I’ll be your first.”
His head whips up. Intense is one way to describe the look in his eyes. Especially when they travel all over my face, seeking something out. I swallow hard and grab the ketchup, giving the bottle a firm shake. “Thank you,” he whispers.
After an obnoxious squirt, the red condiment covering my eggs until no yellow remains, I finally find my voice. “You’re welcome.”
Our meal is shared in easy silence. People come and go: families, senior couples, and a few younger ones. It’s like a different world, so stark compared to the diner Dan hangs out at.
I know you can’t judge a person based on appearance, but these people radiate goodness, maybe even happiness. Like they’ve got it all figured out—this map to a good life.
I want that—want that sparkle in my eye and light pep in my step.
Hunter pays for our food, not that I could anyway, but a fire burns low in my stomach. The urge to be able to return the favor one day is something fierce inside me.
Friends are supposed to do that stuff. Give and take.
When we get to the car, Hunter grabs two cigarettes. I’ve been keeping tabs on his smoking habit. I only picked it up because the nicotine curbs hunger and can ease constipation. But Hunter seems almost sporadic with his smoking. He’s not every hour on the hour or an after-meal smoker.
It’s mostly tied to nerves, I realize.
I take one from him, wanting to ask if he’s still nervous. Instead, the words catch in my throat as he steps into my personal bubble. “May I?”
Nodding like an idiot, I pop the cigarette between my lips, and he lights it for me.
I inhale, waiting for him to break the tension hovering around us, but he doesn’t.
His fingers reach out almost hesitantly.
“You…you’ve got something—” I simply stare at him, cigarette forgotten as he seems to think ‘ fuck it ’ and swipes his thumb over the corner of my mouth.
“What was it?” I wheeze, flustered and unsure what the hell is happening.
“Ketchup.” He briefly eyes the digit before popping it in his mouth and licking it clean.
With a battle drum in my chest, I hurry to take a drag and look anywhere other than his mouth. “I made it weird, didn’t I?” he asks.
“What? What was weird?” My brain is misfiring.
“I didn’t mean to cross any lines. You just had ketchup on your face and—”
His abrupt pause makes me glance his way again.
That nervous rake of his hand, the way his shoulders draw up, and the harsh exhale past his mouth is so fucking sad.
In fact, so much about this man is heartbreaking.
He seems so alone, trapped even. I know it’s stupid to care.
I know I should keep my emotions locked down, but I’ve never seen someone look so distraught over trying to be kind.
He wasn’t weird.
Nothing about Hunter is weird, I’m coming to realize.
Without considering the consequences, I take one last drag, toss the cigarette, and make my choice. His eyes snag on mine as I take the three steps closer.
“I didn’t want to wipe it on my pants—it’d stain—” I cut him off by wrapping my arms around his middle.
For a moment, he’s shocked, body rigid, so I squeeze him tighter. I won’t pretend this hug doesn’t affect me. It’s been so long since anyone hugged me, but I feel it’s been even longer for Hunter.
When has anyone ever given a crap about him ?
Slowly, his muscles soften as he gingerly wraps his arms around me. My face is pressed into his collarbone, and our chests flush. I haven’t felt this fucking safe in ten years. Not since the last time I hugged and kissed my parents goodbye.
Doesn’t he get it? Can’t he see it?
Hunter isn’t the one who is going to make this weird.
I am.
Hunter pulls away first, his eyes unsure. I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, regret filling me with speed. Sure, we’ve talked over the past few weeks and shared a space, but we don’t know each other.
I’m simply latching on prematurely.
I’m doing what I swore up and down that I wouldn’t.
Fuck, I need to get a grip.
Awkward now, I chew on my thumb, side-eyeing my still-lit cigarette and wondering if he’d judge me if I picked it up.
“What was that for?” he asks.
My vocal cords crackle as I choke on my words. A bunch of creepy noises come out, and I decide I don’t care if he judges me. I swoop the cigarette off the ground, about to pop it between my lips, but his hand grips my wrist. “Don’t smoke that,” he urges. “I’ll give you a new one.”
