Chapter 7 Hunter #2
“They won’t,” she says with an impressive amount of self-assuredness.
“I’ve had wings for the last twenty years.
This time I’m planting roots.” Her eyes soften, but there’s a hardness in her voice that piques my curiosity more than I’d like, and her lips flutter as if she’s got something else on her mind but hasn’t mussed up the courage to say it.
“Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself since we’re neighbors.
You keep looking at the clock, so I’m sure you have somewhere to be. ”
I hadn’t realized I’d looked at the clock once since she got here. If I did, I’ve no recollection of doing so. I’ve been too busy staring at her, which ironically seemed to make time stand still.
I adjust my hat and massage the back of my neck. “Yeah, I’ve got a part to pick up before I head back out to the field. Appreciate the cookies. You didn’t have to do that.”
Her shoulders relax ever so slightly, and she peers up at me in a way that makes me temporarily weak in the knees.
For the love of god, what is going on with me?
“So you live alone up here? On this big hill? In this massive house?” She scans the surroundings of my lodge-style house one more time, taking in the sweeping ceilings, twenty-foot windows, and abundance of stone and rough-hewn beams.
“I do.”
“Do you ever get lonely? All this space and no one to share it with?”
“Never,” I answer without hesitation, though for some unknown reason my answer somehow feels like a lie. “Too busy working to be lonely.”
She scrutinizes me with a tiny smirk on her pink lips. “If you say so.”
There’s something about her energy—soft but not fragile. Warm but not desperate. Friendly but not imposing. I’m drawn to her in a way I’ve not been drawn to anyone in a long time. I’m sure the feeling will pass as these things do.
Lust is one hell of a drug.
“Your kid adjusting okay to the move?” I ask as I walk her to the door. I don’t know why I’m asking. It’s none of my business and I definitely shouldn’t care. But picturing a little boy living in that house brings me back . . .
She nods, slipping back into her fancy shoes. “Better than I expected. I think this place is exactly what he needed. So much for him to do. I can hardly keep up with him half the time . . .”
“Just be careful with that river,” I say. “The current’s stronger than it looks sometimes.”
“Atticus and I have discussed water safety several times,” she says sweetly. “But thank you. I appreciate the reminder.”
“And what about you?” I ask. “How’re you adjusting?”
She glances up at me again with those dark blues. We’re so close now I can see the little white starbursts in her irises. They’re so hypnotic, I almost have to remind myself to blink.
“Better than I expected,” she says with an exhale that borders on dreamy. She blinks, unhurried through a thick fringe of lashes. Does she do this with everyone?
There’s a tightness in my chest that crawls to my throat, and my feet are anchored in place.
I need to go, but I’m not ready to watch her leave just yet.
The way she fills my entry with literal sunshine, cookies, and an intoxicatingly sweet scent, the way she half smiles and gives me those playful eyes but isn’t overtly throwing herself at me like everyone else tends to do—I have to admit, she’s nothing short of captivating.
I gesture toward the cookies. “So is this some kind of research for your next book?”
She rolls her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You moved back to your hometown. Bought a farmhouse. Now you’re baking cookies for the bachelor farmer next door . . .”
“Okay, yeah,” she laughs. “Fair point when you put it that way. But in my defense, everything about you is literally a character out of a romance novel.”
Out of all the things women have said to me in my forty-two years—that’s not been one of them.
I smirk before I can stop myself.
She watches me, half amused. “Well, look at that. You do smile.”
I fix my face. “Not if I can help it.”
“If we were in one of my books right now, this would be the scene where I decide to make it my mission to make you smile again.”
“Please don’t.”
“Why? Do you hate smiling or something?” Her eyes sparkle under the daylight that filters in around us.
She’s flirting.
She’s definitely flirting.
But I shut it down.
“Don’t romanticize the country too much,” I say, reaching for the doorknob, though what I really want to tell her is not to romanticize me. “It’s not all fireflies and harvest moons and wraparound porches.”
She steps outside and turns back. “I’m a romance writer. I can romanticize anything.”
“Sounds like a good way to get your heart trampled on.” I lean against the doorframe, taking her in like it’s the last time I’m going to see her but knowing damn well it won’t be since we’re neighbors now.
“See you around, Hunter.” There’s a wistfulness in her voice that wasn’t there before. As she turns to leave, the wind catches her hair.
I stare at the cookies.
Then back at the door.
Then down at my chest, where something unfamiliar has started to stir—something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
I’m stuck in a daydream of my own when she’s suddenly traipsing back to the front door. She came back . . . but why?
“I’m sorry,” she says, half breathless with an apologetic smile on her lips. “I have to be honest about something. I didn’t just come here to bring you cookies and introduce myself.”
The moonshine cocktail of emotions I was starting to feel a second ago turns me stone-cold sober. Only thing worse than a liar is someone with an ulterior motive.
I hook my fingers in my belt loops and cock my head. “I’m listening.”
“At the coffee shop the other day, Mrs. Harrison made a face when I told her I bought the Sanders place.” She bites her lip. “It made me feel like I did something wrong. And then she told me you’d always planned on buying it. Is that true?”
I press my lips flat and exhale through my nose. “Yeah. It is.”
The gorgeous land thief’s eyes soften. “I had no idea.”
“You paid twice what that property’s worth. I bet you didn’t know that either.”
Her mouth opens for a second but nothing comes out. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything but a part of me is still bitter about the whole thing. Doesn’t help she said she didn’t intend on ever selling either.
“Like I said,” I add, “I’d be happy to take it off your hands anytime.”
Squinting, she angles her face to the side, studying me. “Why do you want that property so bad? What’s so special about it?”
“Story for another day.” I use her words.
“Maybe I don’t want to wait for another day to hear the story.” She uses mine.
“Sorry, honey.” I step out on the front porch and shut the door behind me. I’ve got things to do, and this day’s not getting any younger. “But you’re gonna have to.”