A weak smile cracks on his lips. Before he can respond, Cooper returns with two plates balanced expertly on his arms. He sets the bacon omelet in front of me, then Hunter’s pancakes in front of him, the stack glistening with butter.
His fingers linger a moment on the edge of the plate as he slides it across. “Enjoy,” he says with a grin aimed directly at Hunter.
He clears his throat, offering a polite smile, but I catch the flush rising up his neck. Cooper winks again before strolling away.
Jealousy prickles hot under my skin, sharp and irrational. I know I have no claim on Hunter. He isn’tmine. But the idea of anyone else making him blush—or worse, touching him—burns through me all the same.
Hunter pours an absurd amount of syrup onto his pancakes, flooding the plate. He cuts into his stack and takes a bite. The sound he makes—a low, unguarded moan of pleasure—punches straight through my gut. My fork stalls halfway to my mouth.
“Holy shit,” he groans, eyes fluttering shut. “These are insane. Like… transcendent.”
I shift in my seat, heat coiling low in my stomach. He has no idea what those sounds do to me.
“You have to try a bite,” Hunter says, slicing off a syrup-soaked piece and holding it toward me on his fork.
I want to. God, I really want to. But I know my blood sugar is still too high. My head feels tingly, my tongue dry.
I force a laugh and shake my head. “I shouldn’t. My blood sugar’s already high from the coffee earlier. I’d pay for it all day if I did.”
His face softens. “Oh. Got it.” He pops the bite into his own mouth, still looking at me. “That sucks. But seriously, these pancakes are a religious experience.”
When Cooper drops the check, Hunter insists on paying, no matter how much I argue. He even asks for a to-go box. With careful precision, he slides a pancake inside and pushes the container across the table toward me.
“You can have it later, when your blood sugar’s back in range,” he says. “Trust me, it’s worth the wait.”
It’s such a simple gesture, but it feels so thoughtful it takes my breath away.
We push out of the diner into the late morning sun, the air sticky with the smell of frying grease clinging to my clothes. Hunter jingles his keys in his hand as we cross the cracked lot, the to-go box tucked under my arm like something precious.
Inside his car, he taps the route into the oversized touchscreen. As the highway unfurls in front of us, I rest my palm on the cool cardboard in my lap. A single pancake, saved just for me. It means more than I’ll ever admit out loud.
For a while, we don’t talk. The concrete landscape blurs into a sea of gray, the city skyline shrinking in the rearview mirror.
A familiar song starts beating through the speakers. I glance at the display showing his music streaming app. He frantically tries to change the song, smashing his thumb into the screen, but I catch his wrist.
“You added Harmony Heartz to your playlist?” I ask.
He rips his hand away, cheeks darkening. “Shut up. Don’t make fun of me. It’s catchy!”
“Aw. Did my sister convert you into a Sweetheart?”
He flicks me a confused look. “Awhat?”
“That’s what they call their fans. Sweetheartz.”
He groans. “I hate you sometimes.”
I tilt my head doubtfully. “No, you don’t.”
A soft smile cracks through his sulking. “Yeah, I guess you’re alright.” He drops one hand casually onto my knee, the other steady on the wheel.
I watch him start to sing under his breath, bobbing his head to the beat. Maybe the song is cheesy, maybe the lyrics are ridiculous, but right now none of that matters.
As I listen to his sweet voice fill the car, I decide that maybe this is my new favorite song.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A week slips by, and it feels like Hunter and I have fallen into a dangerously easy routine. Beach picnics during lunch breaks, flirty texts when we’re apart, nights tangled up in each other until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. The rhythm is as natural as breathing—and terrifying when I remember how temporary it all is.
