Hunter still stares, both eyebrows halfway up his forehead now.
“All right, well ... yep.” I spin on my heel, my face flaming, but before I can rush away, Hunter gently grabs my arm, stopping me. His fingers on my skin sends a hot shiver through me.
“I’d love to eat with you guys. If you’re sure it’s okay.”
He releases me, and I nod. “It’s okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats with a flicker of a smile.
I hurry back into my half of the duplex, but this time, Hunter follows behind me. To distract myself, I start pulling dishes out of the cupboards.
“Here, let me do that.” Before I can protest, Hunter gently pries the dishes out of my hands—and even reaches over me to grab a couple more.
“Thanks,” I respond automatically, my breath catching in my lungs when his arm brushes mine.
He heads over to the round dining table in the alcove that looks out over the small, fenced yard of our condo, where Lou’s hand-me-down grill balances precariously on the five-foot square of uneven concrete.
We’re both silent as he places the cups and plates down.
I swallow, something inside of me lurching at the sight of Hunter setting the table with the sunset painting him in melted golden light, exposing a few highlights in his brown hair. A sudden warmth builds in my chest and spreads through my body. This unexpectedly quiet, homey scene feels all too good.
It scares me howrightit feels.
No,no,no. It doesnotfeel right to have the guy who has already lost someone he loves set the table. Itcan’t.It’s only the magic sunset lighting and lack of sleep and my grandparents’ marriage turning out to be a sham that has me all twisty and confused inside. I shake the warmth off and distract myself by dumping the spaghetti sauce into a serving bowl.
We’re still quiet as he gets the silverware and I finish transferring the food and bring it to the table. At some point during this meal, we’re going to have to speak to each other. Unless Talia saves us by doing all the talking on her own.
My phone pings with a text as I’m placing the slices of baguette into a basket. When I check, Talia has written,Had to stay late at work, and traffic is bad. Hurrying to get there—feel free to start without me if it’s ready!
I barely suppress a groan. Well, that’sperfect.
“Talia?” he asks.
“She’s stuck in traffic.” I look over the steaming food in dismay. “She said to start without her, so ... I guess we can go ahead and eat while it’s hot.”
A muscle near the corner of Hunter’s mouth tics; for a moment, I think he’s going to take his plate and go next door. But then he pulls out a chair and sits.
I take my seat as well, and we silently dish up our food. So. Much. Silence.
When we reach for the basket of bread at the same time, we both jerk back simultaneously. No accidental or on-purpose finger grazing this time. And not awkwardat all.
I’m so glad I had the idea to ask him to eat with us. So,soglad. I take a long drink of my ice water.
“Any changes with your farmor?”
Other than finding out she’s a big, fat liar and not being able to ask her why she made me believe in a fairy tale that doesn’t exist?“Not really,” is all I say.
Hunter watches me like I’m a secret he’s trying to unlock. But after a moment, he looks down, swirls some noodles covered in sauce onto his fork, and takes a bite.
“This isreallygood. Although I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Because I seem like the homemaker type?” I glance up from my plate as I methodically cut up all my noodles.
His eyes are back on me, not his food. “Because I know you are a very talented baker.”
I blush at the unexpected praise. “Baking and cooking are two separate things. My mom is also an excellent baker ... but a crappy cook,” I say. “I had to learn how to make myself healthy food when I got put on my heart diet because her specialties were ordering pizza or making pancakes for dinner.”
“I’m not sure I believe you. Your mom seems like the type who would have enrolled in culinary school if that’s what it took to make sure you got the type of food you needed.”
