“Nothing,” he said softly. “I just like talking to you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. So I just smiled, hoping he couldn’t see how my chest ached. Because if I let myself believe him, if I let myself hope, I knew I was already deeper than I planned. I tilted the phone a little closer, narrowing my eyes at him. “You know, for someone who talks a lot, you don’t actuallysaymuch.”
He smirked. “That’s my strategy. Keep you intrigued.”
“Oh, so you’re mysterious now?” I teased, propping my chin in my hand. “I tell you about my mismatched-sock kid and the doll rebellion, and you give me… what? That you work on base and eat toothpaste-flavored ice cream?”
“Hey,” he said, holding up a hand. “Ice cream says a lot about a man.”
“Mmhm. Says you’re stubborn.”
“Says I don’t need fluff,” he corrected, that grin tugging at his lips.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You realize this is the part where most girls would demand details, right? They’d want to know about your past, why you don’t talk about it.”
He went quiet, just for a beat too long. His eyes flicked down, then back up. “Maybe someday.”
The way he said it, steady and not dismissive, made my chest ache. He wasn’t shutting me out. He was just… protecting himself.
I softened my tone. “I wasn’t prying. Just noticing. You keep things close.”
He nodded once. “Habit, I guess.”
I let it go, even though curiosity buzzed in my veins. I didn’t push because I knew how it felt to have scars you weren’t ready to peel back for anyone. It can be hard sometimes. I appreciated questions, exploring how people felt, and whythey felt that way. But with him, I could try to be patient.
So instead, I leaned into the humor again. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But just so you know, I’m still winning this conversation. I’ve given you at least three embarrassing stories. You owe me one.”
His grin returned. “Embarrassing story, huh? Alright. When I was in grade school, maybe first or second grade, the teacher had written ‘island’ on the board. No one raised their hand to read it out loud, so I did. ” He was already laughing before he even reached the hook of the story.
“I was so confident that I knew it, made a big ‘ol scene.” He continued. “So when the teacher called my name, I said ‘Is-land’ all proud and she yelled ‘WRONG!’… I was so embarrassed, I felt like a fool. Lost my street cred and everything.”
I burst out laughing, the sound echoing through my quiet living room. “Is that a real story?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” he admitted. “I don’t think I ever recovered from that.” He replied, dramatically shaking his head, his laugh booming through the phone.
I was still laughing when Zeke made his way into the living room. He blinked at the phone screen and whispered, “Who’s that?”
“This is Mommy’s… friend,” I said carefully, heart thudding.
Hunter smiled warmly, not missing a beat. “Hey, buddy. Escaping bedtime?”
“I don’t want to sleep,” Zeke said with sass and sleepy eyes.
“Me either, it’s a lot more fun giving your mom trouble.” His response was witty, leaving Zeke with a giggle as he buried his face in my shoulder. And for a moment, the whole world tilted. It was just a call, just a face on a screen, but I couldalready picture him here. In this home, in this mess, in this life.
When he finally shuffled back to bed, I glanced at the screen again. His smile was softer now, quieter.
“You’re pretty good at this,” I said.
“At what?”
“Not running.” He didn’t answer right away. Just held my gaze through the screen, unspoken words sitting between us.
“I think it’s time you get some rest. Goodnight, Beautiful,” he said finally.
“Goodnight,” I whispered, even though I wasn’t ready to end the call.
When the screen went dark, I lay there in the quiet, blanket tucked under my chin, heart racing with equal parts giddiness and fear. This wasn’t just a distraction. It was the start of something that might matter.
