Chapter 24 #3
“What’s going on?” I whisper to Hunter as he guides me to the center of the ballroom.
When he lets go of my hand and turns to face me, his eyes are luminous.
“I wanted to do something special, and Lou told me one of the items on your bucket list was to go to a ball and dance under twinkle lights since you missed all your senior dances. But I knew you wouldn’t want to risk being around that many strangers. ”
The warmth I felt earlier spreads; I’m glowing from within—as if the candlelight surrounding us has permeated my body.
“I told you I have a friend that recommended we come here. What I didn’t mention is that he’s a regional manager for Marriott.
He had the hotel manager here reserve the ballroom for us so we can have a private dance floor.
No -strangers’ sweat or germs to be found.
Nothing to worry about—-except for me stepping on your feet. ”
I smile tremulously. I’m certain he’s going to be a fantastic dancer and that my toes are not in any danger.
Hunter bows as if we’re in a Pride and Prejudice movie, then holds out his hand and says, “So, Olivia Karlsson, may I have this dance?”
No one has ever done something so amazing for me before. I nod and take his hand. Hunter slides his other arm around me, his hand spreading across my lower spine. I curl my fingers over his very broad, strong shoulder, the way I’ve seen many people dance in the movies and competition TV shows.
“There’s no music,” I point out in a whisper, self--conscious of how fast my heart is beating and the way my hand trembles in his.
As if on cue, a soft ballad starts playing on hidden speakers, and Hunter begins to move, deftly guiding me in a swaying circle around the middle of the ballroom, beneath the glow of the twinkling lights and the chandeliers.
With my heels, our faces are almost level, so I can stare into his gleaming eyes with only a slight tilt of my chin.
I swallow when he pulls me closer so our bodies brush together.
His fingers flex against my back when his legs move against mine.
Every touch awakens something electric between us, humming through my veins.
Hunter brings our clasped hands in closer, pressing them against his chest.
“I’m sorry if I’m not a very good dancer,” I say, attempting to mask how completely undone I am from a mere dance.
Hunter’s eyes hold mine. “Can I confess something to you?”
My heart trips, but I manage to keep my feet steady. “An-other round of confessions of a mess?”
He chuckles, a soft, husky sound that makes my stomach tighten. “Something like that.”
“Of course.” I’m held captive by the way he looks at me—like nothing else exists. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.
His throat works around a swallow, and then he says, “I can’t stop thinking about you.
I wake up wanting to see you. I spend half my day trying to figure out how to make that happen.
I can’t wait to find out what we’ll talk about next.
I want to be as close to you as you’ll let me get.
I want to—” He stops short, like the words are caught in his throat, his hands curling into the fabric at my back.
I watch him, breathless, every part of me aware of how close we are.
“This is crazy, right? That I feel this drawn to you? That being with you already feels like the only thing that makes sense?” His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer until his breath is ghosting over my mouth.
My heart races beneath my rib cage, the rush of blood making me lightheaded. I’m torn—caught between the urge to let everything spill out and the reflex to run before we both get hurt. He’s saying all the things I’ve longed to hear . . . but fear steals my words.
“Say something,” Hunter pleads, low and rough. “Tell me I didn’t just ruin everything by being too honest.”
I meet his gaze—those beautiful, searching eyes that feel impossibly familiar, like I knew them in another life. Eyes I could fall into if I’m not careful. Eyes that tell me that with him, I’m safe. I’m home.
And I find myself shaking my head. “No, you didn’t ruin anything. If you’re crazy for feeling that way . . . then so am I. Because . . . I feel the same way about you.”
Hunter makes a noise deep in his throat, his hand tightens once again on my lower back. I think we’ve stopped moving, but the ballroom continues to spin around us as his gaze drops to my mouth.
He releases my hand that he’s holding to his chest to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. He traces the curve of my jaw, and the world narrows to that single point of contact. My breath catches in my lungs; I think my heart might slam its way out of my chest, it’s beating so hard.
“You are so beautiful,” Hunter rasps. “Your heart, your soul. You are . . . everything.” He swallows and then lowers his head toward mine so slowly he gives me more than enough time to back away, to turn away, to tell him to stop.
