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CATHERINE
What have I unleashed?
Rather than bask in the victory of putting Palmer Easton in his place, my head is consumed with the lingering kiss of Hunter Farro on my lips. Who am I kidding, it’s not just my head. My body, too. The way I melted into his arms, the way I tugged on his hair. I’ve not had a kiss like that - ever. It felt damn good.
Too good.
Because it wasn’t real. Hunter is not real. None of this is real. Yet I continue to hold his hand as we prance across the parking lot. The lobby well out of view, the need to continue to fool Palmer long gone.
I no longer know if I’m holding his hand or if he’s holding mine. In either case I don’t want it to end. I sneak a glance at Hunter, his gaze steady and calm in front of him. Of course, a man who looks like him is probably used to women throwing themselves at him.
Somehow my feet move on autopilot and lead us to my sister’s car. He drops my hand and I’m shocked how quickly I miss his touch.
“I would have never pegged you for a classic beetle.” It’s the first words he’s spoken since we’ve left the hall. A look of admiration on his face. Adrienne’s pride and joy, a ladybug orange and black two seat Volkswagen beetle. “And a convertible at that. I didn’t know they still made them like this.”
I exhale, relieved that he’s decided to focus our attention on something so esoteric as opposed to what just happened between us. He seems unfazed by what just happened, as if a life changing kiss happens to him every day. Me, I welcome the reprieve and a moment to regroup. “It’s my sister’s. She spent two years searching for it. She’s always known what she wanted in her first car and refused to settle for anything less.” I hear the pride in my voice. Adrienne is a determined, powerful woman who even in my absence has figured out a path that is uniquely hers in every way.
Hunter takes a slow stroll around the car, his eyes taking in every detail. When he turns and his gaze meets mine, I’m not prepared. His eyelashes flicker for an instant while his eyes takes a slow stroll of my body from head to toe. I feel my lips part but no words escape as his gaze rises to meet mine, the corner of his eyes tightening. “She’s had a great role model to follow.” He places a hand on top of the car, those hypnotic hazel eyes sparkling in the sunlight glaring through me.
A heat not associated with the blazing sun above, fills my chest and I squeeze my right-hand into a ball to release some of the tension. I tilt my chin up with an approving nod – my turn to put him under the microscope. The journey my gaze takes is quicker than his, but just as revealing. No longer buried beneath a baggy jumpsuit, I make note of the polo shirt tight across his broad chest, the flex of his biceps, the casual but stylish shoes that match well with his slacks, the neatly groomed goatee, and a look on his face that I can’t read. He’s an attractive, smart, stylish man who prides himself on the little things. The more I look, the more intrigued I become.
“Thank you for that back there,” I start not sure where I’m headed. “I really shouldn’t have…”
“I’m glad you did.” His voice is calm, soothing, steady. If I did anything to make him uncomfortable, I can’t tell. “If you hadn’t, I might have decked him. Your kiss saved me from going to prison.” His joke about jail is delivered with half a chuckle which fails to hide his truth, he was prepared for battle – for me, a stranger.
“Yet you’ll be surprised by the number of men who choose prison over kissing me.” I’m not sure why these words escape my lips. It’s a terrible joke, but he graces me with a smile. Just like I thought - kindhearted.
He pushes off the car and strides toward me, his eyes never leaving mine for a second. “Those men are fools.”
The words tighten in my throat along with my chest. “I’m not expecting you to go to the wedding, by the way. I couldn’t ask…”
“You didn’t ask. I volunteered.”
“It’s too much…”
“It’s barely scratching the surface, Catherine.”
The way he says my name nearly causes my knees to buckle. As if he’s already said it a thousand times. As if he knows what I need to hear at any given moment. I glance back toward the lobby, no sight of Palmer. We really are alone. Is what he is saying true? It can’t be. It has to be him looking to maintain the charade. “I could tell them you had a conflict, got called out of town. Fell ill. It’s a big commitment with a bunch of people you won’t know.”
I avoid his gaze and wait for him to back out. It’s the smart thing to do. I’m a stranger and I’ve put him through more than enough already.
Head lowered, I take in the movement of his shoes in my periphery. I look up, my breath hitching due to his nearness. I lift my chin and am met with eyes that swirl with understanding, a penetrating look as if he’s attempting to read my soul. “I’m here for whatever you need. I know you don’t know me but I’m a good man. If you don’t want me at the wedding, just say the word and I’ll move on.”
“It’s not that,” I jump in before I let a second pass. After what he’s already done for me, the last thing I want is for him to experience a moment of doubt that I’m concerned with having him on my arm at a big event like a wedding because of his race. Mesa and Arizona have come a long way from our history. Interracial and LGBTQ couples are now welcomed in our community but there are still enough pockets of ignorance remaining that I’m sure this thought must exist in Hunter’s head. “I would be honored to have you as my date Hunter.”
“Then what is it?” His words are soft, kind, open. He’s looking for clarification and understanding, not projecting attitude or bias. Another trait of a good man.
I push a strand of hair around my ear. “A wedding is a big deal. It’s not fooling someone like Palmer for five minutes. It’s six hours of being in close contact with people I’ve grown up with, townspeople who know my entire history. They are going to ask a hundred questions and there is no way we’ll be able to convince them that we’re a couple, when we are anything but–we're strangers.”
“Your sister’s name is Adrienne.”
“Wait, what?” I try to hide the shock on my face. “How did you…” I break into a laugh as he doesn’t turn, merely points down to the customized orange license plate holder Adrienne’s bugging.
“And you went to Westwood High School.” I lift a hand to my chest, concern racing through my bones.
“Should I be worried?” I push out the admission more for myself.
Hunter winks at me and paints on a sexy grin. That’s new, and he looks damn good doing it. “You mentioned you worked here during high school. I recall seeing a banner for Westwood high hanging in the office. Frankie hasn’t redecorated the office since his dad retired and I doubt Frankie ever graduated high school. My guess is that you were a favorite of Mr. Franklin and he put that banner up when you graduated.”
