Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30528 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
But then Hunter turns his attention back to the stove, tongs in one hand, and starts flipping bacon. His entire body is different this morning. Less guarded. His shoulders are still massive, but they’re not hunched like he’s expecting bad news.
Buster loses interest in the pizza and comes over, tail going a mile a minute. He butts his head into my shin and whines, and I drop to my knees to scoop him up. He’s warm and wiggly, and he tries to lick my face with his enormous tongue, leaving a slime trail down my chin. “Good morning, you little stinker,” I whisper into his floppy ear.
Hunter snorts, and the tiniest puff of laughter escapes him. “He’s a good boy. Just needs a little training.”
Hunter plates the eggs and bacon with a weird amount of precision, dividing the food evenly between two mismatched plates. I sit in one of my wobbly chairs, and he slides a plate in front of me. Then he leans against the counter, arms crossed, looking a little unsure of himself for the first time ever.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he says, but there’s a question in it.
I nod and set my coffee down, hands shaking a little. “Starving, actually.”
For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. I poke the eggs with my fork, then glance up to see Hunter watching me with an intensity that turns my insides to goo. My face flushes, but I force myself to meet his gaze.
Shit. I realize now would be a good time to say something. Anything. My apology tumbles out way too fast. "Sorry about last night," I blurt, heat crawling up the back of my neck. "The, uh, crying. And… all that mess. You have to think I’m crazy." My voice cracks.
But he just leans back, arms crossed, cool as ever. Shakes his head once, slow and steady, gaze locked on mine like he's trying to read me front to back. "That's not how I saw it."
I falter. My heartbeat's a hammer in my chest. "You didn't?" My words hang between us, frail and uncertain.
The expression on his face looks almost like affection. "I saw it as a great opportunity for me to get to know you," he says, voice rough but steady.
He actually wants to get to know me. Since when? Did I go to sleep last night in my bed and wake up today in the twilight zone?
I can’t look at him for more than a second or two, so I focus on my plate. The bacon is perfect, thick and crispy. The eggs are a little runny, just how I like them. I steal a glance at Hunter as he methodically clears his own plate, and it hits me that he really is comfortable here in my little technicolor kitchen, eating breakfast with my beagle and me. It’s not what I expected from the human equivalent of a concrete wall.
Buster sidles up to the table, eyes huge, tail wagging furiously. Hunter reaches down without thinking and scratches behind his ear. Buster melts into a puddle of pure joy, moaning like he’s found nirvana.
I can’t help but smile. “I really appreciate all your help with him,” I say, totally meaning it.
Hunter shrugs, but there’s this flicker in his eyes like maybe he actually likes hearing it. “No trouble.”
My pulse does a weird little hop-skip. I take a bite of bacon just to keep my mouth busy, but it doesn’t help. Hunter’s gaze is still locked on me, so intense it’s basically a full-body caress.
Buster thumps his tail, grins up at Hunter like he’s the sun, and then wiggles against my side, sniffing for dropped crumbs. I swear the dog’s already imprinted on him.
Honestly? Same.
I want to ask, point-blank, why he’s being so nice. I want to ask if this is a one-off, if he’s planning on going back to being the unmovable boulder next door, or if there’s more to this. But the words keep stalling in my throat.
Buster, undeterred by social cues, creeps up and starts licking at my ankle, which gives me the excuse I need to lean down and fuss with his collar. It’s a new one, bright teal with tiny slices of pizza printed all over it. He looks up at me, tongue out, and for the millionth time, I feel my heart melt a little bit.
We sit there in the quiet, just drinking our coffee and watching each other. I keep trying to read his face, but it’s impossible. His resting expression is pure intimidation, but the little flashes of something warmer are getting more frequent, like the power grid is slowly coming back online after a blackout.
After a long moment, Hunter sets his coffee down and leans forward, elbows on the table. Our knees brush, and this time I don’t move away.