Chapter 10
Hunter
I opened the door and forgot how to breathe.
Catherine stood in my hallway in a yellow lounge set that should not have done a damn thing to me.
It wasn’t tight or revealing. It wasn’t the black dress from the other night or the purple bikini from the roof.
It was soft and loose, the sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder, the pants baggy around her legs, her hair damp and falling over her shoulders.
She wasn’t wearing makeup, and her gorgeous green eyes were more pronounced against her tan skin.
She looked like comfort and trouble wrapped in one very dangerous package.
And she smelled like vanilla and soap and something warmer underneath that made every muscle in my body lock up.
Her lips parted a little. Our visceral reactions to each other weren’t helping my situation.
“Hi,” she said.
My brain came back online just enough to remind me I was standing in my doorway staring at her like I’d never seen a woman before.
“Hi.” I stepped back. “Come in.”
She walked past me, and I caught that soft scent again.
My hand tightened around the edge of the door before I shut it because I needed something solid to hold on to.
I had already decided in the shower that nothing was happening tonight.
We were simply getting to know each other.
A friendly dinner. Okay, friendly was a lie.
Catherine stopped a few feet inside my condo and looked around. “Wow.”
I closed the door. “Wow good or wow bad?”
She laughed softly. “Wow good.”
I followed her gaze around the space. The condo was open and modern with big windows, warm wood, soft gray couches, and enough color that it didn’t look like a single man had designed it alone. Which was good, because I absolutely hadn’t.
“Isla loves decorating,” I said.
Catherine turned to me. “Really?”
“Yeah. She picks paint colors and pillows like her life depends on it. That blue throw on the couch was apparently essential.”
“It’s cute.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell her you said that.” I said it quickly, then thought better of it.
I had never brought up my daughter with women I’d hooked up with before.
I was very good at compartmentalizing my life.
Catherine was different. Isla was like family to her.
Still, it made me wonder why someone young, single, and gorgeous would be interested in me.
I knew that was my old demons being too loud, but I couldn’t help it.
She walked toward the living room, taking everything in.
I liked watching her in my space, which was a problem.
She looked too right standing there near Isla’s art on the side table and the framed photo of my parents on the shelf.
Then her gaze moved to the dining table.
I knew what she saw. The lit candles. I had lit the candles because the condo smelled like chicken and garlic and lemon, and candles seemed normal.
But on the dining table, with dinner set out for two, it looked romantic as hell.
Catherine turned slowly. “Hunter.”
“What?”
She pointed at the table. “Candles?”
“They’re for the smell of dinner,” I blurted.
“Dinner smells good,” she noted.
“Thanks. Knowing how to cook comes with being a single dad,” I said, needing to remind her of that fact in case she wanted to bolt.
She crossed her arms, and the sweatshirt slipped a little lower on one shoulder. I stared at her face like my life depended on it.
“I thought this wasn’t supposed to be romantic,” she said.
“It’s not.”
She arched a brow.
Her mouth twitched. “You’re bad at this.”
“I haven’t done this in a while.” My hands flailed. “Like a really long while.”
“That was obvious,” she giggled.
“Ouch.”
She smiled, and the whole condo felt warmer than it should have.
“I appreciate the effort,” she said.
I cleared my throat and nodded. “You want water?”
“Sparkling?”
“I said I’d get wild.”
She laughed. “Sure.”
I went to the kitchen because putting ten feet between us seemed smart.
I grabbed two glasses, poured sparkling water, and tried not to think about how she looked at my table with candles on it like she wanted to tease me and maybe kiss me at the same time.
When I came back, she was looking at the framed picture on the bookshelf.
It was Isla at eight, missing one front tooth, grinning beside me at the rink after a game.
“She’s so cute,” Catherine said.
I handed her the glass. “Yeah. She knows it too.”
“Did you hear from her?” she asked.
That question hit me hard. Asking questions about my daughter was my soft spot.
I nodded. “Got mail today. She’s having a great time. Apparently, she passed the swim test, made two bracelets, and ate something called campfire nachos.”
“That sounds either amazing or disgusting,” she laughed.
“Both, probably.”
“Mila sent a letter too. She’s having a blast.” Catherine’s smile shifted into something softer. “She added a P.S. for me. She said her and Isla love and miss me.”
Catherine loved my daughter. Not in some vague, polite way. Another reason she was dangerous.
“Kids,” I said, because apparently that was all my dumb mouth could manage.
