Page 8 of Bloom

“I don't want to intrude.”

“You're not.”

Rolling my bottom lip into my mouth, I glance at the open front door, towards the barn beyond it, and think about the two people lurking within it.

“They won’t care.”

Luna, maybe not. But Jackson… “You know he doesn’t love me being around.”

“He’ll get over it.” The arm around me squeezes a little tighter. “C’mon. Please? I want you to.”

Lux doesn’t know that those four words are my weak spot, that they speak to a little girl—and an adult woman too, if I’m being honest—who only ever wanted to be wanted. Four words and I fold like a cheap lawn chair. Four words that are my favorite to hear, yet I still feel the need to jokingly twist their meaning into something else. “You just want me to cook, don’t you?”

A tired laugh leaves my friend. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t already.”

I look at Alex and smile.

In the end, Luna and Jackson don’t join us for dinner.

Too much to do, apparently, since Jackson has been at the hospital with Lux for the last few days. No one mentions that he’s been away at college for the past four years and the ranch has managed just fine, or that there are three ranch hands—and three other siblings who must be around here somewhere—to pick up the imaginary slack, but it’s better that way. It’s easier to pretend they wouldn’t rather muck out dirty stalls than sit through a dinner with me.

Lux tries her best to stick it out. I hold Alex while she scoffs down a portion of lasagna, and then she feeds her son whileshe picks at a second helping and I eat too. But as good as my cooking is, it’s not quite tasty enough to distract from her droopy eyelids.

Before she ends up face-planting her half-eaten pasta, I slide her plate away. “Go to bed.”

“What?” Jerking upright, Lux shakes her head defiantly. “Nah. Not tired.”

I’d believe her, maybe, if her eyes weren’t closed.

“Well, I am.” Faking a yawn, I stretch my arms above my head in the most cliche depiction of exhaustion, but Lux is too far gone to clock my terrible acting. I stand and bring our dishes to the sink, yawning again even though my back is to Lux. “I’m gonna head home.”

Like I suspected, my friend was being polite and didn’t want to kick me out. A mere minute passes before I hear the creak of wood, and the umpteenth weary sigh in the past half hour fills the kitchen. “Guess I will go to bed then.” Footsteps shuffle toward me. A hand curls around my shoulder and squeezes. “Thanks, Caroline.”

Waving off the unnecessary gratitude, I bid both her and the baby goodnight, waiting until I hear her bedroom door shut before turning the faucet on. I wash both our plates and stack them in the drying rack beside the sink. I cover the dish of lasagna with plastic wrap, but leave it on the counter in case someone else wants some. Then, I start putting away all the stuff I brought over as quietly as I can so Lux doesn’t hear and reemerge to investigate.

I’m on my tiptoes shoving boxes of tea in the upper cabinets when warm air brushes my bare legs. Expecting to find one Jackson or another sauntering through the front door, I fix a friendly smile on my face, but it falters when instead, Hunter lurks in the doorway.

So handsome, an annoying little voice in the back of my head feels the need to whisper. If there was a way to shut that voice up, to stop my brain from noticing how freaking good-looking the guy is, I would do it.

But there isn’t.

I can’tnotnotice how his t-shirt is slightly see-through—from sweat or water or the sheer effort of being worn by so muchman, who knows. Or how his jeans are no better, practically painted on to those long, thick legs. The boots he always wears are nowhere to be seen, likely toed off on the porch to avoid tracking dirt inside and earning his boss’ wrath. Never in my life did I think I'd find plain white socks attractive, but here we are.

It’s shameful how long I stand there gawking before I manage to collect myself and croak out a weak, “Hi.”

The grunted response I typically receive is a little easier to stomach when I’m expecting it. Hunter dithers awkwardly, that large body tense as he glances around the kitchen; like he’s hoping someone else is around to save him from my presence.

Sighing, I gesture to the covered dish still on the counter. “I made dinner.”

Surprise flickers across Hunter’s face.Wow. An emotion other than empty disdain. I didn’t know he could do that around me. I almost keel over when it’s accompanied by a deep, throaty, “Thank you.”

“I can warm it up for you.”

Hunter shakes his head before I can even finish the offer. I swallow nervously as he closes the space between us, jolting when one of the arms I often liken to tree trunks brushes against me as he reaches into the cabinet beside my head and retrieves a clean plate. “I got it.”

Another full, albeit short, sentence. Two in one night. Miracle of miracles.

Ignoring the weird, lingering warmth that radiates from the patch of skin he accidentally touched, I side-step to give him some room. Watching him scoop some food onto his plate and reheat it, I figure, what the hell? Maybe tonight’s the night I crack the giant grump. “Did you meet Alex?”