Page 42 of By Your Side
“You don’t have to keep fixing things for me. I was only kidding about the inventory. I take too much help from you, Hunter.”
“I know I don’t have to,” I said, echoing what I’d told her earlier. “I want to. And you help me too. Who’s the one who brings me chicken noodle soup whenever I’m sick? Who drives all the way to McDonald’s for fries and a Coke whenever I get a migraine? Who makes sure I have my favorite sugar cookies and an ugly sweater for your Christmas party every year? And let’s not forget about the annual birthday coffee, now featuring cinnamon crumble muffins. You’re there for me, too, Paige. Please don’t pretend that you’re not.”
She didn’t reply. Just lowered the box she’d been fussing with and ran a hand over her ponytail. The motion lifted her hoodie again for a second, and I forced myself to look at the jukebox instead of her waist.
I was dangerously close to falling apart in the middle of a bar that smelled like the usual lemon cleaner but now also faintly like her shampoo.
“I should head out,” I said, even though I didn’t want to. “You good here?”
She nodded, surprised. “Yeah. Just finishing up. Thanks for coming.”
“Anytime.”
I hesitated in the doorway, one hand on the knob.
She didn’t look at me, but her voice stopped me. “Hunter?”
I turned.
I fully intended to wait for her in the parking lot. I just couldn’t be around her anymore without kissing her.
Then she said, so quietly I barely heard her: “I can’t stop thinking about the pie. It was my favorite.”
“I know. I remember.” I didn’t wait for more. I didn’t push. I just said, “Night, Paige,” and stepped out into the cool dark of the parking lot, hands jammed in my pockets with my heart doing backflips.
The sky was clear. The stars were lit up like sharp points weaving through the trees in the distance. And I felt like I’d left something inside the bar I wasn’t sure I’d get back.
Maybe it was just the pie plate I had yet to bring home, but maybe it was something more, and I should go back in and find out.
I took two steps across the gravel and came to a stop. I stood there in the dark, staring at the truck like it might tell me what the hell I was supposed to do next.
She’d said she used to love that pie. But the way she said it? It was like it meant something more. LikeImeant something to her. Maybe she was ready to be more than friends, and maybe she was too scared to say the words out loud or make a move.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, wondering if I should’ve stayed. If I should’ve said more. Or if there was even any more to say at all.
The door creaked open behind me.
“Hunter,” she said softly.
I turned. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, like she’d come outside before she could change her mind.
Her expression was tight, unreadable, but her eyes looked like they were full of something she couldn’t hold in much longer.
“Did you forget to tell me something?” I asked, voice low. Hope pounding through my veins like a fucking freight train.
She stared at me for a second. Then she stepped off the porch.
One step. Then another.
She walked right up to me, wrapped her fingers in the front of my hoodie, yanked me down to her level, and kissed me.
No warning. No hesitation.
Just kissed me like she’d run out of reasons not to.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow.
It was months—years—of tension crashing into one moment. Her mouth was hot and soft, and she pulled me closer like she didn’t want me to move. And I kissed her back like I’d been waiting my whole damn life to hold her like this. Because in this moment, I realized I had.
