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Buster sidles up to the table, eyes huge, tail wagging furiously. Hunter reaches down without thinking and scratches behind his ear. Buster melts into a puddle of pure joy, moaning like he’s found nirvana.

I can’t help but smile. “I really appreciate all your help with him,” I say, totally meaning it.

Hunter shrugs, but there’s this flicker in his eyes like maybe he actually likes hearing it. “No trouble.”

My pulse does a weird little hop-skip. I take a bite of bacon just to keep my mouth busy, but it doesn’t help. Hunter’s gaze is still locked on me, so intense it’s basically a full-body caress.

Buster thumps his tail, grins up at Hunter like he’s the sun, and then wiggles against my side, sniffing for dropped crumbs. I swear the dog’s already imprinted on him.

Honestly? Same.

I want to ask, point-blank, why he’s being so nice. I want to ask if this is a one-off, if he’s planning on going back to being the unmovable boulder next door, or if there’s more to this. But the words keep stalling in my throat.

Buster, undeterred by social cues, creeps up and starts licking at my ankle, which gives me the excuse I need to lean down and fuss with his collar. It’s a new one, bright teal with tiny slices of pizza printed all over it. He looks up at me, tongue out, and for the millionth time, I feel my heart melt a little bit.

We sit there in the quiet, just drinking our coffee and watching each other. I keep trying to read his face, but it’s impossible. His resting expression is pure intimidation, but the little flashes of something warmer are getting more frequent, like the power grid is slowly coming back online after a blackout.

After a long moment, Hunter sets his coffee down and leans forward, elbows on the table. Our knees brush, and this time I don’t move away.

“Iris,” he says, and it’s the first time I’ve heard my name in that voice. “I’m a fucking moron.”

A full three seconds pass before his words even register. Then my pulse goes from squirrel to jet engine. I blink several times, trying to catch up with this change in conversation. “Huh…?”

“The first moment we met, I felt something…” he pauses and runs his fingers over his bottom lip, “something I’ve never felt before.” My breath stalls in my throat as I wait for him to continue. “And instead of exploring this pull between us, I decided to ignore it.”

The confession hangs there, bright and dangerous. I blink, trying to process, but all I can feel is the wild, rising heat in my chest.

I can’t breathe. Not really. My lungs have gone on strike, my whole body just clenching around the way he’s looking at me—like he’s starving and I’m his first meal in years.

Hunter leans in, elbows braced on the table, his knee pressing into mine. His eyes are dark, electric. I’m so gone, I swear my nipples could cut glass through this thin sleep shirt.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. Just keeps that crazy-intense focus locked on me like I’m some kind of puzzle he can’t wait to take apart.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice is so low, it vibrates through my bones. “Doesn’t matter what I do. You’re in my head, all the time.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Wait a minute. What if he decides next week that he’s over this infatuation with me? What if he ghosts me, just like before? What if this is just a phase for him, and I’m left here, still thinking about his hands and his gravelly voice and the way he made my kitchen feel like a home for the first time since I moved in?

My thoughts are spiraling out of control. But then Hunter moves, just a little, like he can read every disastrous thought running through my head at warp speed.

He stands up and pulls me to my feet. His eyes lock on mine, gold-flecked molten chocolate, and my thoughts scatter.

“Iris,” he says again, rough and low.

God, the way he says my name causes my lady bits to tingle.

I swallow, throat bone-dry. “Y-yeah?”

His jaw flexes. The muscle in his cheek jumps like he’s fighting off a smile.

“I don’t do games,” he growls, and the words scrape over my skin like sandpaper. “I don’t do pretending, or casual, or any of that bullshit.” His jaw clenches again, cords standing out in his neck, and holy hell, I am so, so in trouble.

He pulls me tight against his warm, muscular body, and my brain promptly shuts down all nonessential functions. My nipples go hard as diamonds under my shirt as his eyes drag over me, hot, slow, and so fucking deliberate I actually shiver.

“And now that you’ve decided this, I don’t have any say in the matter?” My voice comes out way too breathy, but I can’t help it. My whole body is short-circuiting under his stare.

He lets out a grunt of laughter, dark and low. “No,” he says, rough and final. “I’m saying I want you, and I’m hoping you’ll give me the opportunity to show you how much.” His hand slides slowly down my back, and I swear my skin goes up in flames. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His words sizzle across every nerve ending. “All I think about is touching you. I want you in my bed. In my life. Please tell me you’ll let me prove it to you.” My heart drops straight to my toes. I actually forget how to swallow for a good two seconds.

He’s so close, the air between us sizzles. My whole body goes tight, every muscle clenching. I can smell him, soap and coffee and something dark and dangerous that goes straight to my lady bits.