Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
The lake is eerily still today, smooth like a sheet of glass.
A group of children wade in the shallows with floaties strapped to their arms, splashing and squealing while their parents keep a watchful eye from the shore.
I’m posted in the lifeguard stand, scanning the beach, but my focus keeps slipping back to Hunter.
He’s hovering by his research plots, hunched over with his notebook balanced awkwardly in one hand as he scribbles. His movements are restless—checking, rechecking, then pacing a tight circle before starting again.
By the time my lunch break rolls around, I can’t take it anymore. I climb down and jog over to meet him, the sand burning hot beneath my feet. He doesn’t notice me—not even when I stand directly over him, casting a large shadow.
His focus remains on the plants in front of him, eyes squinted behind his glasses. He chews on the tip of his pencil, tooth marks visible in the yellow wood.
“Hunter?” I say quietly.
He startles, blinking up at me before tucking his pencil behind his ear. “Oh. Hi.”
He straightens and kisses me, but it’s quick and stiff, like he’s doing it out of obligation. I brush my fingers through his hair, sweat darkening the strands at his temples.
“What’s wrong? You look stressed.”
His jaw flexes as he exhales. “Sorry. It’s just—my presentation’s in two weeks, and it feels like there’s still so much I need to do.”
Two weeks. The words hit like a punch to the ribs. Two weeks until summer ends and spills us into different directions. Suddenly, the air feels heavier, thick with everything we’re not saying.
I swallow, forcing a steady voice. “I think you need a weekend away from this place to clear your head.”
Hunter gives me a skeptical look. “Are you kidding me? I can’t take time off.”
“Just one night,” I insist, catching his hands. I squeeze his palms gently. “Keep your schedule free this weekend.”
His brows lift. “Why? Are you… planning something?”
I let myself smirk. “It’s a surprise. But you’ll need to pack an overnight bag.”
“An overnight bag?” He blinks at me, confused. “What about Maddie?”
“She has a sleepover at Bella’s house this weekend.”
Hunter bites his bottom lip. “I don’t know, Mase… I still have so much work to do. I need to keep practicing.”
“You need to stop doubting yourself. Your research is solid, Hunter. You’re going to nail that presentation.”
I mean it, too. Over the past week, Hunter rehearsed his presentation with me over and over again, discussing graphs and data charts that I barely understand. But the way his voice sharpens with confidence and lights up with passion—it’s enough to convince me he’s more than ready.
“Just one night?” he asks hesitantly.
“One night,” I confirm. “And don’t even think about bringing your laptop or research notebooks.”
He pouts. “But—“
“I mean it,” I warn, pointing a stern finger.
His shoulders slump. “Fine,” he sighs.
I grin, leaning closer. “Good. Now tell me—have you even eaten today?”
I’ve noticed Hunter seems to lose his appetite when he’s anxious. Yesterday at lunch, he barely touched his salad. Instead, he spent the whole time staring at his notebook and picking his nails.
He blinks, caught off guard. “Uh… I had a coffee.”
I click my tongue in disapproval. “Hunter.”
“I wasn’t hungry,” he mutters defensively.
“You never are when you’re stressed.” I tug at his wrist until he follows me a few steps toward the dunes. “Come on. We’re eating together.”
He hesitates. “I didn’t pack lunch.”
“Well, lucky for you, I did. For both of us.”
He protests halfheartedly, but I don’t let up. We drop down on the warm sand, the lake stretching wide and blue in front of us. I pull my lunch out of the cooler bag—two sandwiches, chips, and apple slices—and spread it between us.
Hunter watches me, faintly amused, as I shove the sandwich into his hands.
“It’s chickpea salad,” I mutter. “Found a recipe online.”
His face softens. “Mase…”
“I think it’s disgusting, but hopefully you like it. My mom made it. I can’t cook to save my life,” I admit.
He lifts an eyebrow. “She… made this for me?”
I shrug. “Yeah. She likes you, Hunt.”
His cheeks flush. He carefully unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. I can’t help the warmth that spreads through me at the simple sight of him eating.
We eat quietly for a while, the water lapping steadily against the shore like the lake’s heartbeat. Every so often, I catch Hunter sneaking looks at me between bites of his sandwich, his lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile.
Halfway through my turkey sandwich, Hunter suddenly shifts closer. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he leans in and kisses me—really kisses me.
It’s nothing like the stiff, distracted peck from earlier. This is urgent, warm, the kind that steals my breath and leaves my fingers twitching to hold on to him. His lips linger against mine, soft but insistent.
When he finally pulls back, I blink at him, dazed. “What was that for?” I murmur.
Hunter’s cheeks are pink, his eyes bright behind his glasses. He shrugs a little, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at me.
“Just for being you,” he says quietly.
The words knock something loose in my chest. My heart stumbles. I kiss him again, desperate to stretch this fragile, blissful moment for as long as possible.
***
The Mackinac Bridge stands tall in the horizon, its towers peeking through a blanket of morning fog.
Beside me, Hunter’s head is tipped against the window, his sweatshirt bunched into a makeshift pillow.
His lips part slightly with each steady breath, strands of black hair falling across his eyes.
He looks beautiful like this, peaceful in a way that makes it hard for me to keep my attention on the road.
I haven’t told him where we’re going, despite his relentless begging. Apparently, he hates surprises.
We’d left Claremont Shores at dawn, trying to beat the traffic. I’ve already downed two cups of coffee to stay sharp, while Hunter opted for a nap instead. He stayed up late last night working on his research.
As I drive onto the bridge, the grates rumble under my tires, rattling the whole truck. The noise jolts Hunter awake. He scrubs his eyes with his knuckles, glancing around.
