Page 39 of Meet Me at Sunset Cove

The carpeted hall was quiet as he made his way to the lobby. As he passed by the open door of his father’s office, his dad lifted his head. “Heading out already?”

Hunter gave his father a stern look. “It’s closing time, Dad. I’m leaving, and so should you.”

His dad simply grinned, waving away his son’s prescription. “Tell Daisy I said to drag you over sometime, I’d love to see more of her.”

Hunter gave a two-finger salute. “Will do.”

No sooner had he bid his father goodbye than he heard a set of worried footsteps catching up to him in the lobby.

“Hunter! Wait up!”

He turned to see Dawn hurrying toward him with a stack of papers in her hand. Despite his rush to leave, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. There was always something comforting about Dawn’s presence. This place would have been sunk a long time ago without her.

“Are you—are you leaving?” she asked, slightly out of breath.

Hunter’s good mood faded as he glanced at the papers piled up in her arms. He knew what was coming.

Dawn continued, her tone hinting at her concern. “I’m sorry to catch you as you’re heading out the door, but you’ve been a little hard to catch these last few weeks. The Morton project is three days behind again, the Clark renovation hasn’t even started, and the Wilkinson project was scheduled for an inspection but…”

But he’d missed the appointment. The one he’d called in special favors to get back on the schedule. Hunter ran a hand through his hair, guilt washing over him. He knew exactly what had caused them to fall so far behind, and she was waiting for him now, probably wearing another ridiculous pair of colored coveralls.

“I know it’s not your job to stay late, but…” Dawn said, her voice trailing off.

He sucked in a heavy breath and let it out. “But I’ve stayed late every night for the last four years, and now our company is built on that assumption.”

Dawn’s lips pressed into an apologetic line.

“I’m sorry, Dawn,” he said, genuinely sorry. “I never should have let it get this bad. I’ll get on top of these first thing tomorrow, I promise.”

But tonight…

* * *

Hunter stepped into the house, still feeling a pep in his step despite the nagging feeling that he shouldn’t be here with her tonight. Not when there was so much work to be done at the office.

His boot creaked on the old flooring. The air carried the comforting smell of sawdust and fresh paint. He glanced around, looking for Daisy’s vibrant presence, but the house was quiet.

“Daisy?” he called out, his voice echoing through the empty rooms. No answer.

Hunter sighed and leaned against the doorjamb, looking out at the newly finished porch. It was amazing how much had changed in just a few weeks. When this had all started, he’d wanted nothing to do with the renovations. The idea of Daisy, of all people, making changes to his family home had set his teeth on edge.

But now…Hunter shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. Now he actually found himself looking forward to their evenings together. To trying to guess what color overalls she’d be wearing. To the way she tried to pull him into every video, despite his firm protests. To the way she saw the house and what it could be. Not what it was.

His eyes wandered to the still largely untouched foyer. It wouldn’t take long for her to leave her mark there. Already, she was planning to completely remove the banister and replace it with something unique and eye-catching. And he was certain it would be the perfect addition to the home.

Not that he’d tell her that. She’d get a big head, and it would be all over.

Hunter chuckled.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. Must be Daisy, probably running late. He answered without looking at the screen. “Yeah?”

“Hunter?” a woman’s voice asked.

Hunter’s spine stiffened. “Mom.”

“Hi, Hunt,” she said, her quiet voice ringing in his ears. “How are you?”

Hunter’s lips parted but no words came out. His lungs were suddenly dry and sticky. The house creaked restlessly, as though awaking to her voice, even after all these years.

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