Page 45 of Through the Flames
Hisgrove.
Hunter’s spot.
I hated my mind for thinking of it that way, but the first time I stumbled across him here, he looked as though he had been carved into the bench.
As if the bench existed because of him, not the other way around.
And okay, maybe the first time hadn’t been the only time. Or the second. Or the third.
We never called them meetings. Never admitted they were anything but “accidents.” But neither of us was dumb enough to believe in coincidence this many times.
Tonight, I beat him to it.
The crooked bench creaked when I sat down and pulled my knees up into my hoodie, like I could fold myself small. Here, the world went quiet in a way it didn’t anywhere else. Not empty-quiet, thick-quiet. The kind with a hum of something unsaid.
I tilted my head back and watched my breath cloud into the branches. For the first time all night, the buzzing in my head dulled.
Footsteps crunched, and my back straightened before I even knew why.
Then he stepped out of the shadows. His hood was up, and his jaw stood out sharply in the lamplight. White clouds puffed out with each slow, controlled breath he took.
Hunter.
When he spotted me, he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was husky and low, carrying across the cold air like smoke.
I forced a smirk. “What, am I not allowed to sit on a bench? Didn’t know I needed a membership card to sit here.”
His mouth twitched. It wasn’t a smile — never a smile — but it was close enough to make my stomach flip anyway. He shook his head, muttering something under his breath I didn’t catch.
Then he walked forward and sat down right beside me. Close enough for me to feel his heat bleeding into the cold air between us.
We didn’t talk at first. The silence between us was never uncomfortable, but I was careful not to scare him off with my constant rambling.
Finally he broke the silence. “Long night?”
I snorted. “You could say that.”
Hunter didn’t push, but he never did. He just stared ahead, elbows braced on his knees, while I fiddled with the strings of my hoodie.
“Funny, though.”
He glanced at me. “What?”
“How we keep running into each other here.” I tilted my head, feigning innocence. I was dying to ask him why he’d shown up earlier, but I knew better.
His stare lingered, heavy and knowing. “Yeah. Funny.”
I swallowed and looked away. The bench creaked under us when I shifted, trying to make my voice lighter. “You ever think about what comes after?”
His brow furrowed. “After what?”
“College. Football. All of it.”
He grunted, like the question annoyed him. But he didn’t get up.
“I mean, I’m majoring in marketing,” I said quickly, filling the silence the way I always did. “Which is fine. But it’s just my backup. My real dream is tennis. Going pro and traveling theworld. You know, champagne and trophies and center court at Wimbledon.”
