Page 55 of Bloom

If it wasn't for the hand cemented to the small of my back, I could've convinced myself he wasn't even actually there.

Almost.

I think maybe the hustle and bustle threw him off. Like I’ve said before, it can be overwhelming, and Hunter is undoubtedly a man of solitude. And now that we’re alone, he seems fine, thefurrowed expression he’s been sporting all morning smoothed out.

A softer one replaces it, softening even more when he tugs on the end of my braid and quietly promises, “I wasn’t bored.”

The worry tightening my gut eases a little. “Okay.”

“I am fuckin’ starvin’ though.”

With a laugh, my concern evaporates.

“You wanna get lunch?”

I nod, diverting my attention between the road and the GPS as I type a quick search for the nearest drive-thru, only for my hand to be batted away. “What about Bishop’s? I could really go for their wings right now.”

I swallow the groan that begs to rip from my throat, scrambling for an excuse. “Uh, actually, I should get back to the shop. Flowers are gonna wilt.”

“We can drop them off first.”

When I hesitate, he huffs. Nervous I’ve irritated him, I glance over to find him squinting at me, smirking playfully. “You embarrassed to be seen with me, honey?”

A weak, awkward laugh escapes me. “Other way around, maybe.”

In the blink of an eye, Hunter changes. His face drops, every inch of that enormous body tensing and confirming my suspicion that what was meant as a joke didn’t come out all that jokey. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” I laugh again, and it’s just as strained as the first one. “Bishop’s sounds great. Let’s do it.”

I only agree so he’ll stop looking at me the way he’s currently looking at me, all furrowed features and piercing eyes, but it doesn’t work. The entire drive, he assesses me inquisitively, and the entire drive, the knot in my stomach grows until it’s approximately the size of Hunter.

A wave of nausea crashes over me as we pull into Bishop’s parking lot, and it only gets worse when we walk inside. While only a handful of people linger, it’s still a handful of gazes that swing to me. I drop my own, pathetic thing that I am, and all but hide behind Hunter.

By some miracle—or maybe he senses my discomfort—Hunter leads us to a booth tucked in the back corner, as far away from prying eyes as we can get. However, I still can’t relax. I still shift in my seat, still drum my fingers against my thighs nervously, still remain so outrageously intimidated by a freakingrestaurantthat I can barely function as a human.

But here’s a man with a staring problem and an uncanny ability to see right through me sitting across from me, so I attempt normalcy. I read the menu like I don’t know the damn thing by heart, and it distracts me a little to mull over the options again and again despite knowing I’ll get what I always get. As I pour all my focus into memorizing the ingredients of the house burger, I don’t notice footsteps approaching until a voice calls my name.

“Hey, Line.”

Universe, I sigh at the ceiling, wondering if this place is my very own purgatory.Really?

Hoping my face isn’t as reminiscent as a deer caught in headlights as it feels, I peer up at Tommy. He dithers at the end of our table, pen and notepad poised mid-air, head cocked, and expression confused. Curious. Dare I saydisappointed.

Great. Terrific.Fantastic.

“Hi.” Would it be odd to suddenly excuse myself and sprint to the bathroom? Probably. Might be worth it, though.

“Hey.” Unlike mine, there’s no nervous pitch to Hunter’s greeting. He’s all smooth, husky, deep—maybe even an octave deeper than usual. The single word is all he offers Tommy before his focus returns to me. “Ready, honey?”

Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I nod jerkily and rattle off my order. Hunter does the same in a curt, dismissive tone, and the sound of Tommy scribbling is deafening in the following silence.

“Drinks?” he pointedly addresses me, and me only. “You were always a lemonade girl, right? We make this spicy one I think you’ll like.”

As insignificant a thing my spice tolerance is to remember about me, I still find my cheeks warming. “Sure. Thank you.”

“Two, please.”

Please, Hunter says, yet his tone implies something far ruder.

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