I’ve had three official weeks of being loved by Hunter Wilde.
On the school side of things, I have completed my thesis with time to spare meaning that, once I finally click that submit button, I’ll only have two more essays to finish before legitimately being done with my senior year. That gives me a good few months to take more shifts at the diner so that, if I don’t get the grant that I’ve been hyperventilating about all year, at least I’ll have saved some cash that can go towards it.
Hunter’s words come back to my mind, making me smile secretly to myself as I slide back behind the counter at the diner.
When I told Hunter that I’m basically only two essays away from being done and dusted with all of my classes he gave me that heavy look that he sometimes has and he said, “Proud of you, baby. Now you got lots of time to finish up your manuscript.”
I press the back of my hand to my flaming cheek, my insides sparkling at how much hope Hunter has for me. How much trust he has in my abilities, how much belief he has in my shattering through the glass ceiling.
I know how rare it is for a writer to get published so I’ve never allowed myself to dream beyond writing for fun. I’m not a nepo-baby with a ghost-writer or a movie star with an instant one-million readership following. I don’t even mind the nepo-babies and the movie stars – I mean, having a book with their name on it is cool as hell, so good for them – but I know that it makes it harder for the little people to have their voices heard.
And after telling Hunter about my upbringing of getting good grades and keeping quiet, I’m pretty sure that he’s even more adamant than I am for me to have my voice heard.
So maybe, after I finish my final senior year essays, I will work on finishing my labour-of-love manuscript…
Just for fun, I think to myself, although there’s a golden warmth spreading in my chest telling me that maybe – just maybe – my life has more potential than I ever previously dared to dream about.
I feel the vibration of my phone in my pocket and that golden feeling glitters even brighter, because I know without checking that the text is going to be from Hunter.
I turn my back to the patrons and quickly slip my cell out of the side-pocket of my fifties-style diner dress.
HUNTER: What time do you finish work tonight?
HUNTER: Picking you up and keeping you with me at the hockey house.
HUNTER: Need my mascot in my bed before the big game.
I sink my teeth into my lower lip, feeling so happy my whole heart could burst.
Because, aside from my academic assignments almost being wrapped up, Hunter’s past three weeks have been the most epic that I’ve ever seen.
The Rangers have had hockey game after hockey game and they’ve won every single one, meaning that, in one day’s time, they’re officially fighting for the title of NCAA Frozen Four Champions, right here in Carter Ridge. And, on top of that, Hunter is only two goals away from being the Carter Ridge Rangers’ top goal scorer of all time, so as long as he scores one more goal, he’s going to receive the joined title of ‘Most Goals Scored’ in the team’s history.
After their win at their penultimate championship game, Hunter showered at his place and then showed up at the condo, with wet hair, grey sweats, and a brown paper bag of movie theatre candy that ended up long forgotten on the kitchen island.
The second that he saw me wearing nothing but his Carter Ridge Rangers jersey, he slung me over his shoulder and walked us straight towards my bedroom.
As soon as we got inside he had me up against the door, his big palms cupping my cheeks, as he gave me the kind of self-satisfied kisses that made me know that he was smiling.
That gave me a pretty good indication of how his latest game had gone.
“How did it go?” I had asked anyway, dizzy and breathless but determined to make sure that the Rangers had come out on top. Mainly because I want as much success for Hunter in his college hockey career as possible but also, secretly, because there’s something that I’ve been working on, and the Rangers making that final game is completely at the heart of it.
He pulled back, one arm braced on the door above my head, and gave me a lazy smirk that had butterflies fluttering wildly in my belly.
When Hunter is cocky I get so flustered I can barely breathe.
“Annihilation, baby,” he grinned, rubbing his thumb firmly up my jaw. “Final’s in the bag, and you’re gonna be in those stands to watch us win it.”
I must have turned beet red, my own secret wanting to burst out of me, because he just chuckled quietly before ducking down to kiss me again. Soft, gentle kisses that had me pawing up his vest, moaning at the feel of his swollen post-game pecs.
