“Meh, I’m queer, I’m creative, I’m a bookworm who lives in his own world. I own all of those things equally.” The words snapped out of me sharper than I intended, fierce enough to make him flinch and fall silent. Fuck, where had that fierceness come from? He pressed his fingers to his temple. “You have a headache.”
“Migraines,” he said. “I’ve taken my meds, and I think I’ve headed it off, but… yeah, it hurts.”
I shifted awkwardly, then whispered the first thing that came to mind, because I was a master of changing the subject. “Did you know the Wishing Tree wasn’t always called that? When the town was first founded, it was known as Harper’s Crossing. They renamed it after kids started hanging ribbons and notes on this treeover a hundred years ago, believing their wishes might come true.” Gently, I touched his elbow, guiding him toward the nearest bench. “I love that from Thanksgiving and up to Christmas, the branches get covered, a forest of colors in the wind. It’s… kind of magical.” I sat beside him, still speaking low, hoping the story eased some of the lines carved into his brow. I opened the box with the pie and took out the two forks, passing one to Hunter. “It’s so quiet here.”
He took the fork, examined it. “Did you steal these?”
“Borrowed. Molly said I could.” Maybe he didn’t like to share, maybe he was all about possible cooties issues, so I cut it into two portions, one larger than the other, and nudged the larger piece over. “That’s yours.”
He studied the pie for a moment, then deliberately cut away a corner and slid it back onto my portion. “That’s better,” he murmured. He took a mouthful of the crumbling sweetness of Kai Pie, chewing slowly before flicking his fork in a silent gesture for me to try mine too. Was it wrong that I was staring at his lips as the tip of his tongue darted out to collect a stray crumb? I forced my gaze downward and took my own bite, savoring the apple and cinnamon and the pastry and the crumble topping.
“So good,” I murmured and glanced up to see him staring at me.
Atmymouth.
“So good,” he echoed.
After an awkward moment when I didn’t know how to deal with all the big emotions in my chest, we dug back in, and in a few mouthfuls, it was gone.
“Why are you staring at the box, looking so sad? he asked after a pause, and I glanced up from where I’d been checking out the empty box.
“It’s all gone,” I deadpanned, and then smiled at him. “Good though, right?”
He nodded. “I’ve had a bad day.”
“Might help to talk about it? I can be a good listener if I try.”
He chuckled. “The oven broke, my coffee machine needs a part, the bean delivery never arrived, an old colleague of mine called to bitch about someone who isn’t even in my life anymore, and then I got offered a job interview.” He winced, as if he hadn’t meant to reveal that much.
A job interview? Why did he need a job? He already had one—he owned The Real McCoy outright, or so I thought. No mortgage, his to do with as he pleased since Harry McCoy had passed and Hunter had inherited it. “What job?” I asked quickly, panic tightening in my chest. Was Hunter leaving Wishing Tree? Was he leaving… me?
“Adjunct at a college.”
“What about the coffee shop? How will you run that and teach? Will you commute?”
“Time for me to move on.” He shrugged as if he hadn’t turned my world upside down. “But this college isn’t the one I wanted. I’m waiting on two applications I submitted to LA and another in Seattle. LA is what I really want, back on tenure path, but Seattle would be a good second, anything to be back doing what I love.”
“You don’t love running the coffee shop?”
He paused as if he was giving it great thought. “It’s okay, and it suited me at a time when my life had imploded, but it’s not what I love.”
“We love you,” I blurted. “I mean, the town loves you. Loves you running the shop, making the pastries out back, the coffee is the best, and…” I ran out of words, or rather, I didn’t want to tell him what was in my heart, that I’d miss his face, and talking to him—or at him—and be all around miserable if he left.
“And?”
“Nothing,” I said, a bit uselessly.
He stood, wiped off the seat of his jeans, because yes, the bench was a little sleet-damp, and I copied him. “Time to get back and catch up on all the sleep I lost last night.”
Guilt flooded me. “I’m sorry, I just needed…”
To see you, to talk to you, I’m freaking obsessed with you.
“It’s all good.”
We walked back to our respective stores in silence, and it wasn’t far, so it was over too soon. “That’s pretty,” I said, and pointed at The Gift Emporium. Bailey Haynes was gifted at creating jewelry and exquisite Christmas decorations, some of which hung in the window, ready for the season, with colored fairy lights framing the display. They skipped the whole turkey season part, but not me—I was on to cutting out turkeys and turkey, fall leaves, and pumpkin pies, and that reminded me I needed to figure out this year’s display, given I’d focused so much on the Nordic Christmas and?—
“Are you okay?” Hunter pressed a hand to my arm.
