Page 17 of The Mating Game
“Still,” I say through gritted teeth, ignoring his blasé demeanor. Also, how is he wearingonlythat flannel out here? Is he some sort of yeti? “I really wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Another shrug. “It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Help out with my dingy lodge?”
“Look, I gather that you weren’t completely on board with hiring me, but I’d love it if we could sort of work together on this. I want to be sure that any changes I make are ones that you’ll be happy with.”
“Got your work cut out for you then,” he snorts.
Don’t scowl. Don’t scowl.
“I can handle it,” I say with my sunniest smile. “I’m sure we can do some great things here. I don’t know if you’re on TikTok, but I’ve handled way bigger renos than this.”
He looks at me like I’m speaking French. “Not on…TikTok. Sorry.”
I almost laugh. That definitely tracks. I’m trying not to let my eyes settle on the tiny bit of dark hair that escapes the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.So it’s top to bottom then, eh?“I’m sure you’re the type that has a private Facebook with just family and friends, huh? Stranger danger and all that?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Don’t have one.”
“You don’t have Facebook?”
“Nope.”
My brow knits. “You don’t strike me as the X type.”
“Don’t know what that is,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t really use the internet, aside from the website for reservations.”
Now I’m probably looking at him likehe’sstarted speaking French. “Everyone uses the internet.”
“Except me, I guess,” he says dryly.
I find myself staring at him again, but now it’s in a way as if he’s sprouted another head. He’s talking like a seventy-year-old man, but by my best guess, Hunter can’t be more than thirty. If that. Who in the helldoesn’tuse the internet in this day and age?
In my disbelief, I can hear my voice coming out an octave higher than it should be.
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Just have better things to do with my time.”
I have about a dozen other questions I could ask about my new acquaintance’s particular oddity, but even knowing as little as I do about Hunter, I still recognize that he’ll probably have little to offer on the subject other than some dodgy monosyllabic answer.
“Okay, Grandpa,” I snort, shoving my hands into my pockets. “What do you do with your free time? Whittle?”
His mouth does something I’ve yet to see it do, turning up at the corners until I’m blasted with straight white teeth that make mystomach flutter a little. I decide then and there that should I ever find myself miraculously given a seat in Congress, my first order of business would be rendering Hunter Barrett’s smileillegal.
“Something like that,” he laughs quietly.
He reaches down to gather up a few logs he’s finished splitting, beginning the process of piling them in his long arms, presumably so he can carry them inside.
I shuffle my feet, trying to calm the swooping that lingers inside my belly in the aftermath of a full-blown Hunter smile. “Do you need help with that?”
I’m rewarded with another low chuckle. “I’ve got it. Better save your strength for all the fixin’.”
I ignore his obvious joke at my expense. “Sure. How far away is town, by the way? I was hoping you guys had a pharmacy.”
“A pharmacy?”
I avert my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. Definitely don’t want to get intothatdiscussion with Hunter. Especially not after his weird comments about my designation, which I barely know anything about myself. The doctor only gave me a small supply of the meds, writing a prescription for more that I could fill. I’m sort of regretting not taking care of it in the city now.
“Just need to pick up a few things,” I mumble.
