Hunter groans, and I smirk.
Because if I’m going to be stuck playing lakehouse charades with hismother, I’m absolutely going to make sure he feels every second of it.
The dining table is set out on the screened-in porch, overlooking the lake where the sun’s starting to dip low, turning the water gold. Cicadas hum in the distance. Margot’s put together a spread that would make a Southern Living magazine cover weep—grilled chicken with rosemary, roasted potatoes, a kale salad with strawberries and feta, and homemade biscuits that somehow melt in my mouth.
Daphne is halfway through her second biscuit when she sighs and leans back. “I forgot what it feels like to eat food I didn’t microwave while holding a baby on my hip.”
Margot laughs and reaches for the lemonade pitcher. “Well, we’re glad to have you, sweetheart. You deserve the break.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Daphne says, raising her glass.
I nod along, smiling, but I can feel Hunter’s gaze on me like a low-grade burn. He’s sitting across the table, diagonally, trying not to be obvious about looking at me, but he is. Every time I glance up, his jaw tics like he wants to say something but knows better.
“So Faith,” Margot says suddenly, slicing through the silence. “How long have you been working with Hunter?”
I nearly choke on my chicken. “Oh—uh, not long.”
Daphne clears her throat. “She’s a quick learner though. Already bringing in triple the tips I am.”
“That’s because she smiles with her eyes,” Hunter says casually.
I look at him. He looks right back. There’s a pause thick enough to spread on toast.
“Is that so?” I say, tone syrupy.
He nods once. “It is.”
Daphne snorts and mouthswhat is happeningat me.
Margot, bless her, keeps chatting, blissfully unaware—or pretending to be. “Well, whatever it is, I like you, Faith. You’ve got good energy.”
“Thank you,” I say, honestly touched—and vaguely panicked by how fast this entire trip has escalated.
Hunter’s foot brushes against mine under the table.
I don’t move it.
But I do cut him a sharp glance, then calmly steal the last biscuit from the serving plate and take a slow, dramatic bite.
He watches every second of it.
“Y’all are wild,” Daphne mutters under her breath.
And the thing is—I know she’s right.
And dinner hasn’t even ended yet.
* * *
The soundof Daphne and Margot’s laughter drifts down the hallway as they head out toward the bonfire. I linger by the sink, rinsing plates and trying to act like my body isn’t on high alert. The porch light casts a warm glow through the window above the sink, and I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that it’s just the two of us now.
Hunter’s beside me, drying dishes, silent. But the air between us is anything but quiet.
I can feel him watching me—my bare arms, the curve of my waist, the stretch of my tank top as I lean forward. I shouldn’t like it. But I do.
“You’re dangerous when you’re domestic,” he finally mutters.
I glance at him, smirking. “Oh yeah? You into girls who can rinse a plate?”
