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Hunter leaned in and took a deep inhale. “That does smell good.”
“Doesn’t it? They remind me of my grandmother. When I was about ten, my mother took us to Italy to visit her. Nonna had them growing wild all over her property. She had a fence around her little house, and they were wrapped around it so heavily that you could barely see the white pickets. Sauce on Sundays and the smell of sweet peas—that’ll always be my Nonna Valentina. She died when I was a teenager. My mom kept up the sauce on Sunday tradition, but it’s too cold to grow sweet peas outdoors in Howard Beach where she lives.”
“You have a big Italian family?”
“Four girls. We get together every Sunday night for dinner at my mom’s. Two of my sisters have kids, two girls each. There’s not a lot of testosterone.”
The florist came out from the back. “We’re just finishing packing them all. I’ll ring you up, and you can drive around to the back. We’ll load them into your car.”
“Sounds good,” Hunter said. He motioned to the sweet pea plant. “We’ll take that, too.”
“I hope that’s not for me. I can’t bring that on a plane.”
“It’s not. It’s for my place. I don’t have any flowers.” He winked and leaned in so the florist couldn’t hear. “Plus, I figured you might like to smell it if after you wake up.”
I had to give him credit; he was at least consistent, even after almost a year.
Hunter loaded the boxed centerpieces and his new plant into the back of his pickup and secured the cap back down.
“What’s next on our list?” I asked as I buckled into the passenger seat.
“My place.”
“Your place? I don’t think so. We have errands to do.”
“This is an errand. Sam asked me to build a wishing well for the shower. I painted it this morning. It needed to dry before I loaded it into my truck.”
Hunter read my face, which called silent bullshit.
“No, really,” he said.
“So this isn’t an attempt to get me in your bed.”
“It wasn’t. But now that I get to impress you with my house, I can’t be responsible for your actions if you try to take advantage of me.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Maybe so, sweet pea. But you haven’t seen my house yet.”
***
Hunter’s house was incredible. It was also nothing like I’d expected. Surrounded by trees in the middle of a large piece of land sat a rustic-style cabin that blended industrial materials and natural wood and rock. The large stone exterior with towering picture windows looked more like an HGTV dream home than what I would have expected from Hunter Delucia.
I exited the truck, still taking in the house. “Is this really yours? It’s amazing.”
“Designed and built it myself. Took me six years.”
“Wow. This is nothing like I expected.”
“What did you expect?” He walked to the back of the pickup, lowered the gate, and slipped out his new plant.
“I don’t know. Something more in-your-face, I guess—not so natural and beautiful.” The sound of water running caught my attention. “You have an actual babbling brook. And trees. Loads of trees.”
“Took me twice as long to build because I used small equipment to reduce the number of trees that had to be taken down. I want to look at nature when I have my windows open. Tried to build something that showcased the land, rather than overpowering it.”
“Well, you definitely succeeded. I feel like I’m in a cabin in the middle of a forest, not ten minutes off the highway.”
“I’m glad you approve. Come on, let me show you inside. This is just the beginning of the tour.” He unlocked the door and put his hand on the small of my back to guide me in. “I think you’ll like the room the tour ends with the best—my bedroom.”
