“This is simply a courtesy reminder to return the signed documents as soon as possible, ensuring timely compliance with trust requirements.”
“Okay…”
Before I could ask for more information, the lawyer hung up, leaving me staring at my phone, and I must have stared at it for so long I missed Hunter’s car… hell I missed Hunter arriving.
“Are you okay?”
Hunter was right there—broad-shouldered in his dark coat, hair all kinds of styled, but with a few loose strands escaping, his jaw shadowed with stubble. His baby-blue eyes looked tired but alert, his mouth set in that familiar straight line, as if he carried the weight of the day with him. He had a solid presence that always made me feel both steadied and unsettled at the same time. I hadn’t even heard him drive up.
“Sure,” I lied.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked and frowned.
“Just… nothing…” Great, I wish I’d come up with a reason why I was standing in the snow, other than waiting for him. I shoved aside the weird call from the lawyer and focused on him.
“Jeez, Wes, you’re not wearing a coat.”
Oh. Well, that snapped me into action. “I am.” I swirled out my only-to-be-worn-around-Thanksgiving cloak. Worn and a little theatrical, it billowed around me as I posed with pride. “It’s my Pilgrim cape.”
Hunter groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That is not a Pilgrim cape. Pilgrims wore plain woolen cloaks, definitely not whatever the hell that is.”
I grinned at him, unfazed, back in my happy place teasing Hunter, and forgetting all about the phone call. “It’s festive, and it’s mine. History can bend a little for fashion, professor.”
Hunter launched into a lecture, voice firm and professorly. “Pilgrims wore rough wool cloaks, mostly undyed, practical, no ornamentation, and certainly nothing that billowed dramatically in the wind.” He gestured at me as if my cloak was a personal affront to history.
I tilted my head, feigning deep thought. “Funny, because I heard that Pilgrims actually hid symbols in their stitching to ward off curses, and capes like mine were worn to confuse witches.”
He froze, then pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a slow shake of his head. “Why am I even—” he muttered, exasperated, but there was a twitch at thecorner of his mouth, as though he was fighting not to smile.
I counted that as a win when he smiled, and I could also forget the call.
Night had already fallen, snow whirling in the glow of the streetlights. It would’ve been romantic—magical, even—if not for the row of garbage containers along the alley. Still, I thought, with a bit of glitter and some fairy lights, even this could look enchanting.
As I turned to head back toward my own door, my boots slid out from under me on a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow. I flailed, arms windmilling, and before I knew it I’d latched onto Hunter’s arm. The momentum nearly yanked him off balance, too, and for one terrifying, ridiculous second, we were both about to topple into the small piles of snow gathered at the edge of the alley. My heart pounded, breath catching as I clung to the solid muscle of his arm. He steadied us both, glaring down at me with that stern look that always unraveled me. To him, it might have been nothing more than irritation, but for me, it was electricity—heat racing through me at the sheer closeness, the strength in his grip, the scent of coffee and cold air around him. I forced a laugh, way too loud. “Graceful, huh?” I muttered, trying to play it off, but inside I was shaking from something that had nothing to do with the snow or the slip.
“You’re wearing slippers,” Hunter said, shocked, giving me a once-over. “And a cloak. In the dark.” He shook his head, exasperated, but then he held out a hand to steady me as the snow kept falling in soft whirls around us. The streetlight caught on the flakes, and for one ridiculous heartbeat, it felt almost like a scene from a movie—me in my cloak, him frowning, and snow drifting between us.
I cleared my throat, scrambling for dignity. “Well, yeah, slippers. They’re comfortable. And the cloak? It’s multipurpose—warm, stylish, and doubles as dramatic flair. And besides, if this were a horror movie, I’d totally be the mysterious cloaked figure in the snow.” My voice wobbled somewhere between defensive and teasing, and I forced a grin. “Don’t knock it, Hunter. You’re just jealous you don’t have one.”
“I’m not jealous, I’m practical,” he said firmly, but there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth as he straightened me up, his grip on my arm steady. I was lost, staring into his eyes with the snow swirling around us, and god, I was so helplessly in-romance with him it hurt. “Can you walk without ending up on your ass?” he asked, all practical and strong and big and…
“I’ll just hold your arm,” I said, fluttering my lashes at him.
“What are youdoing?”
“What?”
“Are your eyes okay?”
I blinked a bit more dramatically. “Just snow,” I murmured, then I really needed to change the subject as I linked my hand through his arm. “How did it go?” I asked, heading back the short distance to our respective stores.
“The interview?” he asked with a frown, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets as if bracing himself against more than just the cold, as if he could be questioning something else. At least he didn’t dislodge my hand.
“No, the drive,” I teased.
“Ha ha,” he muttered, realizing, his frown easing only slightly. He let out a sigh, eyes flicking away as if the weight of the day was still pressing on him. “It was confusing.”
“Confusing how?” I asked quickly. “Do you want to talk about it? I have cookies.” I thumbed back toward my store. “And cocoa.”