The hold on my wrist tightens, and my fingers open automatically. With a quick step of his fancy shoe, he squashes the cherry. “The ground is filthy,” he mutters, releasing me and plucking the pack back out.
“Clearly, you never drank from a water hose,” I say, finding my voice again.
He snorts. “I did not.”
“It’s good for you. Dirt makes you tough.”
A visible body shudder ripples through him before he offers me my clean cigarette. Oh, the irony.
I remember hearing from one of Tammy’s regulars that they used to put cat piss in cigarettes. I don’t know if that’s true, but clearly, he isn’t concerned with cancerous chemicals—only dirt.
“I was never tough,” he comments, lighting the end for me once more.
“Considering what you’ve told me,” I start, blowing out my drag, “I’d say you are.”
Sparking the cigarette he’s been holding this whole time, he inhales deeply and looks away. “You never answered me.”
“Call it a momentary lapse of judgment.” I sound bitter—I am bitter. It wasn’t wanted.
“Gray,” he sighs, pivoting his face toward me. A deep crevice forms between my eyebrows, the scowl making my upper lip curl while I aggressively flick some ashes. “You made it very clear to me that boundaries need to be kept in place.”
“Just forget it,” I snap, hobbling closer to his car because I stubbornly refused to use the crutch to walk ten feet.
“Were you trying to comfort me? Is that what that was?”
Maybe? Maybe I just wanted to touch him—get a taste of something sweet for once.
The guy has come to my rescue three times now.
Three.
Even if the first time was in vain, he didn’t know what would happen. Hunter is fucking clueless about the way the real world works. He’s been isolated up in Rich Dude Land. Hell, he’s never gone to breakfast with a friend before. So, yeah, I guess I did want to comfort him.
The rest of my reasoning is too pathetic to acknowledge.
“Come on, talk to me,” he insists, closing the space between us again until we hover by the passenger side of his car. He leans against the sleek door, angling his body toward me.
“I’m getting used to you,” I mumble with a shrug. I take a drag to stall longer while his pretty hazel eyes bore into the side of my face. “I’m learning your tells. Like I said earlier, I want this day to be good for both of us, you know? When do either of us have those?”
The minuscule space between us shrinks when he steps even closer. With at least four inches on me, Hunter’s shadow blankets over my body, casting the illusion of suffocating heat. I wet my lips quickly, pushing through my nerves to keep talking.
“As far as I’m concerned, you crossed that boundary already.” He sucks in a sharp breath, and I flail, facing him with my hands waving. “I’m not saying it was bad. I didn’t mind. It’s been…a while since anyone cared enough to look out for me. Even if it’s just some ketchup on my face.”
“Comfortable,” he whispers just for me. “We’re getting comfortable around each other.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, absently leaning my body into his. “So when I saw you starting to worry too much, I wanted to make it go away.”
“Think you only made it worse,” he says with a sad smile.
“How?” I ask, baffled.
Knocking his knuckles against my shoulder, he shakes his head.
“I already admire you—think you’re a force to be reckoned with.
You have this steely determination I’ve only seen in hardened war veterans.
But you’re also a dichotomy in the most fascinating way.
Fierce, take no bullshit attitude, but also eager for a kind word and to be treated fairly.
I’m losing sleep trying to figure you out. ”
Why the hell is he saying all this? As if I’m not having a hard enough time trying to keep myself from becoming human velcro. As if I haven’t had enough people claim me as theirs, only to leave me. I force myself to look away from his intense stare.
“Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve never met anyone like you. Someone so remarkable that I couldn’t not know you.”
Flutters explode low in my stomach as my breaths grow ragged.
I’ll never admit it out loud, but the way he sees me is fucking addicting.
Pretty words from a pretty mouth, a siren’s call leading me into the open water.
I know it’s a trap. I know I'll sink to the bottom once I step off the cliff’s edge.
But I’ve never wanted to take that risk more, just to see if I can fly.
“You think I’m remarkable?”
While his eyes search my face, his body leans into mine, transferring welcomed heat. A hesitant hand lifts, just like earlier, before gently guiding a strand of my hair away from my eyes.
“Yeah, Gray. I really do.”