Instead, I lift my face to his.
His lips brush mine so softly I shiver. Lightning races through my veins from that featherlight touch. He pauses with his mouth a fraction of an inch away. I wonder if he’s as stunned as I am by the power of that all-too-brief kiss. My entire body trembles.
And then he kisses me again, but this time, he pulls me flush against his muscled body as his mouth moves over mine.
I have to grab onto him, my fingers fisting in his shirt, to keep my knees from buckling.
His hand delves into my hair, tilting my head so he can kiss me even more deeply.
His lips are soft and firm all at once; he kisses me the way he does everything—with such intensity it takes my breath away.
I’ve never felt anything close to the way I do right now, with his arms around me, his lips on mine.
A wolf whistle from somewhere nearby somehow infiltrates the rush of blood pounding in my ears and brings me back to my senses. We might be alone in the ballroom, but we are still in the middle of a resort property—and we apparently have an audience.
We break apart, both gasping and wide-eyed.
“I . . . I um . . .” I don’t know why I’m trying to formulate words when I’m pretty sure the room is actually spinning.
“That was . . .” Hunter seems as dazed as I am. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow,” I repeat. Part of me is grateful we were interrupted, because I’m completely overwhelmed that his kiss has hit me this hard, this deep. I’ve never had a first kiss like this ever, with anyone.
Hunter quirks one eyebrow. “For two intelligent people, we’re awfully articulate right now.”
He surprises a laugh out of me.
“Do you want to keep dancing? Or go back home?”
“Dancing,” I say immediately. “But . . .” I take a deep breath, trying to calm my still-racing heart. “As amazing as that was . . . and it was really, really amazing . . . are you okay if we take it—this—whatever is happening—slow?”
Hunter takes my hand and spins me under his arm and then back against his body. “As long as you’re not asking me to stop, we can take this as slow as you want. I’m not interested in a fling, Liv. I’ve never been that guy. I’m in this . . . with you. Whatever that looks like. If you’ll let me.”
I’m in this . . . with you. The words echo through my head, straight to the core of me. I press a little bit closer to him, relishing the strength of his body and the security of his arms around me. He leads me in what I’m fairly certain is some form of a waltz.
“You have to stop being so perfect,” I say, words I never thought I’d feel—or say—about Hunter Barrett when I first met him.
He laughs this time, a burst of sound that lights up his whole face. If he was beautiful before, laughing Hunter should be illegal. “I have been accused of many things in my life but never perfection.”
“Then they didn’t know you like I do.”
“After less than a month?” He gives me his trademark smirk, but I sense a deeper need for my answer beneath his seemingly blasé mien. I’ve hit a nerve.
“I mean it, Hunter. Just because someone has known you longer doesn’t mean they’ve seen you. I’m not sure that how long you’ve known someone matters—it’s what you share with them that counts. And you and I . . . well, at least for me, I’ve told you things about myself . . .” I flush.
Hunter holds my gaze, his uncertainty softening into something gentle and steady.
“I get it. You’ve shared parts of yourself with me that very few people know.
And I’ve shared things with you that I haven’t shared with anyone else.
” There’s something so raw and open in his eyes it makes me ache.
“We already know each other,” he says quietly. “Soul to soul.”
“Soul to soul,” I whisper back.
Hunter bends down, but this time, he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he rests his cheek against my temple. I lean into him, my heart beating steadily, a wash of calm and peace descending over me as he holds me in his strong, solid arms.
“Tell me about your bucket list,” Hunter says softly in my ear as another ballad swells around us and the crisscrossing strands twinkle overhead, like fairy lights. “When did you make it?”
“The day I found out I was getting my heart, with Talia.” That night in the hospital seems so far away—and still so close, somehow.
“I felt so guilty . . . I was so heartbroken for the family who lost their loved one so I could live. Talia told me whoever my donor was, she was gone, regardless of whether I got her heart or not. And if I was going to get the unbelievable gift of a second chance at life, I needed to cherish it. While we waited for my mom to come and for me to be taken back to pre-op, she got me to come up with a bucket list—of all the things I wanted to do with my new lease on life.”