After he stayed over, we spent the next day snuggled up in my bed, but in the evening he left so that he could go home and prep for a weekend at the garage with his dad.
I’m more than a little curious about Hunter’s family, due to the fact that they’ve raised a freaking angel, but I’m not about to push him for me to meet them. When he wants that to happen, he’ll do it in his own time.
Another text bubble appears on the screen and I wait patiently for his next message to pop up.
HUNTER: Please do NOT get the local paper this week.
HUNTER: I love you 🙂
A giggle tickles in my chest as I text him back, why? lol.
His text bubble pops up and disappears a dozen times before his message comes through.
HUNTER: This is physically fucking painful for me to type, baby.
HUNTER: My photo’s in there.
I suppress a squeal and then send him a downpour of sparkling heart emojis.
I have never wanted to own a copy of the local paper so much in my whole time at Carter U.
HUNTER: They want to hype up a local crowd for the final game.
HUNTER: Had to let them shoot a pic because I’m the captain and I didn’t want Benson hounding my ass.
Knowing Hunter, the most effortlessly masculine man that I’ve ever met, having his photo in the local paper is probably the most mortifying thing that he’s experienced all semester. I can sense his ruddy cheeks from his gruff texts alone.
FALLON: I wanna see.
HUNTER: No, baby.
I think about it for a moment and then smile to myself.
FALLON: A pic for a pic?
HUNTER: Please God yes.
Giggling excitedly, I slip into the back office and pull my glasses out of my apron. Then I raise my phone up in front of me so that I can send Hunter a photo to drive him wild.
Two loose curls are swept on either side of my forehead and my hair is pulled back into a tight little bun. With the glasses on my face and the diner uniform on my body I’m pretty sure that I’m the epitome of Hunter’s sexy nerd fantasy.
I can see his texts popping non-stop at the top of my screen, and I picture him finishing up in his dad’s workshop, sat on a stool by one of the trucks, knee bouncing in a frenzy as he waits for a naughty-but-nice picture of his girlfriend.
I pop open two buttons, tilt my head, and snap the picture.
But just before I return to our text thread the screen of my phone goes completely black. An almost-empty battery sporting one red bar of juice flashes in the centre of my cell before disappearing again, making me know that it’s out of charge.
I blink at my own reflection in the black screen, a little taken aback by the sudden shutdown, until my eyes flick over to my manager’s desk, thinking that potentially she’ll have a charger in one of her sockets, and that maybe I can slip it into my phone for a couple of minutes.
But before I can even begin to scour the wall for a plug, something else entirely catches my attention.
My breathing falters as I do a double-take.
I tuck my phone back inside my pocket and I move tentatively over to the desk.
Excluding the first ever shift that I had when she was familiarising me with the place, Willa, the owner of the diner, is a rare sight for me to behold. Still, I don’t exactly want to get caught snooping in her office, so I quickly chance a glance behind me to ensure that I’m alone and then I pad the rest of the distance to the desk, cheeks warming the second that I see it.
It’s the paper that Hunter was talking about, and right there on the front page is the headline CAN THE CARTER RIDGE RANGERS SCORE THEIR FIRST CHAMPIONSHIP VICTORY?
My heart pounds wildly in my chest as my eyes drop to the photo, a perfect black and white capture of Hunter beside the hockey bus. He’s flushed with embarrassment and the most handsome man that I’ve ever seen. The thick column of his neck is arched slightly backward so that he’s looking down at the lens, his sparkling eyes almost amused, but too gracious to start smirking.
He’s the most beautiful person in the entire world.
How on earth is he in love with me?
With shaking fingers I pick up the paper, dizzy with the fact that fate itself left it right here for me to find, and I begin reading through the article, my patrons long forgotten. I’m so enraptured with everything that the journalist has written about Hunter’s undisputable NHL future that when a small knock sounds out behind me I yelp and gasp, dropping the paper before spinning around, totally startled.
