Page 60 of By Your Side
“Thanks,” I murmured, slipping my arms through the sleeves.
He followed me to the door, waiting while I locked up, the purple glow of the Twilight Tavern’s sign painting the walkway in soft light.
The night was crisp, the kind of cool that hinted at rain without any actual clouds overhead. I tucked my hands into my pockets as we started toward my car.
His hand brushed mine—just barely, like he was testing the water—and when I didn’t pull away, he laced our fingers together.
We walked the last few feet in silence, and I could feel the warmth of him even through the space between our bodies.
At my car, I turned to face him. The neon caught in his eyes, making them look impossibly dark and bright all at once.
“Hunter…” I started, not entirely sure what I meant to say.
He stepped closer, one hand lifting to cup the side of my face. “I’m not going anywhere, Paige. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not unless you tell me to.”
I felt something in my chest go soft and unsteady. “I’m not telling you to. I won’t.”
That earned me the smallest smile, and then his mouth was on mine—nothing rushed, nothing frantic. Just the kind of kiss that saysI see you. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
When he pulled back, his thumb brushed my cheek, lingering there for a moment before he stepped away.
“Get home safe,” he said quietly.
“You too.”
I watched him walk to his truck, his shoulders broad and sure in the neon haze, and for the first time in months, I didn’t dread tomorrow. Because whatever was coming, I wasn’t facing it alone anymore.
Chapter 18
Paige
The first thing I felt when I woke up was sore muscles in places I hadn’t used in a very long time. The second was the ridiculous smile tugging at my mouth.
I stayed still for a moment, cocooned in my blanket, letting my brain replay last night like a movie I didn’t want to end—Hunter’s hands, his voice in my ear, the way his eyes had looked when he’d told me he wasn’t going anywhere.
A vibration on my nightstand yanked me out of the memory. I reached for my phone, blinking against the light of the screen.
Hunter: Morning. Drink water. Eat real food. And yes, that’s an order.
I snorted under my breath. Bossy was apparently his love language, right after kissing me until my legs didn’t work properly.
Me: Good morning. I’m about to make coffee and maybe some toast. That counts as something real, right?
His reply came faster than I expected.
Hunter: Toast is not a real breakfast. I could come over with something real for you.
A thrill of heat and something dangerously close to giddy shot through me.
Before I could overthink it, my bedroom door cracked open and Lark’s head appeared, her hair in a messy bun, eyes narrowed. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“I’m not smiling,” I lied. Poorly.
“Uh-huh,” she said, then disappeared again, her voice drifting down the hall. “Briar! Mom’s being weird!”
Perfect. Precisely the kind of subtlety my girls were known for.
By the time I arrived in the kitchen, Briar was rummaging through the fridge, and Lark was stirring Nutella into a bowl of oatmeal.
