He pours wine into the glasses, hands me one, and the moment our fingers touch, the air gets heavier, hotter. His hand shakes just a little. I want to laugh at how nervous we both are, but I’m terrified if I do, I’ll fall apart.
We sit. Not side-by-side, but angled, so I can watch the city and him at the same time. He doesn’t speak at first, just swirls the wine in his glass and stares at it like it holds the answers to every question in the world.
I take a sip. It’s delicious, but anything Hunter selects would be.
“I’m guessing you want to talk,” I say.
Hunter nods. “I do. But only if you’re ready.”
I’m nod. “Go ahead.”
He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it rakishly tousled, and sets the glass down with a faint clink. “It’s just a repeat of before, really. I want to say I’m sorry, Tara, but I don’t think that word covers it. I’ve been selfish. I should have told you who you were from the start, but I—” He stops, breathes. “I didn’t want to lose you. What about you? What have you been thinking about?”
There’s a pause, filled with the hum of the city and the faint sizzle of a candle wick burning too fast.
“I spent the last two days at Sanctum,” I say in a slow voice. “Trying to figure out if I wanted to be Daisy or Tara, or neither. I thought maybe if I separated the feelings, I’d know which ones were real.” I set my glass down, fold my hands in my lap. “Turns out, they all are. I can’t untangle them. I can’t untangle you from them, either.”
His eyes are wet, harsh streaks on those high cheekbones.
“I’ve always loved you, Hunter,” I say, and it’s so easy, so obvious, I almost want to laugh. “And as Daisy, I just finally got to say it out loud. I don’t think I would have had the courage, nor the freedom, to say it as Tara.”
He covers his face for a second. Then he laughs, a ragged, desperate sound. “Thank you so much, sweetheart. I’m glad you came back, and I’m glad you said the words,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back, and I had this whole script in my head for what I’d say, but now it all sounds stupid.”
“I want to hear it anyway,” I murmur.
He glances over, searching my face for some sign of hesitation, but there’s none. I am exactly where I want to be.
Hunter leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands twisted together. “I talked to a lawyer,” he says. “After you left. About us.”
I blink, surprised. “A lawyer?”
“Yeah. I needed to know if we were doing anything illegal.” He manages a half-smile, but the nerves are obvious. “Turns out, since we’re not blood related, there’s nothing stopping us. Except maybe a couple thousand years of human taboos, I suppose.”
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline.
He shrugs, helpless. “I guess I just want you to know there’s nothing in our way, except what we decide for ourselves.”
I feel the alcohol boiling in my stomach, and for the first time in days, the pressure in my chest lifts.
Hunter takes a shaky breath, then reaches for me. I let him. His fingers are rough and warm, yet tender as well. He cups my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my jaw.
“I don’t know who I am without you, Daisy,” he whispers.
I lean in, just enough so our foreheads touch, and close my eyes.
“You don’t have to find out,” I say.
We sit there, breathing in the scent of lilies and bourbon, the city pulsing below, and for the first time, it feels like we’re not alone. We’re together. We’re real.
He presses his lips to my temple, then my cheek, then pauses just above my mouth.
“May I?” he says.
I answer by kissing him first.
The kiss is slow, desperate, and holy. I taste wine, salt, and the trace of his last breath. I taste every moment we spent denying ourselves, every hour we spent missing each other.
When we break apart, I’m dizzy, but in a good way.
