Page 31 of Bloom

That's practically a requirement around here. He probably would've broken up with me a lot sooner if I'd never made the effort to learn.

Hunter's head whips towards me. “You and Oscar?”

He didn’t know? I assumed he did. The only thing a small town loves more than churning out fresh gossip is rehashing five-year-old gossip; I find it hard to believe he made it through a singleweekhere without someone bringing it up. “Yup.”

He looks surprised.Reallysurprised. A crease appears between his brows, a thoughtful purse to his mouth. “Huh.”

I scan his expression warily, something about it making my chest hurt. “What?”

“Can't picture it.”

“Why not?”

Hunter shrugs, and a nauseating sense of self-consciousness writhes beneath my skin. Dropping my gaze, I stare at the white star marking between Gaia’s eyes. “I don't seem like his type?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hunter’s head jerk—a nod?—and the nausea expands.

I get it, I guess. I’m the complete opposite of Luna. I’m not outrageously beautiful like her, not funny like her, not confident or strong or larger-than-life like her. I’m… plain. Plain dark blonde hair. Plain brown eyes. Plain personality.

My hands shake as I check and recheck Aster's saddle. I couldn’t keep a smile on my face if I tried, so I dip my head, using my hair as a shield. I don’t look at Hunter, despite the fact I can feel him looking at me, as I slip one foot into the stirrup, testing my weight before hauling myself up.

I quickly learn that muscle memory only goes so far. Mid-air, it fails me, and I wobble and flail as I try to regain my balance. Just when I think I might fall, two hands steady me. One on my thigh, the other on my waist, both of them burning hot and gripping firmly. Both guide me into the saddle, neither letting go until I’m safely seated, and I don’t fully process that they were there until they’re gone.

The second they are, my brain catches up with reality, and I'm left flustered and red. Muttering a thank you, I grip the reins tight enough to turn my knuckles white and dig my heels into Aster’s side, urging her out of the barn.

Hunter follows alongside us. “Caroline?”

I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I might cry if I look at him, and I’m already embarrassed enough.

I pretend I don’t hear him, too focused on arranging Aster’s reins, checking my feet are in the stirrups right, shifting until I’m comfortable.

And, when I ease into a trot, then a canter, if I really do hear him call my name again, if it’s not just a trick of my mind and the wind, I pretend I don’t hear that either.

10

He drags a frustrated hand down his face as she disappears into the distance.

“Fuck.”

Nervous energy poursoff Lux as she rants a mile a minute, twisting and turning so she can evaluate every inch of her outfit in her bedroom mirror.

I lounge on her bed, attention torn between her, the baby splayed across my chest—milk-drunk as hell, his little hands fist my shirt, sleepy noises escaping pursed lips—and the two figures lurking outside in the distance.

I planned on avoiding Hunter after what happened in the barn earlier, embarrassment and insecurity still churning my gut even now. But oh-so-luckily for me, Chiara is obsessed with The Cowboy, as she’s so aptly christened him. She’s taken it upon herself to be his little shadow, and while I tried to subtly intervene at first, eventually, I just left them to it.

From Lux’s bedroom window, I watch with bated breath as Hunter leads Gaia out of the barn and towards Chiara.Apparently, his grumpiness doesn’t extend to children; there’s nothing grumpy about him as he crouches down to say something to her, as hesmilesand scoops her up with one arm, as he carefully shows her where Gaia likes to be stroked.

A whine snaps my attention back to Lux. “Are you even listening to me?”

I offer her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

The shirt she’s clutching becomes a weapon as she whips it at my legs. “Do I look okay?”

I don’t need to look at my friend to know the answer—and not just because I’ve already answered that question at least a dozen times over the past half hour. Lux has an uncanny ability to always look good, but I survey her thoughtfully just to humor her.

“You look great,” I assure her. “How do you feel?”

Lux grimaces as she re-tucks her shirt into the waistband of her loose trousers for the hundredth time. “Like I’m a terrible mother.”

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