Chapter Twenty Two
Camille
Dinner ended the way every dinner did: dirty hands, sauce stains, and one fork mysteriously missing under the table. Only tonight, there was Hunter at the end of the table, laughing with Zeke and clapping politely at the twins’ spaghetti “performances.”
It was… surreal.
I hadn’t realized how much space another person could take up in this house until he was here.
His laugh mixed with theirs. His calm filled the edges of the noise.
He didn’t flinch when sauce splattered or when Zeke asked about the physics of spaghetti noodles.
He just smiled, listening like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It did something to me.
When I first invited him over, I’d braced for awkward.
Polite smiles. Quick exits. That familiar look adults get when they realize dinner with three kids under eight means chaos.
But Hunter didn’t seem overwhelmed by the noise or the mess.
He belonged in it. He met the kids where they were, without trying to take over or tune out.
I kept stealing glances at him, wondering if he saw through me. Through the practiced composure, and the way I tried to make everything look fine. I’d spent years making it look fine. Tonight, I didn’t feel like I had to.
When Chloe dropped her fork for the third time, he simply handed her his.
And Zeke asked. “Are you coming back?” Hunter hesitated only a beat before saying, “If it’s okay with your mom.”
Three little heads turned toward me.
I smiled, pretending my pulse wasn’t thudding in my throat. “We’ll see.”
“Cool.” Zeke had said, satisfied before finishing his food. I didn’t know whether to laugh or melt right there at the table.
After dinner, I stood to start the bedtime chaos. “Bath time,” I announced, already bracing for the chorus of groans.
Zeke groaned on cue. The twins clapped because they didn’t know any better yet.
“Need help?” Hunter asked, pushing his chair back. The scrape of the legs across the floor snapped me out of the daze I’d been in all evening.
I shook my head quickly, maybe too quickly. “No, I’ve got it. Just… make yourself comfortable on the couch. There’s the remote.”
He studied me for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”
I left him there, sitting on my worn couch with cartoons queued up on mute, and led the kids down the hall.
Bath time was the usual circus. Zeke tried to sink action figures. Chloe tried to drink the water. Avery splashed until half of it was on the floor. I kept my voice steady, my hands busy, but my mind kept drifting back to the living room where Hunter was waiting.
What was he thinking out there? Did he feel out of place? Did he see the peeling paint on the bathroom door, the cheap towels, the clutter I never seemed to catch up on? Did he regret saying yes to all of this?
By the time the kids were clean, pajama-clad, and smelling like bubblegum soap, I was half-exhausted and half buzzing.
When I came out of the bathroom after brushing Chloe’s teeth, I found Hunter sitting on the couch, an arrangement of princess band-aids thrown across the coffee table as he patched a stuffed bunny’s missing ear.
He looked up and smiled, soft and sheepish. “Emergency surgery. She insisted.”
Avery’s little face lit up. “All better!”
“Good work, Doc,” he said, saluting her.
Something in me twisted, because I’d seen men try to fake this before. The patience. The kindness. But this wasn’t that. He wasn’t pretending.
“Alright,” I said, my voice gentler now, “time to say goodnight.”
Zeke frowned. “Already?”
“Already,” I said, trying not to laugh. “You can say goodnight to Hunter before bed.”
Zeke hesitated, but the twins ran right up to him.
Hunter crouched down to their level, his hands braced on his knees. “Thanks for having me for dinner, ladies. Best spaghetti I’ve had in years.” ??Chloe giggled and launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck. Avery followed without hesitation.
For a second, he froze, unsure of what to do with the tiny arms around him, but then he smiled. Really smiled. He hugged them back carefully, gently, understanding just how fragile trust could be.
Zeke lingered near my leg, watching. Hunter turned to him next. “You too, buddy. Thanks for letting me crash dinner.”
Zeke shrugged, a flicker of approval there, before disappearing down the hall. Hunter stood, still watching after them. “They’re good kids,” he said, voice low.
“They are,” I said, almost whispering. “Thank you for… handling it so well. I’m just going to lay them down. Do you want to leave? I don’t want you to have to wait around for me.”
“I can wait,” Hunter said.
Heat crept up my neck before I could stop it. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he said softly, eyes fixed on mine. “But I want to.”
I didn’t know what to do with the way he looked at me like he wasn’t seeing the mess or the exhaustion, but the person under it all. I nodded, not trusting my voice, and turned toward the hallway, my pulse still unstable.
I tucked the kids into bed as three little bodies wriggled and resisted, before finally giving in.
It was the same routine I’d done a thousand times, only tonight, every step felt heavier.
More loaded. ??I tucked Zeke in first. Eyelids drooped as he managed to whisper, “Mommy, Hunter’s funny. Is he nice?”
I kissed his curls. “Yeah. He’s nice.”
“Good,” Zeke said, drifting off.
The twins babbled their own version of “night-night.” I leaned down, kissed each of their foreheads, and whispered the same words I always did: “I love you. Always.” Then I pulled the door closed softly behind me, the click echoing louder than it should have.
And in the silence that followed, I felt every ounce of nervousness, excitement, and fear pressing into my chest and reminding me exactly how much I stood to lose, and just how much I wanted to believe this could be different.
I lingered a moment. The weight I carried.
The reason I’d built walls so high around myself.
And the reason tonight felt like such a risk.