Page 26 of Bloom

Hunter hums again, a noise that’s become synonymous with the man. Hums and grunts and now the quiet, drawling voice that I itch for more of. It's like... honey. Smooth and sweet and thick. Likeburnthoney, because there's a smoky, rich edge to it that's heady and addictive and makes me feel a little dizzy, kind of what I imagine being drunk feels like.

Resting my chin on top of my bent knees, I’m cautious with my follow-up question, speaking quiet and slow and passive, scared that if I show too much interest, I’ll scare him off. “Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes.” My head falls to the side just in time to catch the tiniest hint of a smile gracing his face. “I miss my family.”

“You're close with them?”

“With my mom and my sister, yeah.”

Not his dad, though. Interesting. “How old’s your sister?”

That smile grows and does weird things to my stomach. “Just turned eighteen.”

I hesitate momentarily before daring to ask, “How old are you?”

He surprises me by answering. “Thirty.”

Huh. I knew he was older than me. By that much, though, I wouldn’t have guessed.

“You have siblings?”

Oh, how I hate how much his effort to keep up the conversation makes my chest flutter, even though I don’t much like the subject. “Nope. I always wanted a sister.”

“Your parents live in town?”

Just like that, my blood runs cold. Dropping my gaze, I watch my fingers as they roughly pull at the grass by my feet. “My dad does. You hungry?”

If Hunter finds the sudden subject change suspicious, he doesn’t mention it. He just lets it happen, muttering something affirmative as I rummage in my bag and desperately try to subdue that awful, lonely feeling that tends to rear its ugly head when the topic of family rolls around.

Like usual, I might have gone a little overboard. Nuts, pretzels, a little Tupperware of fruit, a pack of the sour watermelon candies that I’ve been hooked on since I was, like, ten. Lux teases me about my excessive snacking habits—you’re like a cow, she often croons,always grazing—but I don’t hear her complaining whenever she’s stealing pistachios from my purse.

Cracking open a shelled packet of them, I hold it out towards Hunter. My breath catches when instead of just taking the bag, he gently grasps my wrist and tilts it so a few nuts fall onto his awaiting palm.

I swear his hand lingers a little longer than necessary. Squeezes slightly. Thumbs my pulse point with a gentle stroke before releasing.

Yeah, I'm definitely losing it.

If you'd told me a couple of months ago—hell, if you told me a couple ofdaysago—that I'd be sharing a pleasant afternoon of hiking, snacking and achingly peaceful silence with Hunter, I never would've believed you.

The conversation is sparse, limited to the weather or the view or an offering of more food, but I don’t mind. I just like the company.Hiscompany. I like how appreciative he seems of the surroundings, how he takes in every detail intently. His content expression is as unnerving as it is endearing. No scowl, no frown, no glare. He’s irritatingly handsome wearing any one of those, but without…Sheesh. The second he’s distracted by something in the distance, I quickly take a picture of him, uncaring that I look like a little freaking creep because at least later, when I start to doubt whether this really happened, I’ll have proof.

We linger for a long time. With the sun high in the sky, the grass is a cold relief against my back, my eyes shut as I soak up the rays peeking through the trees surrounding us. Every so often, the man laying beside me shifts and his fingers brush the tips of mine, the simple touch so oddly thrilling and disconcerting andwarm.

As I doze, I wonder how long this seemingly rare pleasant mood will last. How long until I say the wrong thing or push too far and he switches again. I don't want that to happen. I don't want to give up the small smile or the pretty eyes or the lilting way he says my name.

One day and I'm already attached.

Half-asleep, I don’t notice the sudden absence of light until a palm cups my knee. Jolting awake, I scramble to prop myself up on my elbows and frown warily at an upright Hunter, at his solemn expression.

“I’m sorry I was rude to you,” he says quietly before I can ask what’s wrong, and I think I shortcircuit for a second—sorry? Did I hear that right? “I'm not good with people.”

You don't say. “It's okay.”

He shakes his head, the hand not still on my knee rising to rake through his hair. “It’s not. I was an ass. It wasn't my intention to upset you.”

“You didn't.”That much. “It’s fine. I came on a little strong, I know I do that a lot. I was only trying to be nice, but I know I have a tendency to mix up ‘nice’ and ‘annoying.’”

The ever present frown that’s been suspiciously absent all day suddenly makes an appearance. “Who told you that?”

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