Chapter Eight
HUNTER TOOK A BIG swig of his beer before setting the mug down with a thud. “And then I swear to God I had this freaking out-of-body experience.”
“Yeah?” His buddy Lucas was trying to keep his expression neutral and doing an absolute shit job of it.
Lucas was a tall guy like Hunter, built, white, with sandy brown hair he fussed with too much, and calluses from doing odd jobs and running the counter at Heart’s Hope Crossing’s lone hardware store.
They were having their usual biweekly drink together at the Tipsy Beaver, a little dive bar just outside of town, and like a total cliché, Hunter was one and a half pints in and spilling his guts all over his friend.
“I told her I’d ‘think about it.’” He made air quotes around the words, and his stomach lurched.
Even now, more than forty-eight hours later, he wanted to smack himself upside the head.
He and Emma had had a great time on their hike. She’d said she might want to do it again, and that was perfect. They could have left it there. He could be hiking buddies with a smart, funny, even-tempered, gorgeous woman who didn’t own hiking boots. That would have been fine.
But no. She’d thrown the idea of a line dancing class at him. And when he’d told her the truth—that that really wasn’t his kind of thing—she’d been fine with it. Apologetic, even.
And that was when it had all gone to hell. The disappointment on her face had broken him. She’d looked embarrassed to have even brought it up, and he’d felt like such an asshole that he’d fallen all over himself trying to fix things. Only in the process, he’d made them so much worse.
“Can you even imagine it?” He took another deep pull off his ale. “Me? Line dancing?”
“Vividly,” Lucas said with a chuckle. “And it’s hilarious.”
“You’re not helping.”
“He never does.” Daniel, their regular bartender, slung a towel over his shoulder before pointing at their drinks. “Refills?”
“Nah.” As much as he wanted one, if he had any plans of driving home tonight, he knew better than to keep going.
“I’m good,” Lucas echoed.
“You want my advice?” Daniel asked.
Hunter wasn’t exactly close with the guy. He was Asian, handsome—a relative newcomer to town, in that he’d shown up after high school graduation. But he was about Hunter’s and Lucas’s age, and he had that sympathetic-bartender-ear thing going on.
“Sure, why not.” Hunter jabbed a thumb in Lucas’s direction. “Bound to be better than this guy’s opinion.”
Lucas kicked him. “Thanks.”
“Anybody can dance, and if a girl wants you to dance?” Daniel raised a brow. “You dance.”
Hunter stared at him for exactly three seconds. “Never mind, your opinion is definitely worse than his.”
Daniel laughed and slapped the bar. “Suit yourself, I just call ’em like I see ’em.”
With that, he wandered away to take care of other customers.
Shaking his head, Lucas fixed Hunter with an appraising look. “He’s not entirely wrong, you realize.”
“Of course he is.” Hunter scrubbed a hand down his face. “I had a perfect out, but then I had to open up the possibility of being into it. What the hell has gotten into me?”
He knew, naturally. Emma. Her laugh, her smile, the warm scent of her and the way it lit him up inside when she so much as brushed her hand against his arm. It was absurd.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Lucas lifted his beer to his mouth, peering at Hunter from over the rim, his voice dry. “Maybe the divine hand of fate?”
Hunter had his own drink halfway to his mouth, but he froze. He stared at his friend. Then he set the mug down and asked with a hint of a growl, “Okay, who told you?”
“Told me what?”
“You know what.”
“Fine, fine.” Lucas put down his beer and lifted both hands into the air. “Granny Smith sicced my mom on me to get some information out of you.”
Of course she had.
“Meddling…”
“Yup, and you love it.” Lucas talked over him when he started to protest. “Or at least you tolerate it, because if you didn’t, you would have left this place years ago.”
Well, he couldn’t exactly argue about that. “You can tell your mom to tell Granny to butt out of it.”
“Because that’s going to work so well.” Lucas fixed him with a knowing look. “You realize, they’d give you less of a hard time if you occasionally dated someone.”
“Is that what you call what you do? ‘Dating’?”
Lucas was notorious for having random flings.
Ever since he’d come back home, after the injury that had ended his college hockey career, he’d made a big show of hooking up with every eligible girl in town.
The biggest surprise was that he hadn’t made a move on Emma.
Though considering the entire town had decided Hunter was meant to be with her, maybe he just hadn’t had a chance before the tide of public opinion was set.
