When he finally looks up from the dough he’s been working on, he has a streak of flour on his cheek.
“You didn’t have to go to all this effort. Frozen pizza would have been fine,” I say, touched that he cared this much. Bobby never would have done anything like this for me. He wouldn’t have taken an hour out of his busy schedule to handmake me a pizza.
At this point, I’d be impressed if Bobby even knew my favorite type of pizza. It’s almost like Hunter is reading my mind when he says, “You should be with a man who delights in satisfying you in every way.”
I know he’s talking about more than pizza and part of me wonders what it would be like if he did satisfy me. But that’s not a road I can go down right now. So, I clear my throat and change the subject. “Who taught you how to make pizza?”
“My foster mother, Emma May,” he says, his voice softening when he says her name. “Christmas was hard for me the year I came to her. She asked what I wanted to eat for the holiday dinner, and I told her all I wanted was a pepperoni pizza.”
He pauses there, adding just a pinch more of flour to the sticky dough. “I didn’t think she’d take my request seriously. But that year, beside the turkey, glazed ham, and mashed potatoes was a homemade pizza with pepperonis. She’d even spelled out the word Merry on it. It was the first time I’d smiled in a long time.”
My heart clenches at the story he just told. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to be a foster kid. “She sounds incredibly kind.”
“She is. Now, I’m a disaster in the kitchen. But she taught me how to make a fantastic homemade pizza, so I have that going for me.”
We eat a quiet dinner together. I know I should be at the charity event, but I’m glad that I’m not. I’m warm and safe, tucked away in this little cabin with the hot mountain man.
“You’re thinking pretty hard,” he finally observes.
“I’m just really glad you found me,” my voice catches as I realize how much worse this whole day could have gone. If he hadn’t found me, what would I have done? Would anyone have found me in time?
“Glad I was there. Do you need to talk it through?” His voice is a quiet rumble.
I glance at his lips and wonder what it would be like if we kissed. I think about how it felt when he touched me earlier, his hands on my hips like they belong there.
There’s the whimpering sound again, and I realize I still haven’t met his dogs. That seems like a nice, safe topic to focus on, so I say, “I want to meet your boys.”
Chapter 5
Holly
Hunter’s dogs are just as sweet as he is. I love all of them, but there’s a special place in my heart for Donatello. I didn’t even know dogs could use wheelchairs. It makes me happy to see him rolling along. He’s already making fast friends with Frosty. The two of them are going to be best buddies.
I watch them play together as the heat of the fire warms my face. It crackles merrily as if the cabin is glad I’m here.
“I’ve always wanted a house full of dogs,” I tell Hunter, petting Michelango’s tummy. The sweet little beagle is a cuddle monster.
He stares into the fireplace. We’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the plush rug as the flames bathe us both in the golden light. “Me, too. That’s why I got into fostering. I take them in for a while, give them a good home then…”
“Let them go?” I ask softly.
He flinches. “Turns out, I’m not so good at that part. Not easy to let go when no one has ever wanted you.”
“Hunter…” I call his name softly. I don’t know what to say. We’re the opposite. No one has ever wanted him, and everyone has always wanted me. Yet neither of us have ever felt loved.
He shakes his head and stands. “I’m going to need more firewood if I hope to keep this place warm tonight.”
I want to yell at everyone who’s ever left him behind. I want to scream and curse every person who forgot to tell him just how amazing he is.
“You should take the bed. I’m going to sleep on the couch.”
I wish I could help him. Wish I could soothe the ache in his heart and erase the haunted look in his eyes. But I know I can’t, and being this vulnerable with a stranger must have cost him, so I accept his conversation change. “I can’t take your bed.”
“I’m a restless sleeper and often get up in the middle of the night.” He reaches for his coat, hanging on the hook by the door. “You’ll sleep better there.”
I’m about to protest again when a yawn sneaks up on me, and he smirks at me. “You’ve had a long day. Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I finally push to my feet. “Thanks, Hunter. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow, I promise.”
