Claire
I pull into the Wilder Industries parking lot at eleven forty-five, fifteen minutes before Hunter’s lunch break.
My hands are shaking on the steering wheel.
This is insane. Showing up at his workplace, asking him out in front of his crew, making this public before I’ve even told him I love him. Every controlled, careful instinct I have is screaming at me to turn around and text him like a normal person.
But I’m done being careful with Hunter Ashe.
I’ve spent three days thinking about date three. About the way I asked to keep the blindfold on, the way my heart cracked open when I realized I was in love with him, the way I ran instead of staying to tell him.
I’m not running anymore.
The mill office is a low building with Wilder Industries stamped across the front in iron letters. Inside, sawdust coats everything—the floor, the reception desk, even the air tastes like pine. A woman in her fifties looks up from behind the desk, her smile warm.
“Can I help you, honey?”
“I’m looking for Hunter Ashe.”
Sawdust has already settled on my blazer in the thirty seconds I’ve been standing here, so I brush it off my sleeve. My ballet flats stick slightly to the floor with each step, resin tacky under my soles.
“He’s out back with the crew. Lunch break in about ten minutes.” She eyes me with open curiosity. “You’re Dr. Elliott, aren’t you? From Northwest General?”
Small towns. Everyone knows everything.
“I am.”
“Thought so. Hunter talks about you.” Her smile widens. “Go on through that door, take a left. You’ll find them.”
I follow her directions through a hallway that smells like coffee and wood oil, then push through a heavy metal door into the mill yard.
The noise hits me first: the whine of saws, the crack of wood splitting, and men shouting over machinery. Sawdust hangs thick in the air, golden particles catching sunlight like snow suspended mid-fall. The smell of fresh-cut pine burns my nostrils, sharp and green. Stacks of lumber tower on both sides of the yard, casting long shadows across the packed dirt.
Then I see him.
Hunter’s across the yard near a stack of lumber, talking to Luke Wilder and two other men I don’t recognize. He’s in work jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, sawdust clinging to his forearms. When he laughs at something Luke says, the sound carries across the yard, and my stomach flips.
I love him.
I start walking before I lose my nerve.
Luke sees me first. His eyebrows shoot up, and he says something to Hunter, who turns.
Our eyes meet across fifty feet of sawdust and lumber, and his whole face changes.
I close the distance between us, aware of the other men watching, aware that every step I take is a choice I’m making in front of witnesses.
“Claire.” He says my name like a question. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to ask you something.”
“Okay.” He’s watching me carefully, and I can see the hope he’s trying to hide. “What’s that?”
“Date four.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I want date four.”
His mouth curves slow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I step closer, close enough to smell sawdust and the scent of him I’ve been craving for three days. “Tonight. Hank & Lulu’s. Six o’clock.”
