“Don’t you ‘Lulu’ me, Hunter Ashe. I’ve been watching you pine after this girl for a while now.” She sets down our drinks and looks at me. “About time you put him out of his misery.”
“I wasn’t trying to make him miserable.”
“Honey, men are always miserable when they’re in love. It’s their natural state.” She pats my shoulder. “I’ll give you two a minute to decide on food.”
She disappears toward the kitchen, and I’m left staring at Hunter across the table.
“She’s not wrong,” he says quietly. “About the miserable part.”
“Hunter—”
“You left three days ago without saying yes to date four. I’ve been going crazy wondering if you changed your mind.”
“I didn’t change my mind.” I reach across the table, take his hand. “I just needed time to be sure.”
“And are you? Sure?”
“Yes.” I trace the scar on his palm, the old one from fifteen years ago. “I’m sure.”
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days. “Good. Because Claire, I need you to know—”
“I love you.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I figured it out during date three, when I asked you to keep the blindfold on. I love you, and that terrified me, so I ran. But I’m done running.”
He’s staring at me like I just rewrote his whole world.
“Say something,” I whisper.
“I love you too.” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Been in love with you since Bay Seven when you tried so hard not to want me and failed.”
I laugh, watery and surprised. “That’s not—”
“It is.” He stands, slides into the booth beside me instead of across from me, and kisses me. It’s thorough and claiming and says everything we’ve been dancing around for two months.
When we break apart, half the diner is watching. I don’t care.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” I say.
“Okay.”
“About kids.” I take a breath. “Derek made me feel broken for wanting to plan ahead, for freezing my eggs and thinking about surrogacy. And after we broke up, I started wondering if maybe I didn’t actually want kids at all. Maybe I just thought I should want them because everyone expects it.”
Hunter’s watching me, quiet, letting me work through it.
“But I do want them.” The admission cracks something open in my chest. “I want children. I’m just terrified I’ll be terrible at it because I’m not naturally maternal and I work too much and I like control and babies are the opposite of that.”
“Claire.” He cups my face. “You save lives for a living. You’re meticulous and careful and you don’t quit even when things are hard. Those are exactly the qualities that make good parents.”
“But what if—”
“What if nothing.” His thumb traces my jaw. “We’ll figure it out. Together. Not now, not next year, but someday when we’re both ready. And whether it’s surrogacy or adoption, we’ll make it work. We’ll balance each other out.”
“You mean that?”
“One hundred percent.” He kisses the back of my hand. “I’m in this with you, Doc. All of it. The messy parts and the scary parts and the parts we haven’t figured out yet.”
Something in my chest settles, warm and sure.
“Okay,” I whisper.
