Chapter 21 #2
“Don’t worry about coming back; I’ve got it covered.
And I’ll run by the hospital after so you don’t need to.
” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Farmor would be so relieved to know you’re finding a little happiness of your own—especially during such a hard time.
You know how much she worries about you. ”
She doesn’t realize that her words have the opposite effect of what she intended, but I manage to maintain my smile and say, “It’s only lunch. He has to get back to work too. I won’t be long.”
“Have fun, sweetie,” she calls after me.
“All good?” Hunter asks when I come back out.
“All good.”
Maybe he can sense my mood has also changed, because we’re both quiet as he walks beside me to his car.
He opens my door for me, and I slide onto the leather seat, feeling very frumpy in my flour-dusted jeans, Konditori Bakery T-shirt (this one says Nice Buns, Swede-Heart, with a graphic of our kanelbullar), and messy topknot.
“Do you have somewhere in mind already?” I ask as he shifts into reverse. His engine purrs as we accelerate out of the parking lot and onto the street.
“Yes, actually.”
“Oh, where?”
“You’ll see.”
But we don’t drive to a restaurant—instead, we turn into a nearby park. “I don’t see any food trucks,” I comment.
“Don’t need ’em.”
My lips purse. “I’m not one of those girls who lives on cactus water.”
“Tragic,” Hunter says deadpan. “I even brought my magnifying glass. Those ants aren’t going to fry themselves.”
I give him the side-eye. “Wow. Sarcasm and a plan? Who are you, and what did you do with my emotionally unavailable neighbor?”
Hunter merely smirks as he parks. Fuchsia blooms -tumble from the bougainvillea bushes, scattering across the sidewalks in careless splashes of color.
Overhead, the sun gleams in a cloudless sky, and the air—while still warm—holds a gentler edge than it did last week.
The high is only in the low seventies. Perfect weather for a picnic, which, I realize, is what he’s planned, as he gets out of the car, opens my door for me, and then circles back to the trunk, where he pulls out two large plastic bags from a cooler.
“Panera?” I ask with a smile. “You already bought food—from Panera?”
“If I recall, you seem to like this place.” He hands me one of the bags and shuts the trunk.
“But I thought you said the green goddess salad was a questionable choice?”
“I had nothing against green goddess salad—until it assaulted me and ruined my favorite tie.”
“I wrecked your favorite tie? I deserve to die a thousand deaths.”
“As long as they’re all death by green goddess dressing.
” He laughs, a deep, throaty sound that vibrates through my body.
The second it stops, I want to hear it again.
I suddenly want to make it my personal life goal to make Hunter laugh as often as possible.
“It wasn’t even a top-ten tie,” he admits, his grin flashing.
“Punk.” I roll my eyes and follow him toward a table in the shade beneath a large tree. “What were you going to do if I said no to lunch?”
“Take it home and put it in the fridge for you to eat later, if you wanted.”
We sit down across from each other, and I pull out the container. Never before has a salad made me emotional. “This was really thoughtful of you, Hunter. Thank you.”
He doesn’t look up from his panini. “I figured a park was a safer place to play confessions of a mess than a busy restaurant.”
“You were serious about playing again?” I open my salad and take a bite.
“It’s not what I would call a ‘fun game,’” he uses air quotes, “but it did make me get things out in the open that I’ve been holding in for too long.
” He still doesn’t look up, and I can see a faint flush along the collar of his light-blue shirt.
“It made me willing to go out on a limb and ask if you would go on this lunch date, which might seem stupid, but for me right now, it’s a big deal. ”
Warmth blossoms in my chest when our eyes finally meet. All my goals to protect us both by keeping him at a distance melt away at the smile he gives me. See? Not pushing him away. Talia and Lou are wrong. “Okay. Are you starting?”
He swallows a bite of his panini. “I guess so since it was my idea this time. And I think there’s more you need to know about me.
Then maybe you’ll understand why I’ve been so .
. . well, you know.” The flecks of green in his hazel eyes are brilliant even in the shade where we sit.
“Colette didn’t just break up with me . .
. She was cheating on me with my business partner.
The one who was falsifying documents and stealing money from our accounts.
