Hunter lets out a slow breath, one hand covering mine where they’re still locked around his waist. “Yeah,” he says simply. “Dinner first, talking later. Deal?”
I nod against his shoulder, holding on tighter.
“Go sit at the table,” he urges, patting my arm gently. “This’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
I untangle myself from his waist and sulk toward the dining room. Dropping into the chair, I focus on counting my breaths, tracing the wood grain on the table. Anything to keep the fire in my chest at bay.
Moments later, Hunter appears carrying two steaming plates of noodles. He sets one in front of me and sits down, our knees brushing beneath the table.
“Thanks,” I say, managing a warm smile.
I twirl my fork in the noodles, spear a huge piece of broccoli, and shove it in my mouth. I didn’t realize it until now, but I’m starving. I’d skipped lunch during my meeting with Stephen, and all I’d managed to eat all day was a granola bar when my blood sugar dipped.
The flavor hits my tongue—savory, salty, with just the right kick of garlic. I let out an involuntary groan. “God. So good.”
Hunter beams with pride. “Glad you like it.”
I swallow, nodding. “So, how’d your research go today?”
“Good, I guess.” He shrugs, chewing a sauce-covered slice of carrot. “The data looks promising. Although someone left shoe prints in one of my plots again. I’m thinking I need morekeep out signs.”
I hesitantly bite into a piece of tofu. It’s surprisingly firm—not the squishy, gross texture I’ve tried before. I’m convinced Hunter could make anything taste good.
“Oh! And I saw this today,” Hunter says suddenly, reaching for his phone. He scrolls for a second before spinning the screen toward me, revealing a fuzzy bee perched delicately on a pink flower.
“A bumblebee?” I ask around a mouthful of noodles.
“Not just any bumblebee,” he says, eyes bright. “A Rusty Patched Bumblebee,Bombus affinis. They’re endangered. I’ve never seen one before.”
I love the way he lights up when he talks about nerdy stuff like this. The sparkle in his eyes, the toothy smile spread across his lips—it makes me feel warm and soft inside. I could listen to him ramble about pollinators and flowers all day. I may not understand most of it, but just hearing the passion in his voice is intoxicating.
“That’s really cool,” I say honestly.
I glance down at his hand where it’s wrapped around his phone and notice the navy blue paint on his nails. The polish catches the light when he shifts his fingers.
“Your nails look good,” I say without thinking.
His grin softens as he tucks his phone back into his pocket. “Thank you.”
“I used to paint Maddie’s nails all the time when she was little,” I mutter, twirling noodles on my fork. “She’d beg me to do it, even though I was terrible at it. Now that she’s older, she doesn’t ask anymore.”
Hunter tilts his head, eyes darting between mine like he’s studying me. “You ever painted your own nails?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Just Maddie’s.”
He leans closer, eyes glinting mischievously. “Would you let me paint yours?”
My fork stills. If someone asked me that a couple months ago, I would’ve shot it down immediately. Now, though? The idea of Hunter painting my nails doesn’t feel weird at all. It actually sounds… nice. Comforting.
“Sure,” I say after a beat. “After dinner.”
Hunter’s smile spreads slowly. “Cool.”
I clear my plate and even go back for seconds—vegetables and all.
***
Hunter’s finger taps thoughtfully against his lips as he surveys his collection of nail polish. We’re sitting side by side in front of the vanity in his bedroom, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow across his focused face. One of the drawers is pulled open, revealing rows of neatly arranged colors—pinks fading into reds, blues into greens, a rainbow lined up with meticulous care.
