Page 84 of The Mating Game
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, shrugging. “I know it sounds silly, but when you said you didn’t know how long you might stay open…I guess…it made me sad to think about something happening to it.”
“It doesn’t sound silly,” he says quietly.
“So…does that mean you want to do the interview?”
He doesn’t answer for a moment, and I keep quiet as I let him mull it over. I can sort of tell when he reaches the decision, nodding to himself as he breathes in deep, then expels a sigh noisily between his lips.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay?”
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Yes!” I half shout. I’m beside myself all over again as I awkwardly hug him without thinking, my arms barely reaching around his middle just as his come up in surprise to make room for me. “It’s going to be great,” I say against his coat as I give him a squeeze. “And I will totally help you.”
Shit, I think, Hunter’s scent assaulting my senses as I realize I’ve gotten ahead of myself again. I pull back carefully, feeling embarrassment heat my cheeks and my neck and even lower in my chest.
But Hunter doesn’t look embarrassed.
In fact, Hunter is sort of looking at me like he was last night. He’s looking at me like he wants to kiss me.
And that only raises more questions.
Questions I’m still afraid to ask, if I’m being honest. I think there’s a part of me that won’t like his answer if I prod him about why he doesn’t kiss me. I’ve had my fair share of heartache and disappointment and downrightbullshitin the men department overthe years, and addingnot the hot lumberjack’s typeto the list might actually be the thing that pushes me over the edge.
But apparently the universe still hates me—or loves me, depending on how you look at it. The loud sound of a tree limb banging against a window robs me of any chance to ask Hunter anything, even if Icouldfind the courage to do so. We jolt apart as the branch gives another loud bang, and Hunter curses under his breath as he scowls at the glass.
“I have to take care of that,” he sighs. “Don’t want another broken window. I need to finish bringing in the wood anyway before the snow gets too high.”
“Right,” I say airily, weirdly feeling like pouting all over again. “I’ll just…go shoot Nate a quick confirmation text.”
“Okay.” Hunter’s eyes linger on mine for a moment as if he wants to say more, but he finally nods. “I’ll find you later?”
“I’ll be here,” I say. “Nowhere else to go and all that.”
His mouth quirks. “Right.”
He turns back to leave and is nearly through the patio door before I call after him, “Oh, hey, where’s Jeannie, anyway? I want to tell her the good news.”
Hunter looks at me pointedly, with one hand gripping the doorframe and the other on the handle, his brown eyes seeming to darken a little as they lock with mine. “Jeannie went back down to her place in town this morning. She’s riding out the storm there.”
“Oh.” I feel a bit dazed by the implications of that, especially since even in my hungover state…I’m remembering my brothers were supposed to head to Denver early this morning. “So it’s just…us?”
Hunter nods. “Until the storm passes.”
I nod back because that’s all my brain can seem to manage, andHunter gives me one last lingering look before he disappears outside. He leaves me standing there as I try to remember how to take steps, the reality of what he just said beginning to set in.
Because until this storm passes…I’m all alone on a mountain with a hot lumberjack.
One who may or may not want to kiss me.
“Fuck,” I huff,pulling off my goggles.
The last of the old carpet I’ve torn up has yielded a nasty surprise, and I stare down at the gaps in the original wood with a frown. Of course, I should have been skeptical when we made it this far without a hitch. Thankfully, I’ve already filmed a short TikTok highlighting the woodbeforeI found this problem. Usually this far into a project we’re up to our eyeballs in issues, so I suppose I should be grateful that this is our first one.
The only problem is…I’m not entirely sure how to proceed. I wrestle my cell from my pocket, muttering obscenities under my breath as I scroll through my contacts. There’s a fifty percent chance he’ll just let it go to voicemail because he’s lost his phone again, and I wait patiently to see what type of day he’s having in that regard.
Fortunately, he picks up on the third ring.
