Page 53 of Now and Then

When I pull down Hunter’s driveway, a white truck is already parked outside.

“Long time no see,” Easton says as I step out of my car. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets as he approaches me. “So, we’re doing this?”

“Yep.” I smile and pop my trunk open.

Easton’s eyes go wide when he looks inside. “Holy hell, did you buy every pillow in the store?”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” I laugh. “Everyone knows finding a good throw pillow is a competitive sport.”

I shove three bags into Easton’s waiting arms. Somehow, he also manages to grab a few cans of paint as well.

“I see you’re a bag person,” I say.

He quirks a brow. “What in the world is a bag person?”

“Someone who refuses to make multiple trips.” I nod toward the paint can dangling from his pinky.

“Old habits.” His chest rumbles in laughter. “I live on the fourth floor. Multiple trips are out of the question.”

We make it inside and unload all the bags in the mud room. Easton’s never been to Hunter’s house, so I take him on a tour, giving him a rundown of my ideas. The living room needs the least amount of work, so, to me, it’s a logical starting place. Easton, however, suggests tackling the kitchen and bathrooms first.

“That way,” he says, “the house is only a mess once, and the cabinet and countertop guys can install everything at one time.”

“How long do you think it’ll take? At least the big stuff, cabinets and counters and whatever else pops up?”

He looks around at the layout of the kitchen. It’s wide open, with a large island and cabinets for days. There’s an area for a large rectangular table in front of a span of windows overlooking the property.

“This is a nice house with a great floor plan.” He runs his hands on the edge of the island, a faraway look in his eyes as he takes in the view. “I assume you’re not planning on tearing out walls or changing layouts?”

I shake my head, a half-scoff, half-laugh escaping. He saw my desk. We both know gutting a home and starting from scratch is not in my wheelhouse yet.

“Okay,” he says. “As of now, I’m only here for the next few weeks, but I can extend if necessary. Then, I’ll be back in January. I’ve got some contacts and could put together a crew. If you’re up for it, I say let’s start demo tomorrow. I’ll give you the number for the cabinet company. If you place the order tomorrow, we should be able to get them installed next week.”

“Wow, that sounds great!” I say. “Do you think I can start working on other rooms?”

“I’d wait until we get these old cabinets out of here,” he says. “Kind of hard to start making it pretty while my crew and I tear it apart.”

“That’s true,” I say, realizing now I’ve probably gotten ahead of myself with half of my decor purchases.

Easton leans back along the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Want to show me the color palette?”

I’m placing paint samples on the table when Hunter’s old Ford comes rumbling up the drive. I glance down at the samples, then to the window, then over to Easton, suddenly very aware of the colors I chose.

Easton’s smile lights up his entire face. “He wasn’t part of the color-picking process, was he?”

“Um.” My eyes go wide. “No, but it’ll be fine. I think.”

Hunter enters the kitchen a few moments later, looking like a snack. Something about that man dressed for work—boots, button-up, badge on his belt, and that damn Stetson—has always made me feel some kind of way.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, beelining right for me, his attention locked on my face.

The pesky butterflies in my stomach riot, something they’ve been doing a lot more of lately.

He leans in without hesitation, close enough that my stomach leaps, my brain scrambling to catch up with the fact that Hunter Michaels might actually be about to kiss me.

Easton clears his throat. Loudly.

Hunter freezes and glances past me at Easton. “Oh.” He straightens, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t even see you there, Easton.”