9. Cara

Chapter 9

Cara

I can’t breathe.

Hunter is staring at my mouth. Hannah is staring at her dad. Wyatt is whispering something to Emily that is making her blush, and Heath is doing a slow, analytical look around the table that feels like we’re about to be revealed in some terrible way.

“That just sounds so…weird,” Hannah pronounces. “Vanilla ice cream and coffee ?”

“It’s a thing,” Heath says dryly. “Maybe not for you, though.”

“Definitely not,” she agrees. “I’ll have Emily’s trifle. But maybe not just yet. Is anyone else stuffed?”

“I’ve always got room for something delicious,” Wyatt drawls.

He’s got his hand tangled in Emily’s hair now, and his thumb is stroking along her jaw.

Heath clears his throat.

Wyatt looks at him, and they exchange something wordless. “Or maybe we should wait for dessert,” he finally says slowly, letting go of his wife.

“If you’re going to insist on decorating my house, you might want to do it before Hannah’s hot chocolate really kicks in,” Hunter says.

Hannah and her Uncle Wyatt swiftly agree that the affogato sundae bar and trifle dessert extravaganza would be better after hanging Christmas lights, so before I know it, they’re bundling up to go outside and Heath and Emily are gamely following suit.

“Dad, do you have any snow pants that Cara could borrow?” Hannah asks.

“No. Go outside,” he barks in her direction, but his eyes are locked on me, his gaze a hot warning to stay inside with him.

I can’t really argue. I didn’t dress for hanging Christmas lights in the wet Christmas Eve sleet. And I don’t want to go outside with the others. I feel compelled to stay inside with Hunter, even as I’m afraid of what he’s going to say.

So while they clamour about at the front door, I busy myself with the dishes.

“You don’t have to do those,” Hunter says as he brings the leftover lasagna into the kitchen.

“I don’t mind. I’m happy to chip in.” Plus, it gives me something to do with my hands.

“Please stop.”

I stop. But I don’t look at him. With how quiet the house suddenly is, that feels…risky.

“Cara.” He says my name with a confused kind of wonder that slides under my skin and takes hold. A promise that maybe, actually, he’s not mad at me for being Hannah’s classmate.

He exhales, low and slow, and it’s a sound I never want to forget. It’s steady and careful, just like the way he made our kiss happen. This is who I want to remember Hunter as, this kind of man. Someone…affected by me. Someone raw and human. “You need to know that I wanted to see you again.”

I can’t hold in my disbelief. “Is that why you deleted your profile?”

“Yes.”

Startled, I lift my head and find Hunter glaring.

Not at me. There’s nothing sharp in his gaze pointed in my direction. His glare feels…protective. Stern. And he’s obviously aware that it’s not how he should be looking right now. But frustration still ticks in his jaw even as his expression softens. “I don’t know how to say this now that you’re here, because I don’t want you to leave. I really, really don’t want you to leave.”

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t make me lead with that. That’s not… It’s not… logical.”

I laugh again, unexpectedly delighted at how wound tight he seems. “Not logical?”

“It makes no sense. I mean, other than you’re fucking beautiful and I have eyes.”

“Oh.” I swipe the tip of my tongue across my lower lip, processing the raw confession. He thinks I’m beautiful. “And you were like, I can’t kiss her again, she’s too nice to look at?”

He groans and shoves his hands into his hair. “Yes. And also that you were too young.“

“Ah.” That hurts. Because if he thought I was too young when my dating profile said I was twenty-five, then he can’t be a fan of how old I really am.

“I wanted you more than I should. I wanted you so much it felt wrong.”

That hurts even more. Numbly, I nod, then look away from him, seeking anything else to focus on.

Outside the floor to ceiling windows, four people are arguing over light strands. That should be funny, probably. But it just feels surreal.

“But the second I deleted the account, it felt way more wrong. I created a new one that night, but I couldn’t find you again.”

“I, uh…” I wave my hand. “Removed myself. When I went to send you another message and I saw the message about the ac count being deleted, I knew it wasn’t the app for me.”

Because the whole thing had been humiliating.

“Shit. Cara, I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “I’ll get over it.”

“I won’t. I should have thought about how it would feel to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t.” His voice gets even deeper, and he comes around the island. Suddenly very close. Very big. “I wish like hell I’d still been online when you got back that afternoon. I want to know what you’d have said.”

“I don’t know anymore. I can’t remember.” I lift my chin. Defiance feels safer than vulnerability.

Regret slashes across his face.

From outside, there’s a shriek.

He pauses, closes his eyes, and mutters under his breath.

I smile slightly, but swipe it away before he blinks and twists to look out at the progress. “They’re fine,” he says.

“So am I,” I manage to say. “You don’t need to be sorry anymore. It’s fine.”

“But I want more for you than just fine.” He closes the gap between us and plants one hand on the counter beside me, and brings the other one up to ghost beside my upper arm. Not quite touching me, but almost.

Heat radiates between us, and my breathing goes shallow.

“Hunter,” I whisper.

“What would make you happy, Cara? What do you need?”