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I open the strawberry shortcake, dig out a bite with the other clean spoon, and hand it to her. In the dark, her eyes are sparkling and our fingers brush against each other in a flash of heat during the short exchange. This time she holds my gaze as she tastes and blinks as she pulls the spoon from her mouth.
“It’s heaven—just as I remember it.”
I smile and take the spoon back from her. “More?” I didn’t bother with bowls as I don’t eat ice cream, not casually like this.
“Are you trying to seduce me, Hunter? With your organic ice cream?” There’s teasing in her voice, but the question strikes me as layered.
Our gazes lock and for several seconds silence hangs between us, arrested in the moment.
“No?” But am I? And would it be so terrible if I were? I take both pints and close them with their lids.
“Don’t sound so unsure. Now I wonder if you’re seeing someone. For all I know, you’re seriously dating or engaged or something.”
“No. I’m not dating or anything.” I’m as single as it gets.
The words settle in the quiet that follows, and it’s as if the tension between us just downed a gallon of rocket fuel. My fingers burn to reach out and touch her, right there where she sweeps the tip of her tongue in the corner of her lip.
“Oh, good,” Beth says on a shallow breath. “I’d hate to double dip into someone else’s… pint.”
Minutes ago, she was in my arms. I only need to reach for her, but something in her eyes makes me hold back. “Beth—”
She sweeps the blanket off her legs and stands abruptly. “I need to go to bed.”
“Bee—”
“God, Hunter. Just don’t.” She gathers her hair and twists it over her shoulder. “Don’t go there. Can’t you see? We can’t go back in time and every move you make… I’m going to wonder if it’s about me or the farm.”
I stand too, shocked to my core at her accusation, and stare her down. “Nobody is making any moves here, Beth.”
She swallows hard and shakes her head as she takes the two pints of ice cream. “Good.” She turns away and walks into the cottage and I barely hear her whispered good night.
I’m left standing on the deck of her—my—cottage, wondering what the actual fuck just happened.
15
BETH
It’s late afternoon when I wake from an uncharacteristic nap, one I badly needed. After another sleep-deprived night—and thank you Hunter for that one, it really makes a nice change—I left the cottage to go hiking in a nature reserve a forty-minute drive from Ashleigh Lake. Better than lying there staring at the ceiling. This time of year, when Vermont is overrun with leaf-peeping tourists, you’re never alone on a trail, but the fall colors take center stage and I snapped too many photos, sending Jana a select few. And then, on a whim, I sent Kyle some photos too, at last letting him know where I am. Maybe that wasn’t the best of ideas, but it seemed immature to hide my trip from him now that I’m here.
Getting the exercise helped, but nothing could distract me from what happened last night, the feelings that bloomed in me on being in Hunter’s arms, strong and sure as always. Reliable, steady as a rock. Everybody always counted on Hunter, and I bet they still do. I was snuggling into that familiar nest of safety his arms always held for me, letting go and feeling so much lighter for it, as if he knew exactly what I needed.
And he probably did. That was, until he fetched his ice cream and reminded me of what was at stake for him. Everybody has an agenda, and Hunter made his clear from day one.
Now I’m back in a reality I must deal with whether I want to or not. I check my notifications. A missed call from Kyle. He didn’t leave a message, which is probably for the best. I stare at the ceiling, toying with the idea of calling him back, when noises next door make me tense up.
I glance at my phone again. It’s just after six. Laughter and music drift over from Hunter’s house on the light breeze that’s been tickling leaves off the trees the whole day. I toss my phone onto the comforter and cup my hands over my face. Whatever is going on there sounds like fun, but in the middle of the week?
Not everybody in the world keeps San Francisco lawyer hours, and most people have lives. At this thought, I get up and drag my hairbrush through my bedraggled hair. I need to eat and can’t indulge in chips two nights in a row.
I walk into the living room. Since my lights are still off, I can sneak up to the small window at the side of the cottage and look out to Hunter’s deck. Several people are milling about, string lights run along the sides and length of the deck and an elevated fire pit crackles away in the middle of it all.
Dang it. I look closer. Is that Ethan Logan? Tall and muscular, more so than Hunter, with broader shoulders and his thick dark hair in a buzz cut. Hunter said he’s in the army. Ethan hugs several bottles of wine to his chest, and on his heels follows someone who is dragging a cooler box closer. Surely that can’t be Raiden? I blink as I take him in. God, the last time I saw him he was a stick of a boy, troubled to the core. A rather gorgeous blonde woman stands to the side, holding a puppy who is scrabbling for freedom as Raiden leans in to kiss her full on the lips. Raiden’s big hand dips down her hip and squeezes before it travels around to her butt… definitely to work in another, sexier squeeze.
The sudden intimate gesture makes me look away, my breathing slowing in longing. Oh God. Hunter Freaking Logan. He stirred all this up in me when he first came to San Francisco and then he stoked the fire last night. There was a moment last night when I wanted to straddle him and just see where things would go, but my head overruled. I was stupid enough to leave my battery-operated boyfriend at home. Feeling like this is so rare nowadays, what with all the time I spend at work and the stress that comes with my job, that I just didn’t think that far. And couldn’t be bothered. How sad is that?
I turn back to the window to watch other folks arrive, people I don’t recognize. My stomach rumbles and I shake my head as I walk to the kitchen. Don’t try and stake it out alone here, hiding, Hunter said last night. I’m not hiding, I keep repeating as I prepare a ham and cheese sandwich with some tea to swallow it down. I eye it with disgust. Already I can feel it clogging up my throat. With a groan I take the mug of tea, balance the small plate with my sandwich on top of it, and head out to my own deck. If I sit just right, nobody will notice me from that side.
It’s already much rowdier from next door than ten minutes ago, and I’m hardly two bites into my sandwich when voices call out, “Mycroft! Mycroft! Come here, boy!”