“We’re going to the U.P.?” he croaks, voice scratchy with exhaustion.
“Yep.”
He huffs. “You seriously won’t tell me where we’re going?”
“Nope.”
He groans. “I hate you.”
I just smile softly. Now that he’s awake, I crank up the volume. The speakers crackle with old distortion, but it makes the music feel raw, alive.
Hunter wrinkles his nose. “God, Mase. Your music taste is awful.”
I scoff defensively. “It’s grunge rock.”
“It sounds like divorced white dad music.”
I bark a laugh. “Fuck off. At least it’s better than boybands and girly pop music.”
“How dare you,” he gasps, hand pressed to his chest dramatically. “You’re so pretentious. Don’t sleep on pop music—like, Taylor Swift is a lyrical genius.”
Before I can protest, he snatches my phone from the cupholder and queues up one of her songs, “August.” He tells me it’s one of his favorites.
The ballad fills the cab, soft and wistful.
Hunter hums along, tapping his fingers against his thigh, gaze fixed dreamily on the endless stretch of bridge and sky.
The lyrics lodge somewhere deep in me, sharper than I expect. I don’t know what it is—her voice, or the words themselves—but it feels like she’s singing about us. About this. A fleeting thing, fragile as summer itself, slipping away faster than I can hold onto it.
Yearning. That’s the word. That ache of wanting more, knowing it was never really yours to keep.
My throat tightens as I stare straight ahead, pretending to focus on the road. When Hunter isn’t looking, I reach over, grab my phone for a split second, and quietly add the song to my personal playlist.
After he’s gone, maybe I’ll play the song again to remember this aching feeling, like pressing a bruise just to prove it’s still there.
***
The cabin sits at the end of a long dirt road, tucked deep in a state park that borders the northern edge of Lake Michigan.
It’s a small cottage with a wraparound porch, decorated with weathered wicker chairs.
Towering cedars and birch trees crowd the property, their shadows blending together to create a quiet pocket of privacy.
I pull the truck into the gravel drive and cut the engine. For a moment, it’s just silence, the faint tick of the cooling motor, and the sharp scent of pine leaking through the cracked windows.
Hunter leans forward, his mouth parting as he takes in the sight.
“We’re staying here?” His voice is equal parts disbelief and awe. “This place is gorgeous. It must’ve cost a fortune.”
I shrug nonchalantly. In truth, it was expensive, even for just one night. After milking my bank account a few weeks ago to buy more insulin and CGM sensors, I had to pick up a few extra shifts at Beachside Burgers to cover the cost.
But he’s worth it.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him.
He frowns. “But—“
“No buts,” I cut in. “The only butt I want to deal with today is yours.”
He groans, rolling his eyes, but there’s a reluctant grin tugging at his lips. “That was terrible.”
“Yeah, but it made you smile.” I lean across the cab and steal a quick kiss. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
I grab our bags from the backseat and climb out, heading for the porch. The boards creak under my shoes as Hunter follows behind. A lockbox dangles from the railing, just like the rental company said. I punch in the code they texted me, flip it open, and fish out the key.
I unlock the door and swing it open. A rush of cool air greets us, carrying the faint scent of old wood. With one hand resting on the small of Hunter’s back, I guide him inside and close the door behind us.
The cabin is rustic but beautiful, like something out of a postcard.
A small kitchenette sits neatly in the corner, complete with a sink, a two-burner stove, and a mini fridge.
A leather couch anchors the living room, resting on top of a tribal-patterned rug.
Sunlight filters through wide windows, offering glimpses of the lake glimmering beyond the trees.
I haul our bags up the narrow staircase to the loft, where a king-sized bed sprawls across the center of the room, topped with a red plaid comforter. A pair of thick, polished logs serve as nightstands.
Hunter glances around with wide eyes. “Holy shit. This is incredible.”
“You haven’t even seen the main attraction,” I say, grinning as I grab his hand.
He gives me a puzzled look. “Main attraction?”
“You’ll see.” I lace my fingers with his and lead him back downstairs, out the back door, and into the woods.
A narrow trail winds through the trees, and we follow it in comfortable silence, the forest alive with the chorus of birdsongs and the crunch of leaves beneath our shoes. The air smells fresh and damp, like moss and rain.
When we reach the shoreline, a peek of vibrant green slips through the brown forest floor. A cluster of slender leaves rise from the ground like swords. Hunter stops in his tracks, his breath catching.
“We missed the bloom period already,” I murmur. “But they’re Dwarf Lake Irises.”
His throat works as he swallows hard, eyes locked on the plants. I can’t read his expression, and panic prickles at my chest. Maybe he thinks this is stupid—that I dragged him out here for nothing, to show him his favorite flower when it’s not even blooming.
“How did you know these were here?” he asks, voice low and quiet. “They’re so rare.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “My boss’s friend is a park ranger. I reached out, and he told me about this spot. I just… I’m sorry they’re not in bloom anymore. Apparently they only flower in May and June, so—“
I don’t get to finish. Hunter surges forward and kisses me, hand snaked around the back of my neck. His lips crash into mine with a hunger that leaves me dizzy, his whole body pressed against me.
“Thank you, sunshine,” he mutters against my mouth, his breath hot and warm. “For taking me here. For remembering my favorite flower. For… everything.”
I stare down at him, trying to sear his fond expression into my memory. I want to tell him that I’ll take him back here next spring when the irises are in bloom, but that would be a lie.
Instead, I kiss him again and appreciate this moment for what it is—beautiful and tragic and fleeting, all at once.