Chapter 6 Iris
CHAPTER SIX
IRIS
The first thing I notice is the sunlight, hot and insistent through my flimsy curtains.
For a blissful second, I pretend it’s a normal Saturday and not, you know, the aftermath of one of the more humiliating emotional breakdowns of my life.
My head is thick, my mouth feels like I tried to swallow a roll of paper towels, and for a moment, I barely remember going to sleep last night.
There’s a yummy smell coming from somewhere in my apartment. I blink hard and push myself upright.
My brain jolts awake, a burst of electricity snapping through the mess of last night.
The memories hit in sharp, flickering cuts.
Buster howling and splitting the silence.
My own tears hot and unrelenting. Hunter cradling the puppy while his big hands barely contained the chaos.
I can’t forget the way those hands maneuvered Buster into the crate, careful and somehow gentle, like he was handling something breakable.
The next breath, there's comfort, thick and heavy, sinking over me.
My body hums with the memory, warm and strange. Did I really sleep through the night?
My feet find the floor. Every muscle aches. I’m still in yesterday’s sleep shirt, and my hair’s matted on one side like I lost a fight with a tornado. When I open my door, the full blast of bacon and coffee hits me, and I remember that there’s a man in my apartment.
I pad down the hallway, heartbeat suddenly doing a clumsy tap dance in my chest. I round the corner into my kitchen, and my heart, which had been going for a mild jog, goes full marathon.
Hunter Hartwell is standing in front of my stove, cooking bacon like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Somehow, he managed to shower and change into a clean black T-shirt and dark jeans while dog-sitting Buster.
His hair’s damp, combed back from his forehead, a silver streak at the temple catching the light.
He’s so out of place in my kitchen—surrounded by pastel mugs, a ridiculous donut-shaped sponge holder, and a curtain patterned with pink foxes—that for a second, I think I’m dreaming.
The only thing more surreal is Buster, who’s sprawled on the kitchen mat, contentedly gnawing on what looks like a brand-new rubber pizza slice. He thumps his tail when he sees me, and a little squeal escapes my mouth before I can rein it in.
Hunter looks up. Our eyes meet. A strange, fleeting smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he’s not used to the motion and isn’t sure he should commit.
“You’re awake,” he says. His voice is rougher than usual, the morning rasp still clinging to it. “Wasn’t sure if you’d want breakfast, but… figured I’d try.”
I just stand there, clinging to the doorframe like it’s a lifeline. “You’re in my kitchen,” I say, brilliantly.
“Yeah,” he says, flicking the heat down. “Hope you don’t mind. The puppy was losing his mind at six a.m., so we got an early start on the morning.”
My face is hot. I reach up and tug my hair into a lopsided ponytail, only to remember I haven’t washed my face or brushed my teeth. “You didn’t have to cook,” I say, because my brain is apparently stuck on dumb.
“I love to cook.” Hunter shrugs. “I’m making bacon and eggs. I also got coffee and donuts, too.”
He gestures to the counter, where a brown paper bag sits next to two mugs of coffee. The logo on the bag is from Gobble Me Up, the bakery in our lobby. He’s really gone for it.
“Thank you.” I glance around. The urge to bolt is so intense that I actually have to grip the doorframe harder. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be the girl who wakes up to a guy making her breakfast. My heart doesn’t know how to protect itself.
But then Hunter turns his attention back to the stove, tongs in one hand, and starts flipping bacon. His entire body is different this morning. Less guarded. His shoulders are still massive, but they’re not hunched like he’s expecting bad news.
Buster loses interest in the pizza and comes over, tail going a mile a minute.
He butts his head into my shin and whines, and I drop to my knees to scoop him up.
He’s warm and wiggly, and he tries to lick my face with his enormous tongue, leaving a slime trail down my chin.
“Good morning, you little stinker,” I whisper into his floppy ear.
Hunter snorts, and the tiniest puff of laughter escapes him. “He’s a good boy. Just needs a little training.”
