IT WON’T BE HARD
I’m standing outside my front door when Hunter pulls up at the exact time he said he would. I head to his truck, a cold, wet snow starting to fall.
“You brought a poinsettia,” Hunter says as I close myself up in the warmth of the truck.
“Sharon went with me to get it. She was way too excited about it,” I say.
“I’m sure she was.”
“She also said your mother would love a poinsettia.”
“She’ll appreciate it, even if you didn’t need to bring anything.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I have to make a good first impression.”
“My mom loves you. You have nothing to worry about.”
“She lovesfriendOllie. NotboyfriendOllie.”
“Pretty sure they’re one and the same.” He laughs.
“What are we going to tell your mom?” I ask, ignoring him.
“What do you mean?”
“About how we started dating.”
“Stick to the same story we told everyone at your office,” he says. “Keep it simple.”
“Well, the hard part about that,” I start, adjusting my glasses, “is I don’t remember a lot of what we told people.”
“Because you were drunk off your ass, Ol.”
“Hey.” I smack him on the arm. “I might still be drunk.”
“Well, I made you soup when you were sick and you were so impressed, you had to start dating me.”
“Really? Pretty full of yourself there considering I’ve never tasted your soup.”
“What?” he scoffs. “I know I’ve made you soup.”
I turn in my seat, facing him. “Hunter Wells. You have never once in your life made me soup.”
“Because I don’t know how to make it?”
My jaw drops. “How are we friends?”
Pulling up to the one stoplight in town, he looks over at me, tapping my chin closed. The barest hint of contact has warmth spreading through me. I shouldn’t be feeling that.
“You might need to teach me then.”
“Really?” I ask. “You want me to show you how to make soup?”
“You teach me how to make soup, and maybe I’ll show you how to cut down a tree.”
An audible gasp escapes my lips. “Hunter! I have been asking you for years to let me cut down my own tree and you always say I can’t.”
“Because you told me you can’t swing an ax.”
