Page 19 of Bloom

Footsteps bring my search to an abrupt halt. A cool rush of air brushes the side of my face as the refrigerator opens again, the big hand that reaches inside coming out with a beer. That hulking presence is only an inch away, and it stays that close as Hunter leans against an appliance as big as him, back against the stainless steel.

“I saw you.”

For a moment, I wonder if I’m hallucinating. I glance at the can in my hand, checking the label to make sure I haven’t accidentally been drinking alcohol all night. I briefly consider pressing a hand to my forehead and checking for a fever. Then, I turn to the man beside me and oh-so-eloquently stutter, “What?”

“Hiking,” Hunter clarifies, voice rough like the word scratches his throat on its way out. He names a trail, and I barelyrecognize it as the one I took last weekend, stunned into a stupor by voluntary conversation.

Lips so numb they can barely form words, I slowly say, “I didn’t see you.”

“You were with someone.” He pauses, fingers flexing around the base of his beer bottle. “A guy.”

“Right.” God, it’s a good thing we didn’t see him. A hot man would’ve put a hasty end to Aldo’s whining, but then I’d have to hear him waxing poetic aboutthe handsome ranch manfor, oh, say, the rest of my life. “I didn’t know you hiked.”

His typical shrug is almost comforting. As he takes a drink, I assume that’s it. He’s hit his conversational quota. Maybe he saw me wandering around like a sad, lost puppy and decided to throw me a bone, and I should just take it and shut up.

But Hunter hikes. Hehikes. And I don’t want to go back outside as much as I don’t want to waste this rare, miraculous, chatty opportunity. So, with my eyes on the ground and my shoulders hunched as I fully anticipate a harsh brush-off, I quietly tell him, “I was gonna head to Heather Lake this weekend.”

Hunter doesn’t pause or sigh or grunt; he says, “That’s a good one.”

My shoulders lower an inch. “You’ve done it?”

Hunter hums, a deep, melodic noise. “It gets busy so you gotta go early.”

I know that already yet I nod thoughtfully. “Good to know.”

“Make sure you do the Watchtower Trail. It’s pretty hard, but the views are worth it. The last few miles are a bit of a scramble, though, so if you don't like heights…”

“I don't mind them.”

Hunter nods, and I swear he stands a little straighter. As he quietly rattles off some more advice, I stare up at him in disbelief. Wondering if someone slipped something into hisdrink; surely, drugs are the only explanation as to why he’s making small talk. Being nice. Remaining in the kitchen with me instead of being literally anywhere else.

“You goin’ alone?”

“Uh-huh.”

A crease appears between dark brows. I internally weep at the divot in his skin, convinced that the next words out of his mouth will ruin the gentle lull between us, but I never find out if I’m right; someone else ruins it first.

“Hey.” My head whips towards the archway leading into the hall, and I wince at the faux-redhead standing there with her arms crossed, expression pissed, voice a low hiss. “Shut up or get out,” Lottie commands—me, not for the first time. “You’re gonna wake Alex.”

If I’d remembered that Lottie was on nephew-duty while her sister had fun—an offer that surprised us all—I never would’ve come inside. As it is, I almost break my neck scrambling out the door, so eager to escape the angry teen’s wrath, I forget who else I was trying to escape. When the douchebag actions of Matty Jenkins and his friends come flooding back to me, I come up short.

“Sorry.” I squeak when a hard chest collides with my back. Scuttling to the side, I lean against the porch railing, grasping it tightly as I search the yard.

A bare arm brushes mine, just for a fraction of a second, but it leaves a burn. “Lux told those guys to leave.”

I grimace. “She saw that?”

Another pause.

A slow, confusing shake of his head.

And then, Hunter’s gone.

“Where the hell have you been, young lady?”

I smile sheepishly as I sit beside Lux on one of the log-style bench seats arranged around a roaring fire. There’s no point lying—Lux knows damn well I’ve spent most of my night hiding in the shadows. I’m predictable like that. “Sorry.”

Tutting a playful reprimand, she rests her head on my shoulder. On my other side, a swaying Nova links our arms and plants a smacking, sticky kiss on my cheek, drunkenly rambling words my sober self can’t decipher. Grace sits beside her, suspiciously close, and I make a mental note to grill Nova about that tomorrow. Eliza drinks what looks like nothing more than sparkling water from a bottle, but when we lock eyes, she lifts it in a cheers and winks, making me glad that Jackson is nowhere to be seen, even more so than I was when I tentatively approached the large group missing him and his girlfriend. Their friends are all here, though, all drunk, everyone is drunk.

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