“Yeah.” She looked up. “They get you.”
“They really do.”
For a second, the condo went quiet.
I gestured toward the table. “Sit before the food gets cold.”
She slipped into one of the chairs, and I brought over the chicken, pasta, roasted vegetables, and salad.
Catherine looked at the food and then at me. “You made this?”
“No, I ordered it and rubbed flour on my shirt for the aesthetic,” I joked.
She laughed. “Sorry. I’m impressed.”
“You should be. I used more than one pan.” I laughed. “I’ve come a long way over the years.”
She took a bite of the pasta first, and I watched her face because I was suddenly more nervous than I had been before playoff games.
Her eyes closed for half a second. “Okay, this is really good.”
My chest did something stupid. “Yeah?”
“Really good.” She took another bite. “You can cook.”
“I had to learn.”
“Because of Isla?”
I nodded, cutting into my chicken. “When she was little, I realized I couldn’t feed her takeout and frozen waffles forever. My mom helped, Quinn helped, but I wanted to know how to make real meals for her.”
“That’s sweet.”
“It was survival,” I admitted.
I looked at her across the table. Candlelight caught in her hair and made the damp strands look darker.
Her shoulder was still bare where the sweatshirt slipped, and I was trying very hard not to look.
This was the problem. Dinner with Catherine was easy.
I had expected the tension. I expected to want her.
I did not expect her to fit across from me at my dining table like she’d been there before.
I took a drink of sparkling water. “This is part of what I mean.”
She glanced up. “What?”
“The stage-of-life thing.”
Her face shifted. “Ah. Here we go.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” she confirmed, taking a bite of chicken. Her demeanor hadn’t changed.
“I’m thirty-three, Catherine. I’m a single dad. When Isla’s home, I don’t go out much. I work, train, and travel during the season, and when I’m home, I’m with her. That’s my life.”
She set her fork down. “You say that like it’s supposed to scare me off.”
“It should at least make you think.”
“It does make me think.” She leaned back in her chair. “It makes me think you’re a good man.”
I stared at her.
She shrugged. “I’m not a huge party girl, Hunter. Billie Rose drags me out. I like going out sometimes, but that isn’t my whole personality. I spent most of medical school studying, working, and sleeping when possible.”
“You’re twenty-four.”
“And tired,” she added.
I laughed despite myself.
She smiled, then continued. “And my parents did the same thing. Dad was on the road a lot, but when he was home, he was home. Mom was busy, especially when I was younger, but she always made sure I knew I mattered. They built a life around family and work. I understand that.”
“And you want that?” I asked. I knew it was too many questions too soon, but she was different, and something inside me wouldn’t let up. I was laying it all out because I couldn’t afford heartbreak at this stage of my life.
Her answer came fast. “Yes.”
The certainty in her voice threw me.
She looked down at her plate, then back at me. “I want to be as good a parent as my mom and dad.”
Something shifted in my chest. It was too much. Too sweet and real.
“How many kids do you want?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Three or four.”
I choked on my sparkling water.
Catherine’s eyes widened. “OMG.”
I grabbed my napkin and coughed into it while she burst into laughter.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her tone worried.
“Fine,” I wheezed.
“You asked.” She shrugged.
“I didn’t know you were going to say a whole lineup,” I snickered.
“Three or four is not a lineup,” she countered.
“It’s a penalty kill unit.”
She laughed harder. “Why is that so scary to you? We’re not together. I didn’t ask you to father them.”
I stared at her. Wrong thing to picture. My brain immediately pictured Catherine pregnant, in my kitchen, wearing one of my shirts, and I needed to leave my own condo.
“Hunter?”
I cleared my throat and took another drink carefully. “I’m fine.”
“You look panicked,” she noted.
“Really, I’m fine. No panic at all.”
She grinned. “Have you ever thought about having more kids?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Never?” she asked, surprised.
“Not really.” I leaned back in my chair. “It’s been me and Isla for so long. I didn’t think about more. I didn’t want to settle down, and I wasn’t bringing someone into her life unless I knew they were staying.”
“That makes sense.” She nodded slowly. “Have you dated?”
“No.” One word to sum up the last decade of my life.
Her brows rose.
“I mean, not seriously,” I corrected. I didn’t want to give her the impression I was celibate. I had needs.
“Define not seriously.”
“Dinner. Drinks. A night,” I said honestly, hoping it wouldn’t scare her off.
Her lips twitched. “A night?”