Hunter plates the eggs and bacon with a weird amount of precision, dividing the food evenly between two mismatched plates.
I sit in one of my wobbly chairs, and he slides a plate in front of me.
Then he leans against the counter, arms crossed, looking a little unsure of himself for the first time ever.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he says, but there’s a question in it.
I nod and set my coffee down, hands shaking a little. “Starving, actually.”
For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. I poke the eggs with my fork, then glance up to see Hunter watching me with an intensity that turns my insides to goo. My face flushes, but I force myself to meet his gaze.
Shit. I realize now would be a good time to say something. Anything. My apology tumbles out way too fast. "Sorry about last night," I blurt, heat crawling up the back of my neck. "The, uh, crying. And… all that mess. You have to think I’m crazy." My voice cracks.
But he just leans back, arms crossed, cool as ever. Shakes his head once, slow and steady, gaze locked on mine like he's trying to read me front to back. "That's not how I saw it."
I falter. My heartbeat's a hammer in my chest. "You didn't?" My words hang between us, frail and uncertain.
The expression on his face looks almost like affection. "I saw it as a great opportunity for me to get to know you," he says, voice rough but steady.
He actually wants to get to know me. Since when? Did I go to sleep last night in my bed and wake up today in the twilight zone?
I can’t look at him for more than a second or two, so I focus on my plate.
The bacon is perfect, thick and crispy. The eggs are a little runny, just how I like them.
I steal a glance at Hunter as he methodically clears his own plate, and it hits me that he really is comfortable here in my little technicolor kitchen, eating breakfast with my beagle and me.
It’s not what I expected from the human equivalent of a concrete wall.
Buster sidles up to the table, eyes huge, tail wagging furiously. Hunter reaches down without thinking and scratches behind his ear. Buster melts into a puddle of pure joy, moaning like he’s found nirvana.
I can’t help but smile. “I really appreciate all your help with him,” I say, totally meaning it.
Hunter shrugs, but there’s this flicker in his eyes like maybe he actually likes hearing it. “No trouble.”
My pulse does a weird little hop-skip. I take a bite of bacon just to keep my mouth busy, but it doesn’t help. Hunter’s gaze is still locked on me, so intense it’s basically a full-body caress.
Buster thumps his tail, grins up at Hunter like he’s the sun, and then wiggles against my side, sniffing for dropped crumbs. I swear the dog’s already imprinted on him.
Honestly? Same.
I want to ask, point-blank, why he’s being so nice. I want to ask if this is a one-off, if he’s planning on going back to being the unmovable boulder next door, or if there’s more to this. But the words keep stalling in my throat.
Buster, undeterred by social cues, creeps up and starts licking at my ankle, which gives me the excuse I need to lean down and fuss with his collar.
It’s a new one, bright teal with tiny slices of pizza printed all over it.
He looks up at me, tongue out, and for the millionth time, I feel my heart melt a little bit.
We sit there in the quiet, just drinking our coffee and watching each other.
I keep trying to read his face, but it’s impossible.
His resting expression is pure intimidation, but the little flashes of something warmer are getting more frequent, like the power grid is slowly coming back online after a blackout.
After a long moment, Hunter sets his coffee down and leans forward, elbows on the table. Our knees brush, and this time I don’t move away.
“Iris,” he says, and it’s the first time I’ve heard my name in that voice. “I’m a fucking moron.”
A full three seconds pass before his words even register. Then my pulse goes from squirrel to jet engine. I blink several times, trying to catch up with this change in conversation. “Huh…?”
“The first moment we met, I felt something…” he pauses and runs his fingers over his bottom lip, “something I’ve never felt before.” My breath stalls in my throat as I wait for him to continue. “And instead of exploring this pull between us, I decided to ignore it.”
The confession hangs there, bright and dangerous. I blink, trying to process, but all I can feel is the wild, rising heat in my chest.
I can’t breathe. Not really. My lungs have gone on strike, my whole body just clenching around the way he’s looking at me—like he’s starving and I’m his first meal in years.
