Page 27 of Still Missing You

***

When I wake up, I’m alone in bed. I reach my hand out, but Hunter’s side is cold. He’s been up for a while.

Shit. Did he regret it? Was he somewhere having an existential crisis because he’d fallen into bed with me? I sincerely hoped not.

We fell asleep wrapped up together, so waking up alone hits harder than I expect.

Last night, after we both rolled onto our backs to catch our breath, Hunter got up and went into the bathroom. I could hear the water running, then he returned to our bed with a warm washcloth and wiped the mess off my stomach and dick. I’d barely moved. Exhaustion had fallen over me like a heavy blanket; my limbs soft and warm like melted wax; I couldn’t work up the energy to open my eyes. Then Hunter slipped back into the bed, pulling me back against his chest. My last coherent thought before drifting to sleep was the feel of his lips pressed to my shoulder.

What changed between then and now? Probably everything.

I open my eyes and sit up to find Hunter behind the delicate, ornate writing desk, typing away on his laptop. His big frame looks ridiculous on the tiny chair pulled up to the equally tiny desk. The chair looks as if it could collapse under his weight at any minute.

He turns and looks over at me, as if sensing my stare, or, and more likely, hearing the blankets moving when I sat up. “You’re awake. I picked up coffee.”

There’s a large paper cup on the dresser. “Thank god. You’re the best.”

I start to push back the blankets, but stop, remembering I’m naked. My face heats, which is stupid. Considering just hours ago, we’d been naked in each other’s arms while Hunter had jerked us both off, any modesty felt misplaced. Still, something about him watching me gets under my skin.

I push back the covers and get up. I find my pajama pants on the floor and pull them on. Hunter’s gaze follows me, warm enough to make my skin prickle. I don’t hate it.

He’s quiet while he watches me cross the room and pick up the coffee. I’m the first one to break the awkward tension filling the room. “When I woke up, and you weren’t in the bed, I thought you might be freaking out about last night.”

His brows lift. “Freaking out?”

“Regretting last night,” I clarify and take a swig from the cup. The coffee is not as good as what I sell in my café, but it’s a hell of a lot better than nothing.

“I don’t regret it.”

I lower my hand holding the cup, and his gaze holds mine. “I don’t regret it either.”

I grin, and he grins back. “Good.”

I’m not sure what’s happening between us, and while I’m not delusional enough to believe that we could ever go back to what we had, I’m glad that whatever this is, isn’t done yet. I take another long swallow from the cup before setting it down on the dresser.

“I should have a shower,” I say. Despite Hunter’s best efforts to clean me up before we fell asleep, I still feel grimy.

He nods to his laptop, open on the desk. “I’m just getting some work done. Updating my notes from yesterday.”

“Sure,” I say. “When I’m done, we can figure out our plan for today. By the way, you look ridiculous sitting at that desk. Looks like you’re sitting at a kid’s desk.”

Hunter chuckles, and the low rumble warms my chest. “I know. I feel ridiculous.”

Grinning, I make my way to the ensuite, shower, and dress for the day. After brushing my teeth, I leave the bathroom and find Hunter on his phone. He’s asking for background reports about Matthew, and I assume he’s speaking to someone he works with. When he notices me, he covers the microphone on his phone and whispers, “There’s breakfast in the dining room. When I’m done, I’ll meet you. I won’t be long.”

I’ve been dismissed, which annoys me a little, but my stomach is also grumbling. I am hungry. Besides, Hunter doesn’t really need me around while he’s calling his office. This is his work, after all, even if I’m his client.

I’m still trying to push down my irritation when I wander into the empty dining room. Nancy is behind me and steering me toward a table nearest the bay window.

Shifting from last night’s heat to small talk with my innkeeper is whiplash.

The chandelier casts a soft yellow light, but the dark wallpaper and gloomy weather outside still make the room feel heavy. Three small tables sit scattered around with mismatched chairs, all adding to the sense of claustrophobic gloom. I have to fight the urge to pull back the curtains and let in whatever light the cloudy sky can offer.

Once I’m seated, she disappears into the kitchen before returning with a cup of coffee and cream and sugar.

“Today’s breakfast,” she explains, “is a choice between eggs and sausage or French toast.”

I order the French toast for myself and eggs for Hunter. He’s always preferred savory over sweet. I just hope he’ll be done on the phone before his food comes out.