Page 137 of Bloom

Wait.

“What did you just say?”

Hunter’s expression is soft. So very soft. “I love you, Caroline.”

“You love me,” I repeat numbly, barely able to form the words that feel so foreign coming from my mouth. “You love me?”

“I love you,” he says for the third time yet it still doesn’t quite sink in. It’s still not quite comprehensible.

I should say it back. I think I would, eventually.

If only I didn’t look just beyond him and see his wife.

She’s wearing sweats. Clean, stylish sweats, but sweats all the same. And her hair is in a bun you could maybe consider calling messy, there’s not a lick of makeup on her face, what looks like the complimentary slippers from the only hotel—more of an inn, really—in Haven Ridge are on her feet, and she’s carrying a paper takeout bag with grease stains on the bottom.

Yet still, she’s remarkably intimidating. Especially when she cocks her head, fixes those crystalline eyes on the hand still cupping my cheek, and croons, “Well, isn’t this cozy.”

I instinctively step out of Hunter’s grip, but I don’t get very far. He has a tight grip on the waistband of my shorts, a tighter one on my hand, and his thumb strokes the curve of mine soothingly. His calm facade doesn’t go anywhere, and that’s a good thing, a counterbalance to me, becausefrazzleddoesn’t quite begin to describe how I feel.

“That was quite the show,” Cheryl purrs, and at first, I think she means the…declarationshe just overheard. But then I realize the smirk on her face isn’t just a smirk—it’s something really close to pure evil. And then I take a second look at that takeout, I recognize the logo, and the blood drains from my face.

She… she wasn’t there, was she? She couldn’t have been. I would’ve noticed.Hunterwould’ve noticed.

I take one look at his expression—enraged but unsurprised—and my stomach drops to my feet.

Oh,God. She wasthere. In Bishop’s. Watching, relishing,thriving, probably. Like it all wasn’t horrifying,humiliating, enough.

Crooking a sardonic brow, she says to Hunter, “And here I thought you were the one carryin’ all the baggage in this little relationship.”

Flushing, I stumble back a step, ducking to hide behind Hunter like a freaking child before I realize what I’m doing. WhatamI doing? What isshedoing? She just saw what she saw, she sees me standing here with a freaking busted face, and she’s… cracking jokes? “That’s not funny.”

Her smile falters, but she makes a quick recovery. “Sosensitive. Very childish quality.”

“Could say the same thing about infidelity.”

I don’t mean to say it, but I’m glad I do. I’mgladwhen her face drops, when her cheeks flush with uncharacteristic embarrassment. I’m glad when Hunter makes a surprised, amused noise and she looks dejected at the sound, when she sees our hands and that horrible mask of hers slips. I don’t care if that makes me a terrible person.

I don’tcare.

And, in the blink of an eye, Cheryl continues pretending like she doesn’t either.

“This is great timin’, actually. I was gonna drop by tomorrow, but I guess you’ve saved me the trip.” She pauses—for dramatic effect, I guess. “I’m leavin’.”

I feel Hunter’s hand go slack, only my tight grip holding us together. I look up at him, trying to read his mind, but he gives me nothing. Completely blank, he repeats, “You’re leavin’.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Cheryl cocks her head. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

Hunter’s jaw ticks. “I’m just surprised.”

“And I’m bored. This town is…” She makes a face, top lip sneered, nose crinkled. “It’s not worth stickin’ around.”

I think we’re both perfectly capable of reading between those lines—Hunter isn’t worth sticking around for.

“So,” she continues, all chirpy and lilting and just plainweird. “I’m goin’ home. You can have your silly divorce.”

Hunter blinks. “Just like that?”

“I’m givin’ you what you want, Hunt. You should be happy.

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