Hunter presses a soft kiss into my hair. “What a gift to have a friend like that.”
I nod, leaning my head into his as we sway to the music, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his cologne. “I’ve been very lucky to have her in my life. And Lou too.”
There’s a pause, and then he says, “Lyla was an organ donor. And I can tell you, if I knew that she helped save someone to make bucket-list dreams come true, it would help—at least a little bit. To feel like there was some purpose in the tragedy of her death.”
I hold him tighter, not knowing how to respond. The guilt he carries for his sister’s death is something that will never truly go away. We’re quiet, turning slowly in a small circle, clinging to each other.
After he’s had a minute to regain some control, he asks, “How many things on your list have you done?”
I grimace, even though he can’t see me. “Not very many,” I hedge.
“What does that mean?”
“Well . . . including my own private ball tonight?”
Hunter nods.
“Like, three?”
“Three,” he repeats, flat. “Out of how many?”
“Uh . . . I’m not sure.” I’m grateful that he can’t see that I’m blushing.
But so many items on my bucket list were so outlandish; it’s a lot harder to check them off when they are things like see the Eiffel tower in spring when the trees are blossoming or sleep underneath the northern lights when you work six days a week for your family at their increasingly struggling bakery.
“Liv.”
“Okay, fine. Out of twenty-five.”
Hunter steps back, taking my shoulders in his hands, his eyes roaming over my face, studying me. “Why haven’t you done more?”
I shrug. “I picked some expensive goals. Or things that are really hard to do as a heart-transplant recipient. I let my imagination get carried away. Plus, there’s the bakery to run . . . and things like having to pay for food and my car and stuff like that.”
“What are some of the things on your list?”
The look on his face guts me—hope faltering in his eyes, as if the idea that Lyla’s death might have helped someone else just slipped through his fingers.
“They were just . . . naive dreams,” I say quietly.
“I didn’t exactly factor in budgets and airfare when I wrote down ‘African safari.’ I thought you could just . . . go.”
“Okay, so African safari. What else? Give me one or two. I’m curious. I want to know what younger Liv dreamed of doing with her new lease on life.”
I purse my lips but relent. “Fine. One was to eat real Italian food across from the Colosseum. And another was that I wanted to see a pod of orcas in the wild.”
Hunter’s smile is amused but gentle. “So you’re saying I can’t surprise you with those on a random Saturday night?”
“Not unless you have a private jet I don’t know about or a whale--watching boat stashed away somewhere.” I laugh. “I’m still grateful for the gift of my heart—even if I never make it to Rome or spot an orca.”
“Never say never,” Hunter says. “Now that you’ve decided to be optimistic and believe that you have plenty of life ahead of you, there’s still time to check a few more goals off that list, right?”
I squinch my nose. “Now that I’ve agreed to try to be optimistic about how much life I have ahead of me . . . maybe I’ll figure out how to do one or two more on there. Someday.”
The look Hunter gives me is indecipherable, his eyes piercing in the glow of the twinkle lights.
But then a more upbeat song comes on, and he suddenly grabs my hand and twirls me again, only this time when he pulls me back, he dips me.
I wobble on my heels, nearly falling. He wraps both arms around me, holding me steady before I collapse to the floor in ignominy.
I’m giggling uncontrollably by the time he rights me.
“Maybe that’s enough dancing for one night,” he says, barely concealing his own laughter at my gracelessness.
“Yeah, maybe,” I agree. “But thank you—for all of this. It’s been magical. Even if I never check off another item on my list, this has been enough.” I hope he can see the truth in my eyes.
“You have a very low bar for magic if you think this is enough to forget the rest of your list. But you’re welcome.” Hunter takes my hand in his as we walk back to where the employee still stands guarding the way to our little private dance floor.
As we walk to the car, I silently disagree with him. I have a very high bar for magic. The only problem with magic is that it’s not real. I can only hope that whatever is happening between us is, because I’ve never been this happy after a first date in my life.
Which is as scary as it is magical.