And I had no idea—about any of it—until it was too late. ”
An unexpected rage swirls up my chest, hot and indignant. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry, Hunter.” I’m tempted to curse in Swedish and English, but I wrestle the urge into submission. “What happened with the business?”
“He got off with all the money, and I got stuck with all the debt. I tried to get a lawyer and go after him, but the retainer was too much money—something I didn’t have anymore because of him.
I had to close our marketing company and sell my house in Florida to pay everything off so I could walk away. ”
The unfairness of it all boils hot in my blood. “Where is he now? Let’s take a baseball bat to his car. I can even try finding him in a bar or wherever scumbags hang out and kick him right where it counts.”
Hunter laughs again, and I want to punch my hand into the air in victory—even though I’m still full of rage on his behalf. “Wow, I had no idea you cared so much.”
Neither did I, until that moment—legit ready to attack a nameless man over the cruelty he dealt the man in front of me, who has already suffered far too much. And I don’t even dare voice what I want to do to Colette for breaking his heart so cruelly.
“I appreciate the support,” Hunter says, his laughter fading. “But if I ever see him again—even to destroy his property or inflict bodily harm—it’ll be too soon.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my shocking level of anger. “That’s why you moved out here—to start over. And to never see them again.”
He nods, taking a bite of his sandwich and looking toward a nearby playground, where a few groups of kids run amok, laughing and shouting to each other.
“Did you ever call her back?” I’m afraid to ask, but for some reason, I need to know if he talked to Colette.
“No,” Hunter says, still watching the kids play. “I have nothing to say to her either. And I have no desire to hear anything she has to say to me.”
“How long were you together?”
“Almost a year.” Hunter finally looks back at me. “Your turn. And you owe me three confessions now.”
“No way, those were all subconfessions of your one and only confession.”
Hunter snorts. “Nice try. You owe me at least two.”
I mock scowl. “Fine.”
He waits expectantly.
I take a deep breath. “I’m more afraid of dying because of what it would do to my family than of actually being gone.”
Hunter’s gaze is unwavering, piercing through me. “Why?”
“Because when my dad died, it almost destroyed my mom. She wasn’t herself for . . . a long time.”
Hunter doesn’t say anything, merely waits.
“It happened so fast, you know? He collapsed on the beach the day after his birthday and got diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Then three weeks later, he was gone. And a year after that, his dad died from a heart attack. That’s why we moved here, to help Farmor—and so she and my mom could try to survive their shared grief together.
” I push my salad around the plastic container with my fork.
“How old were you when your dad died?” Hunter asks.
“Thirteen.” I spear some lettuce and force myself to take a bite, even though I’m not very hungry anymore.
“That’s pretty young to lose your dad.”
I somehow force down the salad through my constricting throat.
“There’s never a good age to lose a parent.
And that . . . that’s why I’m so scared,” I blurt out.
“How am I supposed to dream about marriage, about having a baby—when I don’t know how old my child will be when I leave them with the same pain I’ve carried since I lost my dad? ”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hunter stand. For a second, panic spikes—I went too far, scared him off. He’s going to ask for space. Maybe even tell me to call an Uber.
Instead, he slides onto the hard plastic bench beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “I’m sorry, Liv,” he murmurs.
I sink into him—his warmth, his solidness, the quiet strength of his body.
He holds me like I’m something precious.
And that’s what does it. Not the grief. Not the words.
But him. The unexpected tenderness of it all shatters the fragile hold I’ve held on to for weeks.
The sobs break free—helpless, messy. Hunter doesn’t flinch.
Just holds me tighter, his hand moving slowly up and down my arm, steady and silent while I fall apart.
Several minutes later, I slowly regain control, and he loosens his grip, carefully moving me back so he can look down at me. “Better?” he asks softly.
I nod with a slow, shuddering inhale. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I know it must have been awful to lose your dad.
” Hunter lifts one hand, gently wiping at my wet cheek with his thumb.
“And I know it must be terrifying to try to picture what the future holds for you. But . . . what if you assumed you’re going to live a long life?
What if you choose to stop living in fear—and instead choose to believe you will get married and have babies and live to see them have their own babies? ”
I frown, scooting away from him.
“Now you sound like your cousin,” I accuse.
He stiffens.