“One night,” I confirm. “And don’t even think about bringing your laptop or research notebooks.”
He pouts. “But—“
“I mean it,” I warn, pointing a stern finger.
His shoulders slump. “Fine,” he sighs.
I grin, leaning closer. “Good. Now tell me—have you even eaten today?”
I’ve noticed Hunter seems to lose his appetite when he’s anxious. Yesterday at lunch, he barely touched his salad. Instead, he spent the whole time staring at his notebook and picking his nails.
He blinks, caught off guard. “Uh… I had a coffee.”
I click my tongue in disapproval. “Hunter.”
“I wasn’t hungry,” he mutters defensively.
“You never are when you’re stressed.” I tug at his wrist until he follows me a few steps toward the dunes. “Come on. We’re eating together.”
He hesitates. “I didn’t pack lunch.”
“Well, lucky for you, I did. For both of us.”
He protests halfheartedly, but I don’t let up. We drop down on the warm sand, the lake stretching wide and blue in front of us. I pull my lunch out of the cooler bag—two sandwiches, chips, and apple slices—and spread it between us.
Hunter watches me, faintly amused, as I shove the sandwich into his hands.
“It’s chickpea salad,” I mutter. “Found a recipe online.”
His face softens. “Mase…”
“I think it’s disgusting, but hopefully you like it. My mom made it. I can’t cook to save my life,” I admit.
He lifts an eyebrow. “She… made this for me?”
I shrug. “Yeah. She likes you, Hunt.”
His cheeks flush. He carefully unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. I can’t help the warmth that spreads through me at the simple sight of him eating.
We eat quietly for a while, the water lapping steadily against the shore like the lake’s heartbeat. Every so often, I catch Hunter sneaking looks at me between bites of his sandwich, his lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile.
Halfway through my turkey sandwich, Hunter suddenly shifts closer. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he leans in and kisses me—reallykisses me.
It’s nothing like the stiff, distracted peck from earlier. This is urgent, warm, the kind that steals my breath and leaves my fingers twitching to hold on to him. His lips linger against mine, soft but insistent.
When he finally pulls back, I blink at him, dazed. “What was that for?” I murmur.
Hunter’s cheeks are pink, his eyes bright behind his glasses. He shrugs a little, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at me.
“Just for being you,” he says quietly.
The words knock something loose in my chest. My heart stumbles. I kiss him again, desperate to stretch this fragile, blissful moment for as long as possible.
***
The Mackinac Bridge stands tall in the horizon, its towers peeking through a blanket of morning fog. Beside me, Hunter’s head is tipped against the window, his sweatshirt bunched into a makeshift pillow. His lips part slightly with each steady breath, strands of black hair falling across his eyes. He looks beautiful like this, peaceful in a way that makes it hard for me to keep my attention on the road.
I haven’t told him where we’re going, despite his relentless begging. Apparently, he hates surprises.
