Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
When I pull into Hunter’s driveway, I’m still seething. My grip on the steering wheel is so tight my palms ache, and my jaw feels wired shut. Stephen’s words keep looping in my head, fueling the ravenous fire burning in my chest.
I shove the truck door open and slam it harder than I mean to. The sound cracks through the quiet evening air. My hands won’t stay still, twitching at my sides. I flex them, shake them out, try to steady my breathing, but the storm inside me refuses to calm.
My knuckles rap against the door.
From inside, Hunter’s voice cuts through, loud and cheerful: “Door’s unlocked! Come in!”
I shove the door open and step inside. The cold air conditioning wraps around me.
“Took you long enough!” Hunter calls from the kitchen. “I was ready to eat this all by myself.”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite everything. I step into the kitchen, ready to snap back with some smart comment, but the words die in my throat.
He’s standing in the kitchen, floral-patterned apron hanging lopsided around his waist, spoon in hand as he stirs noodles in a sizzling pan.
The air is thick with garlic and soy, warm and savory.
His hair’s a little messy, and there’s a streak of brown sauce on his wrist where he must’ve splattered himself.
Just the sight of him knocks the breath out of me. The rage doesn’t disappear, but it dims—muted, smothered, like someone draped a blanket over the flames.
“You’re lucky I’m a culinary genius,” Hunter says, not looking up from the pan. “Vegan yaki udon. Loaded with tofu and lots of veggies, and don’t even think about picking them out. You’re going to eat them, whether you like it or not.”
Normally, I’d have a sarcastic comeback ready, but right now, all I can do is move toward him. I slip my arms around his waist, pulling his back against my chest before I even realize what I’m doing.
The spoon stills. “Uh. Hi?” His voice softens, the edge of playfulness fading. “Mason?”
I press my forehead between his shoulder blades and breathe him in—lavender soap, chopped garlic, the faint heat of cooking oil. The tension in my shoulders melts away.
“Are you okay?” he asks carefully. “Did… did it go bad with Stephen?”
My chest tightens at the sound of his name, but I shake my head, unwilling to let the anger crawl back in. “Can we not?” My voice is rougher than I want it to be. “Can we just eat?”
Hunter lets out a slow breath, one hand covering mine where they’re still locked around his waist. “Yeah,” he says simply. “Dinner first, talking later. Deal?”
I nod against his shoulder, holding on tighter.
“Go sit at the table,” he urges, patting my arm gently. “This’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
I untangle myself from his waist and sulk toward the dining room. Dropping into the chair, I focus on counting my breaths, tracing the wood grain on the table. Anything to keep the fire in my chest at bay.
Moments later, Hunter appears carrying two steaming plates of noodles. He sets one in front of me and sits down, our knees brushing beneath the table.
“Thanks,” I say, managing a warm smile.
I twirl my fork in the noodles, spear a huge piece of broccoli, and shove it in my mouth. I didn’t realize it until now, but I’m starving. I’d skipped lunch during my meeting with Stephen, and all I’d managed to eat all day was a granola bar when my blood sugar dipped.
The flavor hits my tongue—savory, salty, with just the right kick of garlic. I let out an involuntary groan. “God. So good.”
Hunter beams with pride. “Glad you like it.”
I swallow, nodding. “So, how’d your research go today?”
“Good, I guess.” He shrugs, chewing a sauce-covered slice of carrot. “The data looks promising. Although someone left shoe prints in one of my plots again. I’m thinking I need more keep out signs.”
I hesitantly bite into a piece of tofu. It’s surprisingly firm—not the squishy, gross texture I’ve tried before. I’m convinced Hunter could make anything taste good.
“Oh! And I saw this today,” Hunter says suddenly, reaching for his phone. He scrolls for a second before spinning the screen toward me, revealing a fuzzy bee perched delicately on a pink flower.
“A bumblebee?” I ask around a mouthful of noodles.
“Not just any bumblebee,” he says, eyes bright. “A Rusty Patched Bumblebee, Bombus affinis. They’re endangered. I’ve never seen one before.”
I love the way he lights up when he talks about nerdy stuff like this.
The sparkle in his eyes, the toothy smile spread across his lips—it makes me feel warm and soft inside.
I could listen to him ramble about pollinators and flowers all day.
I may not understand most of it, but just hearing the passion in his voice is intoxicating.
“That’s really cool,” I say honestly.
I glance down at his hand where it’s wrapped around his phone and notice the navy blue paint on his nails. The polish catches the light when he shifts his fingers.
“Your nails look good,” I say without thinking.
His grin softens as he tucks his phone back into his pocket. “Thank you.”
“I used to paint Maddie’s nails all the time when she was little,” I mutter, twirling noodles on my fork. “She’d beg me to do it, even though I was terrible at it. Now that she’s older, she doesn’t ask anymore.”
Hunter tilts his head, eyes darting between mine like he’s studying me. “You ever painted your own nails?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Just Maddie’s.”
He leans closer, eyes glinting mischievously. “Would you let me paint yours?”
My fork stills. If someone asked me that a couple months ago, I would’ve shot it down immediately. Now, though? The idea of Hunter painting my nails doesn’t feel weird at all. It actually sounds… nice. Comforting.
