Page 44 of Hunter

“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been there…”

It hits me that he was there. Right when I needed someone. What are the odds?

The breeze picks up, cool against the strip of bare skin between my cropped shirt and jeans. I pull my sketchbook into my lap like a shield, fingers tracing the spiral binding over and over.

I swallow, trying to sound casual even though my pulse is still a little too fast. “So… what were you doing around here, anyway?”

Hunter leans back against the bench, stretching his long legs out in front of him. His boots scuff the pavement once before he stills. For a second, he doesn’t answer, just watches the fountain like the answer might be floating in the water.

“Was leaving a friend’s place,” he says finally. “Not far from here. Figured I’d cut through the park on my way back.”

He says it so casually it almost sounds believable.

Almost.

I nod like I buy it, but something in my chest tightens anyway. The odds feel…off. Too convenient. Too perfect. First the club, then the pole studio, now this random corner right when I was spiraling. But the warmth of his hand is still ghosting along my spine, and right now, I don’t want to pick at it. Not when the panic is still fading and the sun feels this good on my skin.

“Okay,” I say quietly, flipping my sketchbook open to a blank page just to have something to do with my hands. “Well… thanks. For real. Most people would’ve just kept walking.”

Hunter shrugs one shoulder, but his eyes flick to me again. “Couldn’t just leave you like that.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the fountain splashing softly between us. My charcoal stick hovers over the page, but I don’t draw anything yet. I’m too aware of him beside me—the solid warmth of his thigh almost touching mine, the way his jaw keeps tightening like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t want to say.

“Were you heading here to draw?” he asks.

The question lands strangely. My hand stills on the page.

I stare at him.

How would he know I draw here?

This isn’t some random bench in some random park. This is my bench. The one I come to when I need the fountain sounds to drown out everything else. I’ve never mentioned it in group. Never posted about it. Never told anyone except Lucy, and even she doesn’t always know when I’m here.

My stomach does a slow, uneasy flip.

“Yeah…” I say slowly, dragging the word out while I study his face. “I come here a lot. How did you⁠—”

I stop myself before the full question leaves my mouth, but it hangs there anyway, heavy between us.

Hunter doesn’t flinch. He just leans forward a little, elbows on his knees, eyes on the water like it’s suddenly fascinating. His voice stays low, casual in a way that feels practiced.

“Saw you here once. From across the path. You looked… focused. Figured this was your spot.”

He says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.

But my skin prickles anyway.

I swallow, forcing my charcoal back to the page even though my hand is unsteady now. I start sketching loose, meaningless lines—anything to keep from looking at him too long.

“You see a lot of things you’re not supposed to, huh?” I mutter, half to myself.

Hunter doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is quieter, rougher around the edges.

“I notice you.”

Three simple words. They shouldn’t feel like a confession and a warning at the same time, but they do.

I risk another glance at him. He’s still staring at the fountain, jaw tight, like he’s bracing for me to call him on it. The sun catches the stubble on his cheek and the faint scar near his temple I’ve never noticed before.