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“Have you thought more about running your blog full-time? Converting it into a sustainable wedding planning business like you mentioned?”
“Oh, that. I’ve been busy with my internship. I’m supposed to start working on my final project soon. The project along with feedback from the other planners will help Marion decide who will get permanent positions in the fall. If I want to land one, I’ll need to stand out among the other interns.”
“Is that what you want?” he asks.
I’m ready to give a canned response, but the way he’s got his arms affectionately wrapped around me, and has shared his own vulnerability tonight, urges me to do the same.
“I don’t know. I thought so, but now I’m not sure.”
He’s quiet and a minute passes. And just when I think he’s not going to say anything, he speaks.
“You know the good news?” he asks.
“What’s that?”
“You don’t have to figure it all out right now.”
I give a slight nod. “That’s true.”
“Neither of us do. We’ve got time.”
I didn’t realize the conversation was making me tense, but I notice the moment my body sags in relief at his soothing words.
We’ve got time.
It feels like his way of telling me he’s still content with our arrangement. That while he’s contemplating making a change in his personal life, it’s not happening now. We can still have some fun together.
“So, what would you do up here?” I ask.
“When Hannah was little, it was my place to escape because she couldn’t climb the ladder, but eventually, it became a meetup spot for the all the neighboring kids.”
“Did you bring girls up here?” I ask, because teasing Hunter about his past teenage hookups is far less depressing than letting my mind wander to what his future wife might look like.
His hands move under the hem of my sweatshirt and tank top, searching until they settle on the bare skin of my stomach. His warm hand against my belly sparks a familiar ache between my legs, my full attention for his answer diminishing with the dip of his pinky finger below the waistband of my jeans.
“Only you.”
He presses a kiss to my head.
Hunter has been lighthearted and easygoing, everything a casual fling should be, but I’m noticing a more serious side of him. He’s still sweet and teasing one moment, rough and dirty-mouthed the next, but there’s a new layer emerging. It’s like a secret passageway has opened in front of me. A place he’s never let anyone see. The uncharted space has me feeling both intrigued and uncertain, wondering if I enter, will I be able to find my way out? And what if I never want to?
We sit quietly for a few minutes, the darkness closing in around us before Hunter suggests we climb down. I’m halfway down the ladder when he reaches for me, strong hands on my hips steadying me until I’m safely on the ground.
Silently, he takes my hand and we keep moving on the path until we reach a clearing that leads to another house. It’s as large as the Cartwrights’ home, but doesn’t appear to be as kept. The yard is slightly overgrown, and even in the dark, I can tell the white-paneled siding needs a fresh coat of paint.
“The Davenports’ place is on the other side of ours. Colette Davenport is the dancer I mentioned at the ballet. She’s good friends with Hannah.”
“You all spent summers here together?” I ask.
“Yeah, all the parents were friends, playing cards and lawn games, while the kids ran around getting into trouble together.”
“Who lived here?” I point to the white house.
“The Spencers. Rhys was a good friend.”
“Was? What happened to him?” I ask.
“Rhys’s parents died in a boating accident when he was twelve. His grandparents sent him to boarding school and we lost touch over the years. I think he’s in Paris now. He’s been traveling all over the world.”
