Page 95 of Hunter

“Be honest.”

“Charlie, I have been honest. You’re just nervous.”

I let out a shaky laugh and sit on the edge of the coffee table, facing her. Sofia immediately abandons Lucy’s lap to climb into mine, purring like she approves of my outfit choices.

“I’m scared,” I admit quietly. “What if it’s awkward? What if he’s only coming to say he’s moving on for real? What if I look at him and all I want is to crawl into his lap and forget the last few months happened?”

Lucy reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Then you’ll deal with it. You’ve survived worse than an awkward dinner with the guy you’re still stupidly in love with. And if it goes well…maybe just let it.”

I nod, scratching behind Sofia’s ears. She headbutts my chest like she’s trying to push some courage into me.

“I just want it to feel right again,” I whisper. “Even if it’s different. Even if we’re different.”

Lucy gives me that soft, knowing smile she saves for when I’m spiraling.

“Then go find out. And text me if you need me to fake an emergency and come rescue you. Or if you need me to bring ice cream and wine later. Whichever one.”

I laugh, the sound a little less shaky this time. “I love you, you know that?”

“Duh.” Lucy grins, pulling me into one last quick hug. “Now go get your man. Or at least get some closure. Either way, you’ll look hot doing it. I’ll lock up.”

I squeeze her back, then grab my jacket and keys before I can talk myself out of leaving. Sofia gives me one last judgmental meow from the couch, like she knows I’m walking into emotional chaos.

The walk to the Thai place feels both too short and endless. The cool evening air brushes against the strip of skin above my jeans, and every step makes my stomach flip harder. I keep replaying our phone call in my head—Hunter’s rough, careful voice, the way he sounded like he was holding his breath.

When I turn the corner, I see him waiting outside the restaurant.

He’s standing under the warm glow of the string lights, hands in his jacket pockets, looking up at the sign like he’s trying to steady himself. The moment he spots me, his whole posture shifts—shoulders straightening, eyes softening in that way that always makes my knees feel weak.

He looks… amazing. Better than amazing, really. The dark button-down hugs his shoulders just right, sleeves rolled up to show the scars on his forearms, and those jeans sit perfectly on his hips. He looks climbable and lickable in equal measures, and I have to physically stop myself from speeding up and jumping into his arms.

Not a date. Not a date. Not a date, I chant internally. Do not maul him on the sidewalk.

My heart does a painful, hopeful little flip as I come to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” I say, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel.

“Hey.” He smiles—maybe a little nervous if I’m reading it right—and his eyes trail down my body before coming up to meet my eyes. “You look…really good.”

Heat rushes to my face. I fight the urge to tug at the hem of my cropped top or smooth my hands down my thighs. Instead, I just smile back.

“So do you.”

We stand there for a second, the air between us thick with everything unsaid. I can smell his soap and that faint hint of leather from his jacket, and it makes my stomach do another traitorous flip. Part of me wants to step forward and press my face into his chest just to feel him solid and real again. The smarter part of me stays rooted in place.

Hunter clears his throat, gesturing toward the door. “Should we…?”

“Yeah,” I say, relieved for the movement. “Let’s go in.”

He holds the door open for me, and as I pass him, his hand brushes lightly against my lower back, sending warmth rushing up my spine. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from leaning into it.

We’re led to a quiet booth in the back. The moment we sit down, Hunter’s eyes flick over me again—slower this time, lingering on the strip of skin where my cropped top rides up.

“You’re really trying to kill me tonight, aren’t you?” he says. The corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile I’ve missed way too much. “That shirt should be illegal.”

Heat rushes up my neck, but I lean into it instead of hiding. Being cheeky feels safer than letting the nerves win.

I tilt my head, giving him a slow, teasing smile. “You complaining, big guy? Or just stating the obvious?”