34. Hunter
Hunter
It’s ten in the morning, and I’m on the back porch listening to the love of my life run through her checklist for the forty-seventh time. The view in the distance is one I’m excited to share with her very soon.
I glance back, the small opening in the curtains giving me a glimpse of her standing in the kitchen—hair thrown up into a messy bun, fluffy socks covering her feet, and my favorite hoodie hanging down to her knees.
She sways back and forth to the song playing through the speaker.
She sips her ice tea with one hand and flips through the papers on the table.
If someone would have told me three months ago I’d get the girl, I’m not sure I would have believed them.
Sometimes, you pray for something for so long you start to wonder if it’s ever going to happen. You want to keep believing it will, but after a while the What if it never does creeps in.
But Sutton Bradley was always worth the wait.
I was made to love that woman.
And I’m damn glad I never gave up hope that someday we’d get our chance.
“Baby, I think we’re ready,” she shouts.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and step inside before she can see the stupid grin on my face. I wrap my hands around her waist and bring her into the warmth of my body, burying my nose in the curve of her neck.
Sutton leans against my chest and covers my hands with hers. “Do you know how much I love you?”
I press a kiss on the side of her neck. “I do.”
I pull her into the kitchen and sit her down at the new table Luke brought over yesterday. It might be my favorite thing in the house—big enough to fit all the people we love, plus some.
“Alright.” She pauses, sipping her ice tea. “I’ve got most of the food ready to go. The only thing I need to do today is get the drinks on ice.”
“Luke and Greer have that taken care of, remember?”
Her brows furrow. “Yes. Forgot about that.”
“I can’t believe you made all the food for the party.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Don’t remind me.”
“What happened with the caterer again?”
“They’ve been giving me the runaround for weeks,” she says, shaking her head. “And they called me Monday with another excuse, and I snapped.”
“So you fired them?”
“Fired sounds so harsh, but yes.” She lifts her chin. “I decided I’d cook everything myself.”
“Sutton, you’re a good cook but—”
“I know, which is why Greer and Navy took it over.”
“Of course they did.”
“We planned, shopped, and prepared food in less than forty-eight hours.”
I glance around the kitchen. “That’s insane.”
“I know, but . . .” She shrugs, a smile tugging at her lips. “What could have been a disaster turned into a pivot.”
“It looks amazing, babe. You should be proud.”
“I am.” She laughs. Her cheeks are rosy, a light sheen on her skin from the heat of the kitchen.
“I’m sorry I won’t have the backyard done in time for the open house. I really did my best. But with one hand, it’s going slower than I anticipated.”
I wait for the wave of panic at everything not being perfect to wash over her. But it never does.
She lightly kicks my shin. “You know, it would be really cool if you had a few friends who could help out.”
“I thought about that, but this is one project I have to do on my own.” I lean forward and press a gentle kiss to her lips.
She sets her glass down and stares at me. “It’s okay that it won’t be done in time. But selfishly, I hope I get to see it soon.”
“You will. Luke’s coming over today to help.”
Her mouth drops open. “But you just said this was something you wanted to do just you.”
“Yeah, but I need both of his arms for this next part.”
“And what part is that?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
I know it drives her crazy not knowing what I’ve done out there. But that’s too damn bad. “Mind your business, woman.”
Sutton leans across the table, braces her hands on the sides of my face, and kisses me square on the mouth.
She tastes like sugar. My hand caresses the side of her body and settles on the outside of her thigh.
Her sweatshirt rides up, exposing white cotton panties.
I groan and squeeze the newly exposed flesh.
She sits back, eyes narrowed like she’s trying to decide whether she should tackle me or kiss me again. “You are the most frustrating man alive,” she mutters.
I lean back in my chair, grinning. “I think you like it.”
Her foot nudges mine under the table. “I kind of love it.”
I reach across the table and grab her hoodie strings, tugging her toward me. “C’mere.”
The chair legs scrape softly against the floor as she comes closer. She doesn’t fight it. She never does.
When she’s standing between my legs, I rest my hands on her hips and look up at her. Sunlight catches in her hair, a few wayward curls falling from her bun. She has no idea how beautiful she is.
Her skin is warm beneath mine, soft and smooth everywhere I touch. I scoot back and pull her onto my lap. Her body is heavy and light all at once. She tips her head back as I cover her in kisses—from the edge of her mouth, across her cheek, down her jaw, and along her throat.
