“Then let’s do it,” he says. “I got your back.”
And as the truck curves around a bend in the road, all I can think is:
This time? I’m not running.
37
HUNTER
The smell of grilled sweet corn hits me first. Then the laughter.
I step into the backyard of Faith’s childhood home, holding a tray of burgers I made myself—okay, half-made. My mom insisted on “doctoring them up,” whatever that means.
The yard is strung with golden lights, the kind that make everything feel like a memory even while it’s happening. Kids run barefoot over the grass. There’s a playlist bumping some fantastic mix of George Strait and Hozier, and someone’s uncle is already half-drunk on lemonade vodka, explaining lawn care to a teenager.
And there she is.
Faith.
Hair down, dress hugging her curves in that breezy, effortless way she does now. She’s smiling at Daphne, who’s bouncing June on her hip, and the sight does something to my chest that I’m not entirely ready to name.
This is what I want.
I grip the tray tighter.
“This where I drop the meat?” I ask, nodding at the grill.
Daphne beams at me. “Right next to the magic corn. Don’t screw it up, Thor.”
“Still calling me that, huh?”
She smirks. “It’s either that or ‘Hunter the Heartbreaker.’ But I’m trying to be supportive.”
“Appreciate it.”
I glance back toward Faith just in time for her to catch me watching her.
She breaks into a grin and walks over. “Hey, handsome.”
Before I can answer, she presses a quick kiss to my lips—nothing too crazy. Just enough to turn the whole backyard into background noise.
“Glad you’re here,” she says softly.
“Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
I’m about to ask if she needs help with anything when I spot him. Keith’s dad. Mr. Stinson. Standing by the cooler, arms folded, jaw set like he’s waiting for someone to challenge him to a duel.
Of course.
Faith notices my stare. “Ignore him.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve got this,” she says—and God, she means it.
She walks toward the drink table where Mr. Stinson is brooding, every eye in the backyard subtly following her. Her mom stiffens a little near the patio, but no one says a word.
“Faith,” Mr. Stinson starts, “we were all surprised to hear about... this situation.”
