Chapter Twelve
Hunter
The faint scent of diesel hung in the air, mingling with the warm aroma of deli sandwiches as Camille and I sat in the bed of my truck, eating lunch during her break. The sun glared off the scattered cars, and the metallic clang of the tailgate echoed each time we shifted. I had been off work for the day to attend another tedious appointment for my VA disability, and I surprised her with lunch after she shared she had forgotten hers in the morning rush out the door.
She was leaning against my side, her curls brushing my arm, and tilting her head up at me with that look that I was beginning to learn meant the gears in her head were churning.
In that moment, there was a quiet clarity. Her simple presence seemed to ease the weight of the day, grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in a while. Her being here turned an ordinary day into something memorable, something that felt like home.
“So…” she started, dragging the word out.
I narrowed my eyes. “So what?”
“Have you ever dated someone like me before?”
I raised a brow. “Definelike you.”
She huffed, sitting up straighter, her hands gesturing wildly. “You know. A mom. With kids.” Her voice dipped. Her gaze flickered down for a moment as she seemed to brace herself, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her scrub top, a small but telling movement that spoke louder than words ever could. Her eyes met mine again, and in that brief connection, I sensed her hesitation, wondering if I could see beyond the roles she believed defined her.
I leaned back, studying her like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing. “Someone like you?” I said finally. “No. Never.”
Her brows pulled together, like she wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a confession.
I ran a thumb along her hand, slow and sure. “Because there’s no one like you, Cami. And if you’re asking if I can handle it — yeah. I can.”
She looked at me then, really looked. Like she was trying to see if I meant it. That soft uncertainty in her eyes hit harder than any deployment ever had. I wanted to take it from her, that doubt, make her believe that everything she’d been through hadn’t made her too much, it made her more.
She went quiet. Her gaze dropped to our hands, then back up to my face. For a second, she looked like she was weighing every word, every risk.
“Hunter,” she said finally, voice low. “What happens when it gets hard?”
This was the question she never quite asked, always circling, hoping maybe this time I’d say something that would settlethe worry in her eyes. I knew that look. The way she apologized for things that didn’t need apologies, as if being a mom was something she had to excuse.
In the quiet, I saw the way her doubt crept in, and each time, all I could think about was proving her wrong. Showing her that every flaw she named was something I loved.
So I told her the truth.
I didn’t hesitate. “Then I stay,” I said simply.
She searched my face like she was waiting for the catch, like she was testing if I really meant it. And when the silence stretched, I saw the flicker of every fear she still carried.
So I leaned back on my arms and let out a groan. “Woman, you ask more questions than a recruiter on enlistment day.”
Her mouth dropped open, eyes narrowing in mock offense. “Excuse me for trying to get to know you.”
“Youinterrogateme,” I said, pointing a finger at her, but the corner of my mouth tugged into a grin.
She rolled her eyes. “C’mon. Don’t you ever have questions for me?”
“Nope,” I said, popping a chip in my mouth.
She gasped, smacking my arm. “You’re lying.”
“Not a lie,” I smirked, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed, the color rising like the morning sun. I didn’t need to ask. I saw the way she absentmindedly tucked a curl behind her ear when she was feeling nervous or the little crinkle by her eyes that appeared every time she was about to smile. These small things told me more than words ever could. “I don’t need to ask. I just watch.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s creepy.”
“Observant,” I corrected, leaning closer, lowering my voice. “Besides, every time you open your mouth, you’re alreadytelling me a hundred things.”