“Sure,” I say after a beat. “After dinner.”
Hunter’s smile spreads slowly. “Cool.”
I clear my plate and even go back for seconds—vegetables and all.
***
Hunter’s finger taps thoughtfully against his lips as he surveys his collection of nail polish.
We’re sitting side by side in front of the vanity in his bedroom, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow across his focused face.
One of the drawers is pulled open, revealing rows of neatly arranged colors—pinks fading into reds, blues into greens, a rainbow lined up with meticulous care.
When Hunter asks what color nail polish I want, I tell him to surprise me.
He hums thoughtfully, tilting his head as if this is a life-altering decision. Finally, his hand darts forward and plucks a bottle of vibrant yellow from the lineup.
“Yellow,” he declares, unscrewing the cap. “It suits you.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You think yellow suits me?”
“Of course.” His grin widens. “You’re basically the human embodiment of sunshine.”
I scoff. “You must’ve confused me for someone else.”
He shakes his head firmly. “Nope.” He grips my chin and forces eye contact like a parent scolding a stubborn child. “You’re sunshine. End of discussion.”
Sunshine.
Something strange and unsteady stirs in my stomach. The way he sees me doesn’t make sense. If I had to choose, I’d say I’m more like a storm rolling over the lake, black clouds swallowing the horizon, churning up chaos.
But somehow, Hunter looks at me and sees light.
“Now, stay still,” he orders, smirking as he steadies my hand.
The first stroke of the brush sends a shiver down my spine.
The cool polish glides across my nail, smooth and deliberate.
I watch him work—tongue pressed against the gap in his two front teeth, brows furrowed in concentration.
My nails are short, bitten down to the quick, but he handles them like they’re something precious.
When he’s done, he lifts my hand and blows gently across the wet polish.
I can’t stop staring at the way his hair falls into his eyes, the lamplight tracing the angles of his cheekbones. He’s so goddamn beautiful. I study his face like I’m trying to engrave it in my memory for safe keeping.
“What?” he asks, glancing up at me through thick lashes, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks.
“Nothing.” I pull back my hand to admire the bright yellow drying across my nails. “You did a good job, Hunter.”
His mouth twitches into a shy smile. “Thanks.”
I lean in, slow and deliberate, until our lips touch. The kiss gradually deepens as his tongue tangles with mine. Before long, we glide toward his bed like waves carrying us to shore.
We slip under the sheets, legs tangling together. His hands thread into my hair as mine circle his waist, pulling him closer. His mouth is soft and insistent, and the heat of him spreads through me, sinking into my bones.
But despite my best efforts, my mind drifts elsewhere.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Stephen across the café table.
I hear his voice. I see the sharp edge of his smile when he mentioned wanting to be a part of Maddie’s life.
The thought of him trying to take her from me makes bile rise in my throat.
Hunter shifts, pressing closer. I try to drown myself in him, but the storm keeps leaking through the cracks.
He notices. Of course he does.
He pulls back just enough to search my face, his thumb brushing my jaw. “You’re a million miles away,” he murmurs. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” I say too quickly, forcing a tight smile. “Let’s just—keep going.”
I kiss him again, harder this time, desperate and clumsy. My hand grips his ass like maybe I can anchor myself that way and drag my brain back to the present. I’m in bed with a gorgeous man who wants me. I should want this too. I do want this.
So why the hell can’t I focus?
Hunter breaks this kiss again. His eyes hold mine, steady and unyielding. “Mason,” he says softly, “you don’t have to do that with me. Pretend.”
I swallow thickly, my chest tight.
“This is about Stephen, isn’t it?” he asks. “What happened at the café—that’s what’s on your mind?”
My eyes pinch shut. “Hunter…”
He squeezes my arm. “You can talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
I inhale a shaky breath. “He said he wants to be part of Maddie’s life—that he wants full custody after my mom’s gone. He got a lawyer.”
Hunter’s face hardens. “Jesus.”
“Yeah. So much for resolving this amicably,” I say with a humorless chuckle.
“I’m sorry, Mase.”
I rake a hand through my hair, laughing bitterly. “I don’t even know why he’s doing this. He chose to walk out of our lives—said it was for our own good, or whatever. And now he thinks he can just waltz back in and demand full custody after years of not giving a shit?”
Rage burns in my stomach, sharp and consuming. I hate that Stephen has this much control over my emotions.
“Sorry,” I mutter, forcing out a breath.
“It’s fine. You’re allowed to be upset,” Hunter assures.
“I shouldn’t be burdening you with this—”
“Hey,” Hunter says firmly, sandwiching my face between his palms. His eyes lock with mine—steady and brown and warm. “You’re not burdening me. Stop it.”
God, he’s so perfect.
I lean in and kiss him, soft this time, the chaos quieting until I can breathe again.
When we part, his forehead rests against mine. “My mom’s a lawyer. Criminal law, but she’s got connections. I can ask her if there’s anything she can do to help you.”
My stomach lurches. “I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“I know. Just let me talk to her, okay? She might have advice.” His voice is careful and patient.
I nod.
“You’ll get through this,” he says, squeezing my hand.
I look down at my yellow nails catching the light, and for once, I don’t feel a storm of impending doom growing inside me. Just warmth. Just sunshine. Just him.