The owner of the diner looks at me with an equally surprised expression as she drops her fist from the doorframe, sending me a small nervous smile as if she was the one caught doing something wrong.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, brushing my loose curls out of my face and stuffing my glasses back into my apron. “I literally… I don’t even know what I was doing back here… I just got distracted and I–”
She shakes her head, glancing briefly at the paper that is now lying face-up on the floor.
Her eyes shoot back to mine, her smile becoming a little strained. “It’s no worries,” she says, before gesturing behind her toward the main room. “We just filled another table so I was wondering if you could run me their orders is all?”
I’m borderline palpitating. I can’t believe that I just risked my job like this – sniffing around in my boss’s office while she is literally in the back kitchen. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, my temples aching. My behaviour just now was downright stupid. “I just saw the paper and I–”
She releases a nervous laugh and says lightly, “The paper? Oh right. Yeah. Well, we just had it delivered so I thought I’d toss it in here for now.” She swipes quickly at her forehead before saying in a gently urging tone, “If you wouldn’t mind taking the orders at that new table, honey…”
I nod immediately because I like my boss. We don’t have much reason to talk during my shifts but the pay is good and she has the kind of sweet maternal energy that I’ve never experienced before.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, swallowing thickly. “And, again, I’m totally sorry–”
She waves me off, her eyes straying back to the paper. “No worries, honey. I’ll be out front in a minute.”
I scamper out of the room, scooting quickly beneath the counter, before pulling up at the new table and jotting down their orders.
No more falls or failings, I remind myself. You secured this job and you will not mess it up.
I’m unbelievably grateful to have a college job, so the idea that I could have put it at risk just there makes my stomach hollow out a little, my brain feeling fuzzy.
Just as I slip back behind the counter to pour up a batch of coffees the door chimes open and a young-looking delivery guy walks in.
I set the cafetière down and smile, the universal gesture for what can I do for you?
“Hey,” he says, his breathing laboured like he just ran to get here. “Sorry I’m late.”
I laugh in surprise and shake my head.
“Late?” I ask. “Did we order something?”
He drops a large cardboard box onto the counter, before whipping out his electronic receipt-of-delivery pad. “It’s the papers that Willa ordered – kind of a special thing for her, you know?”
He hands me the pad and the digital pen so that I can mark the item as received, but I look up at him while I scribble in my signature, a little confused.
“I, uh…” I finish writing in my name and pass the machine back to him. “I was just talking to Willa… I thought that the papers had already been delivered?”
“Huh?” he asks, his eyes still focused on the device. “Oh, uh, maybe she meant that she’d already bought one in town. She ordered these Special Delivery on Friday so that she had a bunch of them ready – dunno what she’s gonna do with them all but she’s a proud mom, you know? It’s what moms do when their kid’s in the paper.”
I blink at him, my head tilted to the side, not understanding why Willa would lie about a paper delivery.
An odd sense of foreboding settles in my gut, but I brush it off as generalised paranoia.
“…Right,” I say, pulling the box over to my side of the counter.
And that would have been the end of it, if I hadn’t seen the name at the top of the address.
My eyes fly up to the delivery guy just as he turns on his heel to leave.
“Hey, wait,” I say quickly, my blood pounding in my ears.
That can’t be right, I think to myself. There’s just no way.
“You mentioned Willa’s kid… what did you say that their name was again?” I ask slowly, willing away the alarm in my voice. Then I flick my eyes back to the surname on the label, printed in bold and clear as day.
The delivery guy raises his eyebrows and amusement dances across his features.
“You don’t know?” he asks, smiling in disbelief. “Willa’s kid is practically famous around here. He’s on the college hockey team and they’re about to smash up the NCAA championships. Name’s Hunter.”
My lips pop open and the whole world stops.
“You’re telling me,” I say slowly, “that Willa’s son – my boss’s son – is…” I swallow hard, pressing my fingers into my forehead. “Willa’s son is Hunter Wilde?”