“How do you do that?” she breathes.
“Do what?” I lift her hoodie, exposing her body inch by inch, and pull it over her head. Freckles pepper her pale skin, remnants of our summers in the sun. Goosebumps cover her flesh as I trace every dip and curve.
“That,” she says, eyes on me, a look of surrender in her eyes. “How do you make me feel like this with a kiss or a touch?”
“The same way you do for me. Our souls are better together.” I capture her mouth with mine and lift her while I stand. She interlocks her ankles behind my back. When I lay her on the sofa, her legs fall to each side as she pulls me down with her.
“When will my brother be here?” she asks between kisses.
“Does it matter?”
“As long as he knocks first.” She laughs and pulls my shirt over my head.
Her hands coast over my chest and down the planes of my stomach. My jeans come off next. Her bra joins our other clothes on the floor. Then her panties. My briefs. Until we’re pressed skin to skin.
Where she ends, I begin.
She presses her hand over my heart, eyes never leaving mine.
Life threw us some curves, but I’ll always be grateful that somehow, some way, they led us right here.
Her tears fall like rain. I kiss each one away. She whispers my name as she falls apart beneath me, and I’m right there with her.
Sweat beads at my temples, my neck warm from the sun. The power auger roars to life as Luke maneuvers it, digging the final hole for the footings.
I’m sure Sutton is dying to know what all the noise is, but she’s going to have to wait until Christmas to see the finished product. It had been important to me to build this myself, but finishing it with her brother? I’m okay with that.
“You know,” Luke grunts, wiping sweat from his brow. “You could have waited until the ground was less frozen. It would have been a lot easier to dig these footings.”
“You’ll survive,” I mutter.
Luke snorts and cuts the auger.
Silence settles over the yard except for the wind moving through the trees.
He steps back, eyeing the posts we’ve sunk into the ground. “You really did all this by yourself?”
“Mostly. I’ve still got a lot of work to do on it, but it’ll have to wait until I get this thing off.” I hold up my cast.
His eyes travel from the frame to the swing seat resting in pieces nearby. “Pretty impressive, man.”
I shrug, grabbing the toolbox with my good hand. “She’s always wanted one.”
Luke watches for a second longer than usual. “You know she’s going to cry, right?’
“I mean, that’s kind of the whole point.” A slow grin spreads across my face.
He glances toward the house. “You nervous about the open house tomorrow?”
I follow his gaze.
Through the kitchen window, I see Sutton moving around, her silhouette passing behind the curtains. “Not one bit,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Because this is Sutton we’re talking about. She’s done an amazing job with this house and built it into something people will remember.”
Luke nods once. “Yeah, she did.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Alright, Romeo. What’s next? We’ve still got a few hours of daylight left.”
Luke and I work side by side for the rest of the afternoon, finishing projects on the back porch that have been difficult for me to do with one hand. A couple of times, the curtains shift, and I wonder if Sutton’s taking a peek.
I almost laugh, imagining the way her curiosity must be eating her alive.
Tomorrow, the house will be full of people coming to see what she’s built.
But Christmas morning . . . Christmas morning will be about the space I created just for us.
By the time the first vehicle pulls into the driveway the next afternoon, it feels like half the town follows behind it.
I lean against the kitchen island, nursing a beer Luke shoved in my hand twenty minutes ago, and watch people filter through the front door in waves. It’s odd that so many people are here on a Wednesday evening. Then again, this town is nosy as hell.
Laughter drifts through the living room. Someone already asks about the wood used for the cabinets.
Sutton moves through it all like she’s done this a hundred times. She looks gorgeous in black straight-leg jeans, a cream cable-knit sweater, and her signature pumps.
She greets each person with that mega-watt smile of hers, answering questions, pointing out design choices, laughing when someone inevitably asks why the curtains to the back of the house are closed.
Six months ago, she would’ve been pacing the hallway looking for something wrong. A crooked picture frame. A smudge on a baseboard. Something she could fix before anyone noticed. Not today. Today, she’s enjoying every moment.
Luke bumps my shoulder. “You’ve been staring at her for ten minutes.”
“Shut up.”
He snorts, taking a pull from his beer. “Not saying I blame you. But you’re not being subtle.”
