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Standing in the doorway of the building, left open because of a lack of air conditioning currently, was Hunter Erickson.
All six foot forever, built like a Viking on steroids, tattooed, sickeningly rich, devastatingly handsome Hunter Erickson.
What the hell?
“Umm,” Mom said from where she stood behind the bar, “can I help you?”
He didn’t seem to hear her, his eyes rolling over the outside of the building like he was checking the address to see if he had the right place. I didn’t blame him. He must have been there by mistake. There was no way in hell he would wander this far down on purpose and to a bar that was half burned out. This was a guy who could buy his own bar every day of his life and still die with hundreds of millions of dollars in the bank. What the hell was he doing here?
The sunlight from outside was bright and I realized he probably couldn’t see inside either. How terrifying that must be for someone who didn’t belong here. A husk of a building, what was at one time a paper warehouse, turned into a bar with almost nothing outside to indicate it except for an ancient sign that looked like my dad made it with wood he found lying in the harbor. Which he might have. And inside this building was darkness. The vague sensation of movement inside it and voices.
We probably looked to him like the last place a person goes before they die in a zombie movie.
He was impeccably dressed. A light grey suit that stretched over his muscular shoulders like it was molded around him was buttoned at the waist over a white and blue pinstripe shirt with a blue tie. His obsidian eyes were hidden behind the Aviator sunglasses he wore, which somehow looked amazing on him when most people looked like dorks. His watch, probably worth more than every car I’d ever owned put together, shined in the sunlight and nearly blinded me.
He needed to get inside with that thing before he got mugged.
I opened my mouth to call for him, and nothing came out. I realized my voice was on strike. Most of my brain was too. I was rooted to where I was, now half standing beside my sister who was absently stroking the table next to mine with a rag. Mom had made her way out from behind the bar and was moving toward him like a moth to a flame. I didn’t know if she would actually reach him or if she would eventually stop, too, but she seemed as in shock and awe as Lena and I were.
She was babbling, too. Something under her breath. Probably the usual stuff she said to customers that tried to come in since the fire.We’re not open yet,hope to see you in a few weeks,yeah, it’s a tragedy,we set up a crowdsourcing site if you’d like the web address…
Nothing was actually decipherable though. Just weak sounds and the visual of her lips moving. I wanted to get in front of her to stop her from making a fool of herself, but my feet had joined the strike long ago, and I couldn’t move them. They felt like lead.
Then, he stepped inside, just a foot or so in, and pulled the sunglasses back onto the top of his finely crafted hair. I could see a few beads of sweat on his forehead. And teeth. Teeth because he was smiling.
It was such a foreign sight to see him smile that I felt my stomach tighten. A whimper escaped my lips, and for a moment, I wondered if it had been me or Lena that made the sound. It was probably both of us.
“Hunter?”
The words came out of my mouth weakly, and by total surprise. I had no idea they were coming.
Hunter, however, seemed to expect some sort of familiar greeting, because his eyes crossed over to mine, locked on, and the smile changed.
To a grin.
My knees went weak.
ChapterSix
Hunter
“Julia?”
She looked as surprised as I felt. What was shedoingin here? It was listed as one of the previous places she worked, so I figured I’d drop by and talk to the owner, but I thought for sure I had the wrong place. This was adump.
“What… what are you doing here?” she asked, crossing the room toward me that was now coming into focus as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
It was a bar. A really rundown, half-burned bar. There were three people there, and suddenly it hit me. They all resembled each other. The older one to my left must be her mother, and the other one, who looked roughly Julia’s age, must be a sister or something. They actually looked quite a lot alike.
“I came to talk to the owner of this pub,” I said. “Checking on your references.”
“My references?” she asked. “Do you usually come to check references in person? That seems wildly inefficient.”
“Jules?” the older woman asked, her voice not quite full. It was like she had seen a ghost or something. “Mind introducing us?”
“I do, actually,” Julia said, slapping on a fake smile and turning toward the person.
“Hunter Erickson,” I said, holding out my hand to the woman, much to Julia’s chagrin.
