1. Hunter

Playlist: Here You Come Again | Dolly Parton

June 17th, 10:36am

From: Jo Quinn [email protected]

To: Hunter Cleary [email protected]

Subject: Tyler Boyle and Nellie Castro Wedding

Hi Hunter,

Tyler Boyle passed on your email address as a potential photographer for their wedding, and I wanted to reach out as their event planner and coordinator. We’ve finalized the date as November 13th at The Hilton in Jersey City. I know it’s a long shot, and that you may not be available, but if there’s any chance you are, please let me know.

Best, Jo

June 17th, 3:21pm

From: Hunter Cleary [email protected]

To: Jo Quinn [email protected]

Subject: Re: Tyler Boyle and Nellie Castro Wedding

Howdy Jo,

Thanks for reaching out! It must be fate that I have the thirteenth open, as I wouldn’t want to miss Tyler’s wedding for anything! They were just texting me and telling me how excited they were to be working with you, and how talented you are! Thanks for making them so happy!

I look forward to working with you, Hunter ??

You may be wondering how I found myself back in the closet at a gay wedding.

Picture it: after corresponding with a wedding planner for months about an event you’re photographing, she turns out to be your ex. That you hadn’t seen since you were fifteen years old.

What else was I supposed to do but hide in a closet?

At least this time, there’s cake.

I know, I know. You’re thinking, “ But Hunter, how didn’t you recognize the name?”

I called her Giovanna that entire summer, and she’d signed her name ‘Jo.’ It makes sense when you say it outloud—because Italian pronunciation is weird—but not when you read it.

So when Jo Quinn, Tyler’s wedding planner, turned out to be Giovanna Quinn, the first girl I ever kissed, I was a little taken aback.

I think she was, too.

I’d tried to keep it together during the ceremony and reception, to not stare creepily at her. But it’s hard—she’s still so dang pretty. She still has long, wavy brown hair that my fingers slid through so easily whenever she touched me—

I bargained with myself, claiming if I focused on taking photos of the wedding party, I could lust over the way her ass filled out later on.

We made eye contact a few times, which she was always the first to break. Maybe she’s wondering what I look like naked now, and that’s why she has to look away. Because I certainly wonder about her .

Jeez, maybe MawMaw and PawPaw were right. Maybe these homosexual inclinations do make me a deviant.

As the reception continued, I realized Giovanna wasn’t the only blast from the past at the wedding. Her older sister, who mostly kept to herself that summer, is also a guest. Her parents, too, somehow looking like they haven’t aged a day. I made a mental note to figure out a way to casually inquire after their skincare routines, but maybe that’s not the best idea. During Nellie’s best friend’s toast, I accidentally made eye contact with Mr. Quinn. At first, I thought he didn’t recognize me, which would be the best case scenario.

It’s been twelve years since he saw me, and it’d be horribly embarrassing if he did recognize me, considering what he walked in on.

No such luck, however. His eyes widened, and his fist clenched so tightly that the champagne flute shattered in his hand, causing everyone in the hall to panic.

He was fine. I overheard him claiming that it was already cracked.

Now I’m sitting alone in a broom closet, hiding away from my past and ready to enjoy the cake, which Tyler themself made. After tasting dozens of wedding treats during my career, I can confidently say nothing is better than their confections. I’ve been lusting after it like it’s Giovanna Quinn’s ass all day, and if anyone’s earned a sweet treat, it’s me.

The cake doesn’t disappoint. The chocolate is rich and creamy, and there’s a slightly spicy kick that surprises—

“ Dagnabbit ,” I hiss, fumbling my plate as the closet door opens, light filling the small space. I try in vain to catch the plate before it falls to the floor, to no avail.

“Shit, sorry.” My shoulders tense at the familiar voice. “Didn’t realize this closet was taken—”

“Giovanna,” I look up and meet her eyes before my mental filter can stop me.

“Hunter.” Her eyes widen. “Sorry, I’ll just—”

“Grab me another piece of cake and you can invade my safe haven,” I joke.

She seems to mull it over before leaning forward to hand me her plate. “Deal,” she says, already heading for the door.

