Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The next morning, I spent an embarrassingly long time picking out my outfit. Logically, I know it doesn’t matter what I wear. Hunter thinks I’m straight, and I intend to keep it that way. I’m just doing this because I owe him a favor.
No other reason.
Eventually, I settled on a white T-shirt I got in high school with Claremont Shores Swim Team printed on the front. The sleeves are cut off with jagged edges. I definitely chose it because it’s hot outside—not because it’ll show off my biceps. That would be ridiculous.
When I get to the beach, Hunter’s already there, crouched in the sand with his back to me. His backpack is unzipped on the ground next to him, overstuffed with crumpled papers, guidebooks, and tools.
He’s wearing a blue T-shirt that shows a sliver of stomach. His denim shorts are loose with distressed tears on the knees—clearly intentional, unlike the damaged tears I grew up with in my own clothes.
“Hey,” I call out as I approach him.
He glances up and grins, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. “Hey.”
“So, where are we hammering stakes today?”
“Just a little further up in the dunes.”
I fish the mallet out of his backpack and flip it in the air, catching it skillfully by the handle. “Lead the way.”
We walk side by side through the sand, the summer heat clinging to our skin. His backpack looks heavy as he hoists it over his shoulder, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from offering to carry it. That would be too forward.
When we reach the site, I raise an eyebrow. It’s perched high in the dunes, conveniently offering an unobstructed view of the lifeguard tower.
“Did you pick this spot so you can stare at me all day while you’re working?” I tease, nudging his shoulder.
His cheeks flush. “No. Shut up. It’s just a coincidence.”
“Mhm, sure.”
We start working. I hammer the stakes while Hunter strings them together, scribbling notes in his battered notebook. At one point, he passes me a stake, and our fingers brush—just for a second. It’s nothing, but I can’t stop thinking about it.
After the plots are marked out, Hunter lets out a sigh of relief. He wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then rummages in his backpack for a metal water bottle. The ice inside rattles as he lifts it to his mouth, lips curling around the straw tip.
He catches me looking and thrusts the bottle toward me. “Thirsty?”
I hesitate. “Oh. I, uh—”
“I promise I don’t have cooties,” he assures with a wink.
My mouth feels as dry as the sand. I’d forgotten to pack my own water this morning, too worried about my stupid outfit. I hesitantly grab the bottle from his hands and take a sip. The cold water feels amazing as it glides down my throat.
He grabs a granola bar from his backpack and unwraps it. I shake my head when he offers me one, keeping quiet about the fact that my blood sugar is already too high. I don’t hide my diabetes, but it’s not something I volunteer either.
He munches on his granola bar in silence, staring out into the shimmering lake. I watch the way his jaw flexes with each bite, the way his throat bobs with each swallow.
I bet his throat would look so pretty covered in hickeys.
Jesus. What is wrong with me? That was completely inappropriate. I should stop staring at him.
To distract myself, I glance down at his water bottle, examining the cluster of stickers. Most of them are peeling and faded. My thumb gently glides over the sticker of the university’s mascot, a sturgeon fish.
“I used to go to Lakeview University,” I blurt.
Hunter looks at me, startled. “Really?”
“Yeah. I majored in political science. I was on the swim team, too.” My voice dips. “Got an athletic scholarship, which was a blessing, because my high school grades were… mediocre at best.” I let out a short, self-deprecating laugh.
“When did you graduate?”
I pause, eyes fixed on the horizon. “This September would’ve been the start of my senior year.”
“Would’ve…?” he echoes, a crease forming between his brows.
I grab a handful of sand and watch it trickle between my fingers. “I dropped out at the beginning of my sophomore year. Family crisis. Had to come back home.”
He hesitates, his gaze locked on me, unwavering. “I’m sorry… about all of that.”
“It is what it is,” I say with a shrug.
He nods at my T-shirt. “So, this is your hometown? You went to high school here?”
“Yup. Born and raised.” I take another sip from his water bottle before passing it back to him. “Enough about me. Where did you grow up?”
He sets the bottle beside him and pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “Near Detroit. I went to a private school there. My mom’s a lawyer, and my dad’s an orthopedic surgeon. Our family’s kind of a big deal back home.”
That checks out. He gives off “city boy” vibes. Despite living in Michigan my entire life, I’ve never been to Detroit. It’s only a four-hour drive from here, but I don’t have any desire to go there. Too many people.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “So, how old are you? I know you said you’re in grad school, but you look young.”
Hunter smiles sheepishly. “I’m twenty-three. I know, I have a babyface,” he mutters. “You?”
Babyface. Yeah, that definitely suits him.
“Twenty-one,” I answer. “So, when will you graduate?”
“Well, if my research goes according to plan, then I’ll complete my master’s degree next spring.”
“Your family must be proud of you.”
He shrugs, eyes flickering away. “I think they wish I would’ve followed in their footsteps. They wanted me to go into law or medicine, like my twin brother. He’s in his second year of law school.”
“Landon?” I recall.
He blinks at me like he’s surprised I remember. “Yeah.”
“Are you two close?”
He shifts, his sneakers digging into the sand. “We used to be. We went to the same college for undergrad back in Detroit. Shared an apartment. But now it’s just… complicated.”
I can sense he doesn’t want to elaborate further. He crinkles the plastic wrapper of his granola bar, balling it in his fist.