Across the room, Sutton is explaining something to Mrs. Carter from the feed store, gesturing toward the open shelving she insisted on adding to the kitchen. Shelving she’s filled with new dishware, cups, and random kitchen decor.
Mrs. Carter nods enthusiastically. “See, that’s smart,” she says loudly. “Makes the whole room feel bigger.”
“That was the idea,” Sutton says, “even if someone disagreed.” She smiles in my direction.
Watching her talking about design is like watching someone speak their native language. She’s natural and effortless. Like she finally found the thing she was meant to be when she grows up.
Greer and Navy appear beside us.
“Food’s holding up surprisingly well,” Greer says, handing Luke a plate.
Navy nudges my arm. “Your girl might survive hosting the entire town after all.”
“I knew she would.”
“Where’s this Easton I keep hearing so much about?” Navy asks, nursing an Old Fashioned.
I grin. “If you’d gotten here on time, we’d have introduced you before this place got so packed.”
“Hey, now,” Navy holds her hands up in mock offense. “It’s not like I planned to have a dead car battery and almost run out of gas on the same day. And it’s not like I was even that late.”
“He’s around here somewhere,” Luke says casually.
I nod toward the front door. “He’s taking out a load of trash.”
Navy turns slightly, trying to spot him out the window, but someone brushes past her, blocking the view.
“Don’t worry,” I say, bumping her shoulder lightly. “You’ll meet him eventually.”
Luke jerks his chin toward the front door. Mr. and Mrs. Weeks step inside, eyes wide as saucers as they take in the view.
Sutton straightens slightly, wiping her hands on her jeans and crossing the room to greet them. “I’m so glad you both could make it,” she says, smiling warmly.
Mrs. Weeks takes a slow look around the living room. “Sutton, this place is beautiful,” she says. “I didn’t know what to expect, but, wow, you’ve done an incredible job.”
Sutton’s cheeks pink slightly. “Thank you.”
Mr. Weeks steps further inside, studying the layout as they move through the house. They pause in the kitchen. Sutton eventually came around to the color I picked, especially after we added all the furniture in.
“This open concept works really well.” Mr. Weeks nods toward the living area. “Feels very welcoming.”
“That was the goal,” Sutton says. “I wanted it to feel like the kind of place people naturally gather. Plus, we’ve got a big family, so we needed room for this.” She gestures to the massive oak table.
My breath catches at her use of we.
Mrs. Weeks runs her hands along the table. “This is what I’d love to have at the shop. Long tables where people can study or hold book clubs while being surrounded by shelves of books.”
“You have a real talent for this, Sutton,” Mr. Weeks says.
Sutton shifts a little, clearly unsure how to accept Mr. Weeks’s compliment.
“Of course she does,” comes a loud voice from the hallway. Joe steps into the kitchen and wraps his arm around her shoulders. She looks particularly small under his embrace, eyes glistening at Joe’s obvious pride.
“Your dad would be so proud,” he says.
“Thanks, Joe.” Sutton’s voice catches.
Mr. Weeks exchanges a glance with his wife. “This”—he gestures around the house—“is exactly the kind of atmosphere we imagine for the bookstore.”
Sutton freezes for half a second. Then her whole face lights up. “Really?”
Mrs. Weeks nods. “It’s the kind of place people want to stay.”
Mr. Weeks wraps his hand around his wife’s waist and pulls her into his side. “After the holidays,” he says, “we’d really like to talk more about the Torn Pages project. I’m sure you’ll meet our daughter, Holly, sometime this evening.”
Across the room, Luke elbows me again. “You hear that?”
I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. I’m so proud of Sutton. She’s animated and confident, explaining ideas and answering questions. Not second-guessing herself. She’s building the life she’s always wanted.
And it hits me all over again.
The house was never really the project.
Sutton was.
Luke takes a sip of his beer and nudges me with his elbow. “You’ve waited a long time for her.”
I glance toward the back of the house, where the yard sits hidden behind drawn curtains.
The back porch is complete, ready for Christmas morning.
I take another sip of beer and watch Sutton laugh with Joe and the Weeks as they talk design. If I’m not mistaken, I even hear Joe mention something about remodeling the bar.
For a long time, I thought loving Sutton meant being her anchor—holding her steady when the storm came.
But watching her now, I realize something.
She never needed someone to hold her in place.
She needed someone to be her lighthouse, someone willing to stand beside her in any storm . . .
And keep the light on.