“Oh, you guys have something better?”
“Operation: Hushlie?” Trevor offers.
“The fuck? Does it have to have a name?” I ask.
“We have tuxedos and a secret mission. I’m pretty sure we have to name it,” Trevor says.
“Pretty sure it’s in the handbook.” Chase nods enthusiastically.
“What fucking handbook?”
“The ‘Pretending to be Super Spies Because We’ll be in Tuxedos’ handbook. Operation: Hushlie is the inaugural mission.” Trevor nods like this isn’t the dumbest conversation we’re having.
“How old are we? Nine? You two are idiots. Don’t call it that.”
“Then what should we call it, Hunt?” Chase raises his eyebrows, challenging me to play along.
“Hell, I don’t know. Literally anything else.”
“Like…?” Trevor jumps in on the challenge.
I think about it, and only one name comes to mind. It won’t make sense to either of them, but the more I think about it, the more perfect of a name it is.
“Operation: Sunshine,” I say finally. They pause and turn toward each other, matching smiles creeping across their faces.
“Operation: Sunshine it is!” Chase chuckles and turns back toward his dressing room, loosening his tie as he goes.
“Nice name. I feel good about that one.” Trevor holds a fist toward me. I shake my head as I bump his knuckles with mine, letting out a little snort. Without the lens of jealousy clouding my judgment, I can see why everyone gets along with him.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
ASHLIE
Ishouldn’t be up here. I’m supposed to be grabbing napkins from the downstairs storage room, but I couldn’t resist this little detour upstairs. The sheer curtains around the French window, the light blue seashell paintings, the bed covered with the same tufted ivory comforter—I take in all of it.
With the ceremony tomorrow, Chase and Kayla requested a wedding party breakfast at The Bluffs Estates. I haven’t seen Hunter yet, but standing in this room full of memories—the place where everything started years ago—makes me realize how much I’ve missed him. It’s been a special kind of misery, so I’m allowing myself to replay all the things about that night and everything else.
Among last-minute wedding touches this week, I’ve had a panic attack, an emergency virtual therapy appointment, and several pep-talks with Kayla about seeing Hunter for the first time. She offered to help me come up with a plan, but I wanted to see if I could do it on my own. Now, I’m not feeling so confident.
My therapy work has centered on being open about my worries: from the unease related to work and my future, to my fear of disappointment and feeling unworthy. Hunter deserves to know what he’s signing up for before we jump into a relationship. I’ve stressed over the best way to talk to him after the wedding, considered contacting him beforehand too. Typed and erased dozens of texts. Hovered my thumb over the phone icon until it cramped. Abandoned an email or three. But none of it felt good enough. Anything other than face-to-face is a copout.
I’ve made progress, but still don’t feel like there’s been enough to keep from ruining everything. Hell, asking for this break instead of leaning on him might have already messed it all up. I thought I needed to suffer through this on my own, that having an anxiety disorder was a moral failing—but I don’t, and it’s not. Working on myself and being with Hunter aren’t mutually exclusive.
“You good?”
I jump out of my skin. “God, Hunter! You scared me.”
“Sorry.” His mouth curls on one side, and my heart aches as I realize I’ve missed that too. “Did you, uh, find what you were looking for in there?” He nods toward the room as he settles against the doorframe.
“I wasn’t looking for anything. I was just…remembering.” Guppies glide around the nerves swirling in my belly as I study my shoes. Seeing him again, being this close, it’s more intimidating than I thought it would be.
“Yeah… I did that myself when I got in last night.”
Flicking my eyes back to his, I expect that telltale smirk, assuming there’s some sly innuendo in his response. Instead, he’s looking down as he toes the threshold. He taps his phone against his thigh, the silence growing thick around us.
Now’s your chance.
“Hunt—”