“So why botany, then?” I ask. “What made you choose this?”
He chews thoughtfully. “My grandma. My obaachan. She lives in Japan—where my mom’s from.
” His smile deepens, crinkles forming next to his eyes.
“When we were kids, my brother was obsessed with sports. He went to football camp every summer, and my parents didn’t want me to feel left out, so they’d send me to Kyoto to stay with my obaachan.
She used to take me to this botanical garden near her house that had bonsai trees. That’s how I fell in love with plants.”
My brows furrow. “Bonsai trees are the tiny ones, right?”
“Yeah,” he says with a soft chuckle. “It’s a Japanese art tradition with live plants. I’d love to learn it someday. It takes a lot of patience and practice.”
Something in my chest stirs as I listen—like each word is peeling back another layer, revealing a part of Hunter I’ve never seen before. It feels like unraveling a mystery.
I lean back on my hands and look out at the glittering lake, sailboats dotting the horizon. For a moment, we don’t talk, but it’s not awkward. We listen to the wind rustling through dune grass and the soft crash of waves.
He’s sitting close enough that our arms almost touch. Close enough that I can hear his soft breathing. Close enough that it hurts.
“Hey, Mason?” he says quietly.
I turn my head, meeting his eyes. “Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you joined me today.”
I swallow, heart pounding, and smile. “Me too.”
***
Michigan weather can be unpredictable. Seventy degrees one day, and fifty degrees the next.
The temperature drops and the wind picks up, but I’m grateful for the change as I climb into the lifeguard tower.
The beach is mostly empty, except for a few souls braving the elements.
I watch a pair of parents sipping coffee from travel mugs while their kids build lopsided sandcastles, cozy in their windbreakers.
As I stand in the tower, the cold air nips at my nose. The waves are rolling with ferocity, slamming against the shore with rage. Above me, the yellow flag whips in the wind.
I don’t expect to see Hunter here today. Nobody in their right mind would willingly come here today.
But then again, he seems to be a glutton for punishment. That’s the only possible explanation for why he would want to spend time with me.
And then I see him. He’s kneeling by his experimental plot, wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. He’s taking measurements of plant stalks with a ruler and recording data in his notebook, struggling to hold down the pages in the wind.
No jacket. He must be freezing.
Every so often, he shivers. Not dramatic, but enough that I notice. Enough that it bothers me.
There’s barely anyone on the beach, and no one in the water. No emergencies. Which means I can step away for a few minutes without risking anyone’s life.
I climb down and cross the sand toward him.
“You’re crazy,” I say as I approach him.
I stand outside of the plot perimeter, not wanting to impede on his research area. He looks up at me, and I can see snot dripping from his reddened nose. It should be gross, but it’s not. It just makes me want to wrap him in my arms and shield him from the cold.
“I didn’t expect the wind to be this intense,” he says with a humorless laugh.
I peel off my red lifeguard sweatshirt and hold it out to him. Beneath it, I’ve just got a T-shirt on. He stares at the hoodie like I’ve just handed him a vital organ, his mouth falling open.
“Put it on,” I insist. “You’re shaking.”
He frowns stubbornly. “I’m not shaking.”
“You are. Like a chihuahua.”
He does that adorable grumpy nose scrunch again. My heart melts into a puddle of fond goo. I’ve never felt this weak for another person before—it’s scary and exciting at the same time.
“Take it,” I say firmly. “Seriously, I run hot. I’ll be fine.”
Hunter bites his lip like he wants to argue, but then he reaches out and grabs it. Bunched up in the fabric, his cold fingers ghost against mine. He slides the hoodie over his arms, wiggles his head through, and tugs down on the hem.
It swallows him a little. I’m at least five inches taller than him and much broader. The sleeves drape over his hands.
I’m not sure why the sight of him wearing my clothes makes my stomach clench. When I had girlfriends in high school, I used to get annoyed when they stole my hoodies. But with Hunter, I’d happily give him my entire wardrobe.
He exhales. “Oh my God. That’s so much better. Thanks.”
I shrug, pretending it’s no big deal. Pretending I’m not absolutely fawning over him wearing my hoodie.
“I can’t believe you’re here today. You should’ve stayed home.”
He hums and looks down at the sand. “I don’t like being alone. That house is so big. It’s… too quiet. I don’t have any family or friends out here.”
I cross my arms over my chest. My skin is prickled with goosebumps, but I don’t care. I’ll happily freeze my ass off if it means Hunter stays warm.
“You can always text me,” I say, maybe a little too eager. I quickly try to recover what little amount of dignity I have left. “Like, if you’re lonely or bored, and I have time to talk.”
His lips twitch. “I don’t have your number.”
“I can give it to you,” I say. “If you want it.”
He nods before handing me his phone, which is covered by a glittery rainbow case. I enter my number into his contacts, my frigid fingers moving glacially across the screen. When I hand it back to him, he tucks it back into his pocket.
He gives me a look I can’t decipher. “You know, you’re a really nice guy, despite your best efforts.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”
He laughs and mimes zipping his lips.
I glance over my shoulder at the empty tower. “I should go, but… it was nice talking to you.”
“Yeah. You too,” he says, rocking back on his heels.
As I walk back to the tower, I try not to think about how warm he looked in my hoodie. Or how he didn’t hesitate to put it on. Or how I kind of want to let him keep it forever.
God, I’m in so much trouble.