I tentatively take a nibble of the cake after she’s left. Part of me is worried she won’t come back, and gosh. It’s so silly, but I think I’d rather have her company, hear what she’s been up to, than this cake.

No, that’s ridiculous.

The cake is phenomenal.

When the door opens with a click a few minutes later, I almost fumble my plate again after convincing myself she wasn’t returning.

“Thanks for letting me crash your cake eating party,” she says, sitting on another upturned bucket. “I’m starving, and Tyler’s been talking about the recipe for months—”

I moan, and Giovanna’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing as she looks at me. “Tell me about it. Everything Tyler makes is amazing, but this is their tastiest creation yet.”

Giovanna clears her throat and pulls out her phone, tapping on the screen.

Well. I guess that’s that. She doesn’t want to talk to me and I should leave—

“Sorry,” she says. “I need to check my blood sugar so I can take the correct amount of insulin. Carbs can fuck it up like a bitch.”

“You don’t have to prick your finger anymore?”

She glances up at me, a soft smile slowly spreading on her face. “You remember that?”

I can’t help the blush that spreads across my cheeks. Maybe this isn’t something I should remember. Maybe it shouldn’t have left such a lasting impact.

“No, I don’t,” she replies, saving me from responding with my awkward truth. “Not as often, at least.” She finishes whatever she’s doing on her phone, then takes out a smaller, rectangular device. She taps at it for a few seconds before shoving it back into her pocket and picking up her fork. She takes her first bite of cake, her full lips wrapping around the tines of the fork. My mouth is dry, and I can’t help but remember everywhere her lips have touched me.

“Oh, god,” she moans, and I want to walk into traffic. “You’re right, this is amazing .”

“Told you,” I wheeze, gripping my own fork so tightly the metal digs into my flesh.

Giovanna looks up and meets my eyes as she takes another bite of the cake.

I truly would pay good money to drop dead right now.

“This was an interesting way to find out that your last name isn’t MacIntyre,” she says, arching a full eyebrow.

I laugh nervously. “Yeah, MawMaw and PawPaw are my mom’s parents. My last name is Cleary. It was also an interesting way to find out you go by Jo now.”

She’s silent as she chews and then swallows. “I’ve always gone by Jo. You’re the only person in the world who ever called me Giovanna regularly.”

I stare at her. “I could swear I remember your dad calling you Giovanna.”

“Right. Because he walked in on me eating you out.” She says it so casually, and I choke on my bite of cake as the memory rushes back.

I slap my chest a few times before I stare at her, mouth ajar. I’m not one to be without words, but right now, I’m speechless.

“Oh,” I finally say, clearing my throat. “That—um, yeah.”

Giovanna seems to sense my discomfort and blushes. “Sorry, that was weird,” she pokes at her cake. “Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

How the actual heck am I supposed to pretend she didn’t bring up the fact her face has been between my legs?

“Sure.” Agreeing is easier than explaining that to her.

The energy is tense between us as she slowly drags her fork across her plate. “So,” she says, breaking the awkward silence.

“So,” I echo.

There’s so much I want to tell her. About how I cried when my grandparents sold the house that winter because I wouldn’t get to see her again. About how I still have the pictures we took on my old digital camera that summer. How photographing her in Port Haven made me fall in love with photography and changed the trajectory of my life. How I finally, finally came out. How happy I am to see her again. How much I want to get to know who she is now.

“I should go.” It’s easier to leave than put myself out there.

For a moment, I think her face falls, but then it’s back to that same cool, unaffected expression. “Right, photographer and all that.”

I swallow as I get to my feet. “Yeah. Photographer and all that.”

“It was nice to see you again, Hunter,” she says quietly, eyes glued to her plate.

“It was good to see you, too,” I tell her earnestly. “The wedding is beautiful; you should be really proud.”

She still doesn’t look up, but there is a slight upturn to her lips. “Thank you. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“You too,” I echo, a strange emptiness filling me as I open the door. Like any other time I’ve run into a former hookup, this should mean nothing.

But it doesn’t feel like nothing, and as I close the closet door behind me, images of that summer play in my head like a movie.