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CHAPTER SIX

IRIS

The first thing I notice is the sunlight, hot and insistent through my flimsy curtains. For a blissful second, I pretend it’s a normal Saturday and not, you know, the aftermath of one of the more humiliating emotional breakdowns of my life. My head is thick, my mouth feels like I tried to swallow a roll of paper towels, and for a moment, I barely remember going to sleep last night.

There’s a yummy smell coming from somewhere in my apartment. I blink hard and push myself upright.

My brain jolts awake, a burst of electricity snapping through the mess of last night. The memories hit in sharp, flickering cuts. Buster howling and splitting the silence. My own tears hot and unrelenting. Hunter cradling the puppy while his big hands barely contained the chaos. I can’t forget the way those hands maneuvered Buster into the crate, careful and somehow gentle, like he was handling something breakable. The next breath, there's comfort, thick and heavy, sinking over me. My body hums with the memory, warm and strange. Did I really sleep through the night?

My feet find the floor. Every muscle aches. I’m still in yesterday’s sleep shirt, and my hair’s matted on one side like I lost a fight with a tornado. When I open my door, the full blast of bacon and coffee hits me, and I remember that there’s a man in my apartment.

I pad down the hallway, heartbeat suddenly doing a clumsy tap dance in my chest. I round the corner into my kitchen, and my heart, which had been going for a mild jog, goes full marathon.

Hunter Hartwell is standing in front of my stove, cooking bacon like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Somehow, he managed to shower and change into a clean black T-shirt and dark jeans while dog-sitting Buster. His hair’s damp, combed back from his forehead, a silver streak at the temple catching the light. He’s so out of place in my kitchen—surrounded by pastel mugs, a ridiculous donut-shaped sponge holder, and a curtain patterned with pink foxes—that for a second, I think I’m dreaming.

The only thing more surreal is Buster, who’s sprawled on the kitchen mat, contentedly gnawing on what looks like a brand-new rubber pizza slice. He thumps his tail when he sees me, and a little squeal escapes my mouth before I can rein it in.

Hunter looks up. Our eyes meet. A strange, fleeting smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he’s not used to the motion and isn’t sure he should commit.

“You’re awake,” he says. His voice is rougher than usual, the morning rasp still clinging to it. “Wasn’t sure if you’d want breakfast, but… figured I’d try.”

I just stand there, clinging to the doorframe like it’s a lifeline. “You’re in my kitchen,” I say, brilliantly.

“Yeah,” he says, flicking the heat down. “Hope you don’t mind. The puppy was losing his mind at six a.m., so we got an early start on the morning.”

My face is hot. I reach up and tug my hair into a lopsided ponytail, only to remember I haven’t washed my face or brushed my teeth. “You didn’t have to cook,” I say, because my brain is apparently stuck on dumb.

“I love to cook.” Hunter shrugs. “I’m making bacon and eggs. I also got coffee and donuts, too.”

He gestures to the counter, where a brown paper bag sits next to two mugs of coffee. The logo on the bag is from Gobble Me Up, the bakery in our lobby. He’s really gone for it.

“Thank you.” I glance around. The urge to bolt is so intense that I actually have to grip the doorframe harder. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be the girl who wakes up to a guy making her breakfast. My heart doesn’t know how to protect itself.

But then Hunter turns his attention back to the stove, tongs in one hand, and starts flipping bacon. His entire body is different this morning. Less guarded. His shoulders are still massive, but they’re not hunched like he’s expecting bad news.

Buster loses interest in the pizza and comes over, tail going a mile a minute. He butts his head into my shin and whines, and I drop to my knees to scoop him up. He’s warm and wiggly, and he tries to lick my face with his enormous tongue, leaving a slime trail down my chin. “Good morning, you little stinker,” I whisper into his floppy ear.

Hunter snorts, and the tiniest puff of laughter escapes him. “He’s a good boy. Just needs a little training.”

Hunter plates the eggs and bacon with a weird amount of precision, dividing the food evenly between two mismatched plates. I sit in one of my wobbly chairs, and he slides a plate in front of me. Then he leans against the counter, arms crossed, looking a little unsure of himself for the first time ever.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he says, but there’s a question in it.

I nod and set my coffee down, hands shaking a little. “Starving, actually.”

For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. I poke the eggs with my fork, then glance up to see Hunter watching me with an intensity that turns my insides to goo. My face flushes, but I force myself to meet his gaze.

Shit. I realize now would be a good time to say something. Anything. My apology tumbles out way too fast. "Sorry about last night," I blurt, heat crawling up the back of my neck. "The, uh, crying. And… all that mess. You have to think I’m crazy." My voice cracks.

But he just leans back, arms crossed, cool as ever. Shakes his head once, slow and steady, gaze locked on mine like he's trying to read me front to back. "That's not how I saw it."

I falter. My heartbeat's a hammer in my chest. "You didn't?" My words hang between us, frail and uncertain.

The expression on his face looks almost like affection. "I saw it as a great opportunity for me to get to know you," he says, voice rough but steady.

He actually wants to get to know me. Since when? Did I go to sleep last night in my bed and wake up today in the twilight zone?

I can’t look at him for more than a second or two, so I focus on my plate. The bacon is perfect, thick and crispy. The eggs are a little runny, just how I like them. I steal a glance at Hunter as he methodically clears his own plate, and it hits me that he really is comfortable here in my little technicolor kitchen, eating breakfast with my beagle and me. It’s not what I expected from the human equivalent of a concrete wall.