Hunter leans in, elbows braced on the table, his knee pressing into mine. His eyes are dark, electric. I’m so gone, I swear my nipples could cut glass through this thin sleep shirt.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. Just keeps that crazy-intense focus locked on me like I’m some kind of puzzle he can’t wait to take apart.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice is so low, it vibrates through my bones. “Doesn’t matter what I do. You’re in my head, all the time.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Wait a minute.
What if he decides next week that he’s over this infatuation with me?
What if he ghosts me, just like before? What if this is just a phase for him, and I’m left here, still thinking about his hands and his gravelly voice and the way he made my kitchen feel like a home for the first time since I moved in?
My thoughts are spiraling out of control. But then Hunter moves, just a little, like he can read every disastrous thought running through my head at warp speed.
He stands up and pulls me to my feet. His eyes lock on mine, gold-flecked molten chocolate, and my thoughts scatter.
“Iris,” he says again, rough and low.
God, the way he says my name causes my lady bits to tingle.
I swallow, throat bone-dry. “Y-yeah?”
His jaw flexes. The muscle in his cheek jumps like he’s fighting off a smile.
“I don’t do games,” he growls, and the words scrape over my skin like sandpaper. “I don’t do pretending, or casual, or any of that bullshit.” His jaw clenches again, cords standing out in his neck, and holy hell, I am so, so in trouble.
He pulls me tight against his warm, muscular body, and my brain promptly shuts down all nonessential functions. My nipples go hard as diamonds under my shirt as his eyes drag over me, hot, slow, and so fucking deliberate I actually shiver.
“And now that you’ve decided this, I don’t have any say in the matter?” My voice comes out way too breathy, but I can’t help it. My whole body is short-circuiting under his stare.
He lets out a grunt of laughter, dark and low.
“No,” he says, rough and final. “I’m saying I want you, and I’m hoping you’ll give me the opportunity to show you how much.
” His hand slides slowly down my back, and I swear my skin goes up in flames.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His words sizzle across every nerve ending.
“All I think about is touching you. I want you in my bed. In my life. Please tell me you’ll let me prove it to you.
” My heart drops straight to my toes. I actually forget how to swallow for a good two seconds.
He’s so close, the air between us sizzles. My whole body goes tight, every muscle clenching. I can smell him, soap and coffee and something dark and dangerous that goes straight to my lady bits.
I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a squeaky little sound. Embarrassing! My eyes squeeze shut as I take a deep breath, trying to get my crazy emotions under control.
Hunter’s breath ghosts across my cheek. His hand comes up, fingers gentle but so big it makes me shiver, and tucks a messy bit of hair behind my ear.
His thumb traces my jaw, and my pulse does a cartwheel.
Literal acrobatics behind my ribcage. Every tiny brush of his skin is a firework, and suddenly, I’m convinced I am seconds from spontaneous combustion.
Hunter’s face is so close now; I can actually count every fleck of gold in his eyes.
His thumb drags under my chin, up along my jaw, and it’s so gentle I nearly lose it on the spot.
He’s staring at me like he wants to swallow me whole.
Pretty sure I’m not breathing. Yep, all basic bodily functions are currently offline.
His gravelly voice whispers down my spine, “If you want me to stop, you say the word.”
I can’t even form words. I just shake my head, desperate, and lean in so our lips are almost touching.
He closes the distance with a kiss. Holy. Shit.
It’s not a polite, see-you-later peck either.
It’s deep and hungry and possessive. His mouth crushes against mine, and the world goes out of focus.
My body goes rigid for a split second, every neuron simultaneously combusting.
Then I melt. Everything in me just liquefies, pouring straight into the kiss.
Hunter’s hand slides around the back of my neck, big and hot and steady, like he’s anchoring me to the moment. He strokes under my jaw with his thumb, tilting my face so he can kiss me deeper. I gasp into him, and he groans.
My brain turns to mush. My hands scrabble for purchase and wind up fisting the front of his shirt, dragging him impossibly closer. The kitchen, the world, everything disappears.