The delivery guy chuckles in relief, like he just knew that I’d get there in the end, but my heart stumbles in my chest, my world tilting on its axis.
I’m working for Hunter’s mom… and Hunter never mentioned it to me?
“Yeah,” the guy says, nodding his head in that way that men do when they’re talking about another guy who they can’t help but admire. “He used to work here, you know? Was kind of bummed when he handed in his resignation.”
I drop my fingers from my forehead, my eyes widening.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask him, my voice high-pitched in disbelief.
“He quit at the end of last year, just before you showed up I guess.” He gives me a pitying laugh when he sees my expression. “Hey, don’t feel bad – I’m sure you’ll get to meet him. Just because he doesn’t work for his mom anymore doesn’t mean that he won’t stop by here and there. He’s a real good guy. Those are few and far between.”
I press my fingers over my lips, realisation hitting me like a damn truck.
Of course I didn’t just find the perfect job.
Hunter gave it to me.
Hunter quit his job so that I could have one.
And I have no idea what to do with that information.
My mind races backwards to when Hunter sauntered in here, finding me embarrassingly excited to have finally found a good job that I could keep.
“Knew you’d find one,” he had told me, so confident and proud that I hadn’t questioned it for a second. I’d just blindly trusted his calm authoritative demeanour, eagerly submitting to it, despite knowing that jobs around campus are rare as hell once term begins, because all of the organised people already secured them before the summer ended.
I take a small step backwards, knocking into the bench at my right, and making the coffee mugs clank together.
Hunter telling me that he loves me is one thing, but Hunter showing me that he loves me is another thing entirely.
Words, I can handle. I’ve spent my life lost in books, reading the words of others to navigate the world when I felt as though I didn’t belong. And from my obsessive consumption of the English language I’ve also learned that things can get lost in translation. You can say one thing, and someone might perceive it in another way entirely. I mean, the weight of a word like ‘love’ to one person may not even come close to what it truly signifies for another.
But actions? Actions, generally speaking, are undisputable.
And to give an action of love without even asking for recognition has got to be the purest form of love that I’ve ever seen.
I rub my hand against my chest, so overwhelmed by Hunter’s generosity that I have no idea how to handle it.
I can’t believe that he would have done this for me. After years of being treated like a burden to my parents, I don’t know what to do when I’m being treated like a prize.
My mind begins whirring at a mile a minute.
If Hunter is behind getting me a job, behind making me smile, behind making my life liveable, how the hell will I cope if I ever lose him?
I almost laugh as I think about the fact that I specifically told him that I needed to be independent – and then he went behind my back and did the damn thing anyway. Being there to take care of me even when I didn’t know about it is the most Hunter thing that I’ve ever heard in my whole life.
“Fallon, I would never let you fall.”
When he said those words to me on the rink all of those months ago I took them literally. It turns out that he meant them in more ways than one.
Hunter has been picking me up from my lowest points since the first moment that he met me.
Am I mortified about the fact that Hunter most likely forced his mom to hire me and that, when I told him that I needed to do this thing alone, he didn’t freaking listen? Yes. But most of all, the strongest feeling in my chest is an all-encompassing tide of gratitude, making my heart physically ache because I can’t believe that he would be so considerate. Hunter barely even knew me back then, and he still went out of his way to get me the cash that he knew I was desperate for.
Hunter Wilde is the perfect man, and my long-neglected heart doesn’t know how to handle all of his love.
I jump as I hear a door close behind me, and I whip around with my hand clutching my chest.
Willa – Hunter’s mom – is standing right there, her eyes wide as they look into my own, and suddenly I know that she’s been here the whole time.
“I…” I shake my head, unsure of what to say. Thank you for hiring me? Sorry that you fired your son?
There are only two things that I’m sure of.
One, I’m very overwhelmed.
And two? I love Hunter Wilde.
I untie my apron, give her an apologetic look, and in less than three seconds I’m out of the front door.
