Chapter 14 Hunter #2
I keep my tone even. “Aunt Jane is happy with your work.” She looks up, waiting. I realize what she’s waiting for. The rest. “And I’m pleased,” I add. “With your work, too.”
Her smile is immediate and unfiltered. “Thank you,” she says, like I just handed her the moon instead of a slightly adjusted salary. “Really. That means… more than you probably think.”
I swallow, fighting the urge to look away. I didn’t expect something so small to light her up like that. Didn’t expect her happiness to feel this loud in my chest.
Why does seeing her smile feel like it adds heat to the room? “You can trust me to take care of her,” she says softly. For a second, just one—I almost tell her I do. But that’s too dangerous. Too revealing.
So instead, I say, “Sign the contract.”
She does. Beautiful, looping handwriting that looks nothing like the chaos she leaves with spilled sugar and scattered textbooks. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Hunter.”
I have to look away because I can’t look at her when she’s like this.
Because I’m too aware of the moment in this room when I almost ruined everything.
She looks at me like she can see past the version of myself I’ve tried so hard to keep the world believing in.
Before either of us can say something we shouldn’t, I dismiss her.
“See you at dinner soon,” I say. She nods and slips out of the office. And I’m left staring at the door long after she closes it.
Aunt Jane knocks softly on my office door just before dinner, two light taps, the kind she used when I was a kid and she wanted to check if I was doing homework or brooding.
“Come in,” I call, still staring at my laptop even though I haven’t absorbed a single word on the screen in the past ten minutes. She steps inside, closing the door gently behind her.
“I came to check on you, sweetheart.”
That… is unexpected.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She gives me a look that is half affection, half interrogation.
“Well, the last time you had Adaline in here, you were shouting.”
I stiffen. “I wasn’t… shouting.” I don’t want her to know how close I came to crossing a line I can’t uncross. Aunt Jane raises one eyebrow. I push a hand through my hair. “…Okay, I might have raised my voice.”
“Hunter,” she says with that devastating softness, “I worry when you let anger speak for you.”
“I had every right to be angry,” I snap before I can stop myself. “She was being nosy. Asking about my business. My life. Things that have nothing to do with her job.” Aunt Jane folds her hands in front of her, utterly unimpressed.
“She’s curious because she cares. Not because she’s prying.”
I scoff.
“She makes this house feel warm,” she says plainly. “She makes you warmer too, whether you see it or not.”
I blink. “Me?”
She smiles like she’s watching a child insist he didn’t eat the last cookie while crumbs decorate his face. “This place has been lighter since the moment she arrived. And so have you. You may not notice it, but I do.”
My pulse jumps in irritation, or something like it. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“I don’t think so.” She studies me closely. “I see a future between you two.”
The words hit like a punch to the ribs. “There is no future. She works here. That’s it.”
Aunt Jane doesn’t flinch. “Be kind to her. Let her see who you really are.”
Something raw and sharp rises up in my chest. “I don’t care what anyone thinks about me. I never have.”
Her eyes soften in the way that makes everything worse. “That’s not true. And someday, you’ll have to stop pretending it is.”
She leaves quietly, the door closing with a soft click. The guilt hits instantly, heavy and unwelcome. Why did her comment scare me? Why does the idea of a future with Adaline twist my heart?
Why the hell can’t I get her out of my head?
Dinner is supposed to be peaceful. Friday nights always have been, the one tradition we’ve kept. Aunt Jane at the head of the grand table, Mrs. Lane beside her, and now Adaline taking the seat across from mine.
She looks… happy tonight.
Her hair is loose, her cheeks pink from the warmth, her smile easy. She laughs at something Mrs. Lane says, and the sound settles somewhere beneath my ribs before I can shove it away.
Then she glances at me, quick, instinctive, and looks away, still smiling faintly. My chest does something traitorous. Halfway through the meal, she sets down her fork and looks between Aunt Jane and me.
“I wanted to ask,” she begins softly, “if it would be all right for me to go to the fall festival tomorrow. Just for a couple of hours. I’ve never been, and it might help me get to know Rose Hills better.”
Her eyes are bright with excitement. Aunt Jane lights up. “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea! You’ll love it—”
“No,” I say.
The word cuts through the room like a blade. Everything goes silent.
Adaline’s smile collapses. “I… sorry? Is there a reason?”
“You have responsibilities here,” I say stiffly. “A schedule. Duties. It’s not the time for festivals.”
I can feel Aunt Jane staring at me like I’ve grown horns. Adaline swallows. “It’s just a couple of hours. I’d be back before dinner.”
“No.”
Her lips press together, and she nods once, tight, politely. “Of course. I understand.”
She doesn’t. And I hate that I can tell. Her chair scrapes lightly as she stands. “Excuse me.”
She doesn’t look at me as she walks out. But the sound of her footsteps feel loud, too loud. Aunt Jane sets down her silverware with slow, deliberate precision. “Hunter.”
I brace myself. “That,” she says, “was unkind.” Mrs. Lane doesn’t speak, but her disappointment is thick enough to taste. I look at the empty seat across from me—her absence louder than her presence ever was.
I did it to prove something. To Aunt Jane, to myself. To the idea that I don’t care, that no one can soften me, that nothing is changing inside this house or inside me.
But the truth hits with a quiet, painful clarity. I hurt her. And I hate that I did.
I grip the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. How long will I keep pushing everyone away? How long until there’s no one left to push?
Because keeping everyone at a distance was supposed to protect me. But tonight, it feels like it’s starting to break me instead.