Chapter 14

It’s mine.

I smile wide, unable to contain it.

Walking as quickly as I can, I carry the little lamp from my bike in one hand, and the keys my father gave me dangle from the other as I take a right on Sutton, scurrying across the narrow brick lane and into the alley behind the old bakery. While the main streets are well lit, I rush as quickly as possible, because back here, there’s nothing and no one. Not even a street light.

My hand shakes as I try to work the key into the lock. My blood is racing, and I inhale a couple of deep breaths to try to calm down. Twisting the knob, I finally swing open the door and immediately paw the wall inside, searching for a light switch.

I’m opening a shop. By next summer, I’ll have it ready.

I flip the switch but nothing happens. Well, I guess that makes sense. This place has been shut down for years. I turn on the flashlight and close the door behind me, aiming the light into the room that I can tell already is the kitchen. Three long wooden tables sit parallel to each other while stoves, sinks, a refrigerator, and a cooler door line the walls, along with old aluminum racks holding empty trays.

I walk in further, trying to take everything in, already inventorying in my head the appliances that would need to be inspected, possibly replaced, and all the cleaning that would probably take a whole month in itself. Lifting the toe of my shoe, I lightly shove an empty flour bag out of my way as I push through the revolving door separating the kitchen from the front of the store.

“What are you doing?”

I jump and suck in a breath, spinning around. “What the—” I gasp, flashing my light on Hunter, who stands in the open doorway. “What the hell are you doing?”

He shrugs and steps inside, closing the door behind him. “I was driving around, and I saw you sneaking in the back.”

My heart pounds so hard it hurts. I shake my head at him, starting to calm down.

“Madoc’s looking for you.” I turn and push through the door again. “Where’ve you been?”

He follows me through, into the front of the shop, but doesn’t answer. If his father’s looking for him, and Kade is home, then Hunter took the truck without permission. I’m sure he figures there’s not much more trouble he can get into after what happened tonight, though.

We walk through, and I flip more switches, checking for power, while Hunter kicks garbage and newspapers with his feet.

There are cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling as well as under the counter, and I can still smell the scent of warm sugar, probably from the remnants of old sprinkles and icing inside the display cases. It will be a wonder if I don’t have roaches to deal with, too.

The wallpaper has to go, but I catch sight of the floors, and as I brush away some paper and dust under my foot, I notice that the tile is a Moroccan mosaic pattern. Lots of color and so different from anything else around Shelburne Falls, that’s for sure.

That can stay.

I see Hunter finally lean back, sticking his hands in his pocket and resting on a wrought iron table.

“I’m going to buy this place,” I tell him. “I’m going to turn it into a pastry shop.”

He just stares at me, nodding, and I narrow my eyes on him.

“You don’t have anything to say?” I challenge. “No smart-ass remark?”

“You’re confusing me with Kade,” he retorts. “I think the world has enough shit talkers.”

I smile, turning my head away so he can’t see. He looks and sounds like he’s pissed, but I couldn’t appreciate the remark more. He’s absolutely correct. Enough talking and bullshit, and I’m thankful for his silence. I don’t need anyone else’s judgments, concerns, or negative feedback.

And when Jared, Madoc, and Jax have something to say tomorrow when they find out, I’ll tell them the same thing. Mind your own business.

Hunter leans down, picking up a chair that was overturned. “You need to make sure you have those blackberry swirl Brownies,” he says, leaning back down to collect trash and toss it into the bin in the corner. “They’re Dylan’s favorite. And the sugar cookie apple cobbler and those Samoa donuts you made with the Girl Scout cookies that time . . .” He trails off, letting out a sigh that sounds suddenly hungry. “I swear, you’ll have people lined up out the door.”

I watch him as he starts tearing flyers off the wall and throwing them away. I love that he isn’t hassling me.

Walking over to his side, I help tear the papers through their staples. “Were you saying good-bye to her?” I ask quietly, not looking at him. “Is that where you were at?”

He’s silent, but he doesn’t ask who we’re talking about. We both know.

“I’m just going to Grandpa’s,” he tells me. “I’ll get a summer job and earn some money before the school year at St. Matt’s starts. I’ll be home on weekends.”

“No you won’t.” I glance over at him. “You’ll make friends. Find reasons to stay in Chicago. We’ll see you less and less.”

I remember saying the same thing to Lucas nearly four years ago when he said he would be back. He was lying, and I knew it then.

But Hunter stares up at the wall, now bare, looking like he’s thinking about more than he’s saying. “I’ll be back,” he assures. And then I catch a small smile curling his lips. “There’s Rivalry Week, after all.”

Yeah. Rivalry Week.

I shake my head. That’ll be fun.