Page 45 of Hunter

“Come on,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door. “Maybe if you’re good, you’ll get some attention later.” He released me, then stepped backward and raised his hand to his forehead, saluting. His face was bright with a goofy smile. In the moment, he looked almost ordinary.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Good-boy mode is activated.”

That made me laugh. The thought that Hunter could consider himself a good boy at all was funny.

Now, we are standing in the center of London’s most affluent shopping street as people dart around us looking for the perfect gifts for their loved ones. We wander from shop to shop with no real agenda. The list of gifts I require for friends and family is stuffed in my pocket, unused. It doesn’t seem important now we are here. I only want to spend time with him. Hunter follows my lead, his eyes never leaving me as I look at the options.

We find a delightful little gift shop snuggled away in the furthest corner of the street. I spend ten minutes admiring the candles and trinkets sparkling under the stark light, rows and rows of objects with no particular purpose lined up temptingly. I’m in my element, surrounded by glitter, holding the hand of the man I love.

“What do you want?” Hunter asks, picking up a small box covered in mosaic mirrored tiles. It’s the sort of thing you buy and never use; it sits on a shelf for years waiting to be dusted and find a purpose. It never does.

“Nothing. I like looking at all this stuff, but most will collect dust.”

Hunter wanders off in search of goodness knows what. It crosses my mind that his experience of shopping like a normal person is probably limited or non-existent. Nothing about Hunter’s life is typical. He lives somewhere between his public persona and the shadows. His needs are met by the vast number of staff that surround him. For him, this is all new.

He arrives back at my side, clutching a small paper bag in his hand, the shop’s logo detailed on the front. He hands it to me dramatically as if it were treasure from a quest. I take it from him, curious to see what in this little store could have piqued the interest of a man like him enough to buy it.

The bag crinkles happily when I open it. Inside, I find a small figurine of two teddy bears locked in a hug. I lift it to eye level and twirl it around in my hand in the light. I look from Hunter to the object and back again. He looks a little embarrassed, almost uncertain of my reaction to his gift. It’s the type of present a teenager would give his girlfriend. My heart swells with the sweetness.

“I hope you have room on one shelf for this dust collector,” he says, with a nervous chuckle. “It was too cute not to get, it reminded me of us.”

“Did you seriously just use the word cute?”

“I believe I did,” he admits, stepping forward and gathering me into his arms. I place the little ornament back in the bag, then sink into his chest, breathing deeply. He is everything I always hoped he would be. In his arms. I feel safer than I ever have, and his familiar scent soothes any worries from the inside out. “You make me a much happier man, Bella.” His lips drop onto my forehead, and we both stand there for a few moments enjoying the embrace.

“Let’s forget about Christmas shopping,” I say, wanting to only spend time with him, everything else becoming irrelevant.

“What would my wife like to do instead?” His tone is hopeful, as if I will suggest going home and going to bed. Hunter and I have missed so much in our relationship, even before our wedding, when our time together was limited. We’ve never been able to date and be us. So, I decide to test him a little, see if he’s as keen to experience all of what our relationship has to offer outside the sheets too.

“Ice skating. Did you see the rink on the way in?” I blink up at him, hopeful he will take me up on my suggestion, but unsure. Heisstill the strict leader of the London underground, no matter how many cute teddy bear ornaments he buys. My husband is dangerous to those not on his side.

“Your wish is my command,” he says smoothly with a smile. He looks completely unruffled by the idea. “Lead the way.”

“Do you know how to skate?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll hold my hand while I get my balance.”

The changing rooms are packed with a gaggle of families trying to wedge children in corners so they don’t run onto the ice unattended. Mothers squeeze into the cheap plastic boots with razors attached as three-year-olds climb over them sporting the same. How someone has not lost a limb here, I don’t know. Hunter and I collect our skates from the bored looking college student behind the counter. Barely twenty, he stands with his arms crossed, chewing on a piece of gum. The blue sweatshirt he wears is stained with goodness knows what as he looks through us.

“Good sir,” Hunter says once he has lifted his skates from the worn red worktop, which looks to have been slashed countless times with the blades. “A gentleman should always look alert. If you were one of my employees, you wouldn’t be around long.”

His choice of words doesn’t go unnoticed. The open-ended statement that the boy wouldn’t be around could mean a few things in Hunter’s world, one I know too well from childhood. Those who don’t pull their weight, lose, every fucking time. Ronan hovers behind us, listening in. The normally chill man is always on edge in my husband’s presence. Since our reconciliation, my friend has become more distant and fallen into his role as staff.

“Lucky I’m not your employee then, mate,” the boy retorts, cocky. He lengthens his scrawny frame beneath the oversized clothes. Hunter holds out his hand for his change, and the fucking idiot drops it onto the counter.

“What’s your name?” Hunter asks, his voice eerily low.

“None of your business.”

Hunter turns to Ronan giving him a look that can only mean one thing. This fuckwit needs to be taught a lesson. Ronan immediately starts tapping on his phone.

“You see, young man,” Hunter begins, stepping forward and sitting his skates back down on the counter. “The only reason you’re still standing right now is because I am here with my good wife. But your open disrespect tells me that you have little respect for anyone.” Hunter’s phone beeps, he pulls it from his pocket, looks at a message then back to the boy. “So, Gareth Walker, I suggest you improve your attitude because I will be watching.”

I’m not sure whose jaw has dropped lower, mine or Gareth’s, with Hunter’s knowledge of his name. Our attendant, who has now lost the cocky and overconfident attitude, looks suitably freaked out by the encounter. Hunter smiles, nods, picks up his skates, then takes my hand and leads me over to a bench to get ready.

“How the fuck did you know his name?” I whisper once we’re out of earshot. “Or more like, how did you get it so quick?”

“I have my sources,” he replies before I can push him for more information. “And don’t swear, Bella. It’s not pretty on those lips.” He stops tying his laces, then leans in and places a gentle kiss on my cheek. My heart beats a little harder, and I feel myself blush. I look at him, all sharp suit and slick hair—he is a complete contrast to all the other men here ready for a day out with their families. But he is here, and that’s all that matters.

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