When his truck pulled up outside, I caught my breath. That massive truck filled the curb like it owned the street, headlights cutting through the dusk. He climbed out, dark jeans, fitted shirt, beard trimmed neatly. God help me, I almost forgot to breathe.
“Wow,” I muttered to myself, grabbing my purse before I could chicken out.
He opened the passenger door for me, easy and unthinking, as if chivalry was just the way things were. When I slid into the cab, it smelled of leather and a scent that was only him, a trace of cypress and lime, clean and warm.
“Ready?” he asked, voice low, eyes catching mine for a second longer than necessary.
“Yeah,” I lied. My stomach was still flipping somersaults.
???
The restaurant was somewhere in between, not fancy but not quite casual. Dim lights, brick walls, candles flickering on white tablecloths. The air was full of quiet voices and the clink of glasses, the smell of roasted garlic drifting from the kitchen. I felt out of place in my dress, but Hunter looked at me like I was the only thing that belonged.
He pulled my chair out and sat across from me. The conversation loosened as we waited, and he teased me for dipping bread into every sauce, and I teased him for the way he obsessed over tomatoes in his salad. At one point, I leaned forward, whispering as if it were a secret, “You know, it’s a good thing you drove. Because if another man was that picky over his salad, I’d walk out.”
He chuckled, shaking his head, that crooked grin spreading across his face. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you with dessert.”
I was in the middle of telling him about how Zeke had decided to build a Lego “army base” in the middle of the hallway, complete with a blockade that nearly broke my toe, when I noticed it.
His knee bounced under the table, not just once or twice,but steady, almost frantic, a rhythm only he seemed to hear. I hadn’t started my internship yet, but I knew enough about anxiety to recognize it. His jaw tightened, eyes flicking to the window and back. Most people would’ve missed it. I almost did. But once I saw it, I couldn’t stop seeing it. I trailed off mid-sentence, my fork clinking against the plate. He didn’t even notice at first, lost in whatever storm was brewing in his head.
“Hunter,” I said softly.
His gaze snapped back to me, too quick, like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “What?”
I tilted my head, keeping my voice gentle. “You okay?”
He gave me that easy grin, the one he used when he wanted to smooth things over. “Yeah… I’m good.”
But his knee didn’t stop.
I reached across the table, covering his restless thumbs with my own. The movement stilled him, his fingers pausing under my touch. He looked at me, eyes darting, then softening, as if he wasn’t used to being seen. His grip tightened, just a little, a quiet signal that he was letting me in. Holding hands felt like a silent agreement that we were both in this together.
“You don’t have to explain it away with me,” I whispered.
For a beat, he just stared, silent, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm I could almost match my breathing to. Then he let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little.
“You always know how to call me out,” he said, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.
“Not call you out,” I corrected. “See you.”
The words hung there, heavier than the air between us.His fingers turned, lacing through mine, holding on like he needed the reminder that I wasn’t going anywhere. We sat like that for a long moment, neither of us touching our food. Just hands entwined, the quiet around us filled with clinking silverware and the low hum of strangers’ conversations.
And then, almost shyly, he said, “It happens sometimes. I just… get anxious, you know? Crowds get to me sometimes. The noise. I guess I didn’t expect it to be that busy. It’s stupid.” His voice softened, a vulnerability threading through. “I don’t… I don’t like to talk about it.”
I squeezed his hand. “It’s not stupid. But you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just… let me sit with you in it.”
His lips twitched like he wanted to argue, but instead, he nodded. He decided then that he wasn’t hiding behind jokes or teasing. For once, he was letting me hold some of the weight. When the waitress came by with refills, we both pulled back, but the warmth of his hand lingered long after. His knee stayed still for the rest of the night.
And as I watched him bite into his pie with exaggerated seriousness just to make me laugh, I realized something: I wasn’t the only one learning how to trust again.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Hunter
The first thing I noticed when she stepped into my apartment wasn’t how out of place she looked, it was how everything in the room shifted around her. My place had always been simple: clean lines, quiet, untouched. But with her there, curls falling over her shoulder, the faint scent of rain clinging to her clothes, it suddenly felt lived in. Warmer.
She curled into the couch, blanket sliding down her shoulders, the lamplight catching the gold in her hair. She tried to look relaxed, but I could see the nerves in the way she tucked her hands into the blanket and laughed at nothing. The air between us felt charged.
