“Thank you,” I tell him sincerely. Even after all these years, he’s still the best caretaker in the world. He reads other people’s emotions better than anyone I’ve ever met, and I’m the luckiest man in the world to get to spend the rest of my life with him.
He drags our bags to our bedroom and starts taking the clothes out and sorting them by what he wants to fold and what he wants to hang up. I hand them to him at his request, and he pecks me on the mouth every time he grabs something from me.
When the doorbell rings, he follows me into the dining room. He starts grabbing plates while I get the pizza.
He turns on a movie, an old action flick from back in the early 2000s. The graphics are awful, but the fighting is entertaining enough while we eat.
Hunter burps, covering his mouth and flushing red in embarrassment. I reach my hand out and wipe a smidge of pizza sauce from his face.
I gather our dirty dishes and the leftovers. I wash the dishes quickly, not wanting to leave a mess, because Hunter is the typeof person to wash dishes as soon as he gets them dirty. It’s one of the small details I’ve learned about him since we moved in together. Separate darks from colors in the wash, dishes done the same night, and sweep the floors every day. If that’s all it takes to make him happy, I’ll sacrifice a little lounging time to do it for him.
“Do you want to take a walk by the beach?” he asks, walking into the kitchen and wiping his palms on his khaki shorts. My heart is in my throat, and I try to swallow down my excitement at what this could mean. A romantic walk on the beach, right at sunset, the waves lapping against the shore. It’s perfect.
I clear my throat and say “yes” more confidently than I feel. He lets out a long exhale and smiles.
Our walkon the beach is not when he proposes. Neither is the next day. Or the next. I’m getting antsy, wondering if I’ve been thinking about this all wrong.
My birthday is tomorrow, and the last thing I want to do is celebrate. We’re currently sitting at some expensive restaurant on a pier overlooking the ocean, and I can’t even enjoy it. I push around the lobster ravioli on my plate, not taking a bite but just making a mess with the sauce. I thought for sure he would have already asked me, but he hasn’t, and the more time that passes, the more worried I get. What if he changed his mind? What if he realized he doesn’t want to get married, and he’s fine with us living together for the rest of our lives with our fur babies? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me that Hunter is mine. But I’ve been holding on to a dream that one day we’ll share the same last name. I think Adam Collins has a nice ring to it.
Instead, I’m pouting over a plate of food while Hunter furiously texts someone on his phone. He puts it into his pocket and reaches his hand out to mine, that’s grasping the fork.
“You okay, love?” His eyebrows furrow over his dark eyes, and I feel a stab of pain in my chest, ricocheting through my body while I try to fight through the ridiculous pain.
“Yeah, fine. Just don’t feel well.” His lips downturn and he comes around the table to stand by me, placing the back of his hand against my forehead.
“You don’t feel warm, what’s wrong? Let me flag down our waiter, and we can take this food to go so you can rest.”I don’t want to rest,are the words I want to say to him. I try to fake a smile, but he sees right through it. “Go wait in the car, in the passenger seat. I’ll take care of this and drive us home.” Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I do what he says, pushing back from the table and standing up, walking out of the restaurant with my head lowered. It’s stupid of me to be this worried, there’s no reason to be. Hunter loves me. He has chosen me, time and time again over the years.
I get in the car and check my phone, there’s one notification, so I open it up.
Trent:How’s everything in California?
Great, fantastic, amazing. Obviously all sarcasm, but I can’t let Trent know anything is wrong. Because as much as I love the guy, he’ll tell Kian. And then Kian will tell Hunter, and it’ll become one big thing. I need to fix this on my own.
Adam:Great, we just finished dinner and we’re about to head back to our condo.
The text bubble pops up immediately. I stare at it, waiting for the swooshing sound of an incoming message.
Trent:Already?
Adam:That’s what I said, isn’t it?
Okay, the snarkiness was uncalled for. I’ll apologize to him about it later, but right now, I just want to be alone. I want to take a minute and decompress from all these wild thoughts running through my head. Thoughts that my therapist would have a field day with, no matter how many times she claps for my improvement. There will always be that part of me that’s scared to lose Hunter again.
He opens my message and doesn’t respond. No typing bubbles or anything. I toss my phone into the cupholder and stare out the window, taking in the array of red, orange, and yellow as the sun casts its glow over the city.
Hunter opens the driver’s door and I startle, not expecting him so soon.
“Ready?”
“Yeah,” I answer blandly, not looking at him. I know he’ll see my thoughts written on my face, and I’m trying my hardest not to make him upset right now.
The ride back to the condo is quiet, not even the radio playing a song to fill the awkward silence brewing between us.
“Can you wait right here? Just for a minute,” Hunter requests as soon as he parks the car in the driveway.
“Sure.” He leans across the console and kisses my temple.
I don’t have to wait long, and he’s back opening my door and helping me out of the car.
