Yeah, I know I started this story bragging about a certain attribute below the belt. And while it’s still objectively impressive, I’ll say this:
That’s not my whole personality.
Thanks to Faith, I’ve evolved. I’ve got new layers now. Some emotional. Some literary.
Fellas—do yourselves a favor. Don’t start your love story wearing a metaphorical mask. Because the deeper it gets, the harder it becomes to keep up the act.
Take it from a guy who tried.
And if she’sliterallyinto masks? Well then, hell. Put on the damn mask. That’s a girl worth keeping.
The pastor says something about commitment and forever, and I’m barely listening. Because all I can think about is how this woman—this fierce, brilliant, maddening, beautiful woman—is nowmine.
She loved Thor the trucker.
Now she’s getting the yacht.
I kiss the bride. A deep, possessive, grateful kiss that saysyou’re everything.
When we break apart, she whispers, “Forever, Hunter?”
I wrap my hand around her waist, grinning. “You’re not getting away from me again. So don’t even try.”
And yeah, I see that flash in her eyes—the wild, feral heat I’ve loved since night one. The spark that told me she was never a good girl. Not really.
She’s Faith Easton.
And she’s all mine.
* * *
The reception’sheld at this new wedding venue on the outskirts of town—mostly outdoors, partly inside a renovated barn that used to host tractor pulls and flea markets.
Ironically, it’s theexact same fieldwhere Faith and I first… well. You know.
Did the thing.
In the back of my VIP truck.
Now there’s fairy lights overhead. A champagne tent. A charcuterie bar. The whole damn town came out for it—Faith’s college friends, my teammates, Daphne and her sister, even Mr. and Mrs. Stinson in the corner pretending they’re not eavesdropping on every table.
Faith and I sit at a private sweetheart table a few yards from the crowd. For the first time since sayingI do, it’s just us.
She sips her wine, cheeks still glowing. “So,” she says, her eyes playful, “what were the red flags you saw in me?”
She’s referencing Maya’s speech, where she called me a walking red flag. Accurate.
I raise a brow. “You mean besides the fact that you agreed to hook up in a field. In a truck. With a stranger. Whose face you hadn’t seen.”
She grins. “I did listen to serial killer podcasts. I knew the risks.”
“And yet you still took a leap. Why?”
Faith looks out over the lawn, where Ty’s doing the worm. “Sometimes,” she says, “you just have to trust your gut.”
I lean in, dropping my voice. “Sometimes your gut tells you, ‘This trucker’s probably sexy as hell under that mask.’”
She runs her hand slowly down my arm. “Little did I know…”