Regardless, Lucas clearly had no interest in letting Hunter change the subject.
“Leave me out of this.” He gestured in Daniel’s direction.
“Seriously, though, the guy has a point. I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal about this.
So she invited you to do something with her that’s outside your comfort zone, and you let her know you were maybe, possibly, a little bit open to it. Where’s the fire?”
“Out of my comfort zone?” Understatement of the year. He started listing reasons this was a big deal on his fingers. “I don’t like going into town. I don’t like people. And I sure as hell don’t like dancing.”
“You really need to get out more, dude.”
“I do not. I need to get out less.”
“So you don’t like any of those things, fine. The real question is—do you like her?”
Yes. The obvious, inescapable answer rose up in his throat only for him to shove it down where it belonged. “You know I don’t do relationships, and all that stuff about fate is bullshit.”
“Stop putting the cart so far ahead of the horse. No one’s asking you to marry her.”
“Granny practically is.”
“Forget Granny—forget all of that. Just.” Lucas drained the last of his beer.
“None of this has to be so complicated. Honestly, I was half looking for something to do this weekend anyway. What do you say we both go? I could round up a couple of the other guys.” He turned and shouted down the bar. “Hey, Daniel, you working tomorrow?”
“You asking me out, Lucas?” the bartender called back.
“In your dreams.”
“I’ve got the day shift tomorrow. Should be done by five.”
Lucas asked Hunter, “What time is this thing?”
Emma hadn’t mentioned, but Hunter had looked it up. “Eight o’clock.”
To Daniel, Lucas shouted, “Community center. Line dancing. Eight o’clock. You in?”
Daniel shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
“That’s the spirit.” Lucas returned his attention to Hunter. “So what do you say? Guys’ night?”
“This is the weirdest idea for a guys’ night ever.”
“Just shut up and say you’ll go.”
“Fine, fine.” Hunter knew when he was beat. “I’ll go, Jesus. But just to hang out with you guys. No other reason.”
“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”
He would. Maybe that way he could get himself to believe it.
At seven o’clock on Saturday, Emma wandered down Heart Street, past the fateful Crossing of Heart and Hope and a few blocks past the diner.
As she turned left onto a little side street, she smiled to herself.
She was still getting used to small-town life, and the fact that she could wander twelve feet off the main road and end up in a residential neighborhood, complete with white picket fences, still caught her by surprise.
It was a cool, clear evening, with just that hint of an autumn breeze.
Wrapping her jacket more tightly around herself, she scanned the numbers on the houses until she found it—an adorable little cottage with pale blue wood siding, white trim, and a slanted gray roof.
Though it was barely fall, a corn husk wreath decorated the door, and a stack of big, orange pumpkins stood beside it.
She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
She’d scarcely so much as touched the button when the door swung open wide. Inside stood Hattie, dressed in unicorn slippers and a fluffy pink robe, her red hair a riot of untamed curls.
Hattie beamed. “There you are! I was starting to worry you weren’t going to come.”
Emma had to admit—she’d considered it. But Hattie and Abby had been so nice, twisting her arm until she agreed to go to this line dancing thing at the community center.
She’d seen them at the bookshop earlier that day, too, when the crafting club had taken over the café again, so it wasn’t as if she could pretend to be sick.
Flaking on them at the last minute wasn’t the way to make friends, no matter how nervous the idea of dancing in public might make her.
Also, there was the small matter of Hunter saying he might come.
She’d managed to resist the urge to text him and ask him if he actually was going to go.
She’d already put herself out there enough, suggesting such a wacky idea in the first place.
For the past few days, she’d been reminding herself that he probably wouldn’t show.
But on the off chance he did, she had to be there—right?
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Emma held out the bottle of wine she’d brought.
Hattie stood aside to let Emma in, peering openly at the label on the bottle. “Ooh, zinfandel, nice.”
Taking off her shoes and jacket, Emma glanced around.
The living room was more neutral than she would have expected, with cream-colored walls and a dark taupe couch with white and gray accent pillows.
But there were hints of personality here and there, including a red vintage armchair, a colorful afghan, and eclectic knickknacks scattered across bookshelves and end tables.
“I know, I know.” Hattie rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand at the decor. “My sister has veto power, so everything is super boring in here.”
“You live with your sister?”
“Yeah, but she’s not here right now, so don’t worry.”
Why on earth would Emma have worried?