Chapter Two
Hunter
Since getting out of the Marine Corps a little over a year ago, I mostly kept to myself.
Just a few dates here and there, nothing that stuck.
I’d rather spend time with my buddies, grab a beer, work on my bike, than sit across from someone who spent half the night scrolling their phone and the other half pretending to care.
The loneliness sneaks up sometimes, hitting harder than I’d like to admit.
It brings back the weight of things I don’t talk about, a silence that seeps in and stays.
The reminder that people leave when you fail to hold it together.
Still, it’s easier than the empty kind of company that reminds you what it feels like to be forgotten while someone’s sitting right next to you.
So while I found myself on a dating app, I knew I wasn’t chasing anything serious.
At least, that’s what I told myself when I came across her profile a few days ago.
Her smile was unguarded, warm, and effortless.
No filters, no angles practiced in the mirror.
Just a smile that made me want to lean in and ask what was so funny.
Her eyes were deep brown and kind, holding a quiet resilience I recognized from my own rough seasons.
I was caught before I even knew it. Her curls tumbled around her shoulders, the California sun catching her in a way that made her glow.
I studied the images, hope and nerves rising in my chest, not sure what it was about her that felt so different.
Another photo: her with a friend, arms thrown around each other, laughter spilling out, faces tipped to the sky.
Her friend, a taller blonde, might’ve been the one who stood out first, but it was Camille who pulled me in.
There was warmth in her olive brown skin, light in her eyes, something real that didn’t try too hard.
I wondered if I was getting ahead of myself, but the idea of swiping past her felt impossible.
The third photo was cropped close, showing a kid’s birthday party in the background, with presents stacked behind her.
Still, her smile was easy, unbothered, as if she wasn’t trying to hide the raw parts of her life.
Most people curated their stories in sunsets and brunches.
She let it be there, like the mess was part of her story, and she wasn’t ashamed of it.
That alone told me more than words could.
Nervousness wasn’t the usual concept for me, but I felt nervous at the thought of meeting someone so genuine. She was beautiful, sure, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way her smile felt honest, the kind of thing you could chase for a long time and still not get tired of.
By the time I realized I was smiling back, my thumb was already moving. No hesitation. No way in hell I was letting her slip by.
A few minutes later, a message lit up my screen.
Camille: Hey handsome, how’s your
day going?
I stared at the message for a minute, grinning. She might’ve thought she sounded awkward, but to me? It was solid. No games. Straight to the point.
Me: Hey Camille. Day’s been long
but better now. How about
yours, Beautiful?
The first time I asked her out, she said she was busy. The second time, she had school. The third time, she was stuck at work. “Maybe this weekend,” she’d type, and I could almost hear the hesitation between the words.
Most guys would’ve stopped asking. Hell, I would’ve, if it were anyone else. I had my pride, and I wasn’t in the business of begging anyone for their time. But this wasn’t begging.
Late at night in the garage, the smell of oil and gas in the air, I worked on my bike.
Every turn of the wrench helped clear my head.
My phone sat on the bench, screen lighting up with her chat.
She laughed at my jokes, actually seemed to care if I was alright.
She sent pics from work, her textbooks laid out on a coffee table, her in scrubs, and it made me grin every time.
There was something about Camille that made me want to keep pushing.
Maybe she was worth taking another shot.
So I asked again, but this time I switched up my tactics.
Me: Alright, Camille. You keep dodging
me. So here’s the deal…FaceTime.
Tonight. Ten minutes. No excuses.
Camille: What if it’s a valid excuse?
Me: Only valid excuse is death. Since
you’re texting back, you’re very
much alive. So no excuses.
I smirked at the screen, already hearing her laugh in my head, already picturing the way she’d roll her eyes but secretly smile.
For a minute, nothing came. Just the three blinking dots, her hesitation stretching long enough that I tapped the side of my phone as if I could will her answer out faster.
Finally, the message lit up the screen.
Camille: You’re ridiculous. But fine.
Ten minutes. If I look like death,
it’s on you.
I read that line five times, a grin spreading so wide my buddies gave me shit for it, but it didn’t matter. I’d waited for firefights longer than this. I could handle a few ‘I can’ts’. Because the second she said yes, I knew she’d be worth every single one.