“Maybe that’s what’s missing. You need to make it fun.”
“I don’t know how. Nothing is fun anymore.”
His truth breaks my heart, and as fucking ridiculous as it sounds, I want to be able to fix it for him. I want to be the one who makes Hunter happy again, even if half the time I’m nothappy either.
“I guess it’s lucky for you that I’m so fun.”
“I have yet to see proof of that.” There’s a slight sparkle to his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago.
“I’ll have to keep trying, then. But I’m warning you, I’m very fun, and once you see that, nothing on earth will compare.”
He barks out a laugh. “You’re so fucking cocky.”
“Yes.” I grin, and Hunter rolls his eyes.
His gaze flicks to the counter, then back to me. “Can I have a piece of cake?” he asks, and the tension I didn’t know I was holding melts away.
Maybe it’s just me making shit up in my head, maybe I couldn’t be more off, but I’m taking his asking for cake as Hunter saying he wants to try—to have fun, to let shit go, to just fuckingbe—and maybe this strange, unexpected friendship of ours will be a part of that.
“Abso-fucking-lutely. A big piece.”
I smile.
He smiles.
Then I grab a knife and dig into the cake.
We eat our second breakfast, one that’s really fucking terrible for you, right there in the middle of my kitchen. When we’re done, Hunter says, “Let’s go on a hike.”
“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone who’s athletic.”
“You’re athletic,” he says. “I’ve seen you play football.”
I pretend to vomit. “God, I hate that sport.”
“It’s the best one there is.”
“If you say so.”
“Go on a hike with me, Lucas. I ate cake with you. It’s short and easy. I promise.”
“Well, now I’m annoyed you think I need an easy hike. I’m not helpless.”
“Two seconds ago, you said you’re not athletic.”
“Yes, well, it’s okay for me to think or assume something like that about myself, but not you,” I tease, pushing off the counter. “Let me get dressed and grab my camera. If you’re going to drag me out of the house, I should at least get some photographs out of it.”
The truth is, I love the outdoors, and I’m sure he knows it, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t pretend it’s torture. I’m never supposed to be happy or satisfied. That’s just the way it is.
“Five minutes,” Hunter says.
“Fifteen. I’m naturally pretty but not that pretty. I need a little time.”
His eyes dart away.
Okay. No jokes about me being pretty. Got it.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be back.”
