Page 54 of Now and Then

I smile, cheeks warm as embers. “So . . . funny story.”

For the next few minutes, I fill Hunter in on the absolute rollercoaster ride today has been. Easton pipes in periodically, seeming just as excited about the project as I am.

Hunter listens attentively, arms crossed over his chest. “You and Easton will be spending a lot of time together.”

I suppress my laughter at his jealous streak.

Easton chuckles. “Don’t worry, man, I’m not here to steal your girl.”

Hunter’s only response is a grunt as he sets his cowboy hat on the table. He picks up a paint sample, studies it for a moment, and looks up at me. He turns back to the colors. “You sure about these?” He sets down a paint sample. “They’re pink.”

I waggle my eyebrows. “That must have gotten in there by mistake.” If he forgot he told me once upon a time I could paint the master bedroom pink, that’s his own fault.

Hunter gives me a side-eye. “Alright . . .” He turns from the table and says, “What’s the game plan?”

Easton and I spend the next thirty minutes giving Hunter a rundown of our remodel plans and timeline. He told me to build us a country house, so that’s exactly what I’m doing—new cabinets, countertops, paint, furniture, and decor that will make this house feel like a home. By the time we walk Easton out, Hunter is fully on board with my vision.

Hunter and I wave to Easton from the porch. “I guess,” Hunter says, “you’d better help me pack and figure out how much of my stuff has to be out of the house.” We walk back inside. “Especially if I’m going to try staying here while you remodel it.”

We start in the kitchen, which takes all of twenty minutes. The fact that this man only has a small mishmash of plates and utensils, one pan, and a single pot always boggles my mind. Hell, as far as small appliances go, he’s only got a coffeepot and toaster.

I stare at the lonely stack of plates sitting in the cabinet. Kitchen shit, I add to my mental shopping list. The bachelor life and Hunter have been friends for far too long.

“Let me guess,” Hunter says, “you’re making a list again, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” I shout over my shoulder as I head upstairs toward the guest bathroom. Tingles trail up the back of my neck at his ability to know exactly what I’m thinking.

I take down the shower curtain and shove it in a garbage bag. He hasn’t given me a budget, so until he says otherwise, it all goes. I grab my toiletries from under the sink, step out of the bathroom, and place them near my purse to take home.

“You’ll bring those back, right?” Hunter comes around the corner from his room. He’s changed out of his work clothes, now sporting a teal Henley and jeans.

“Um,” I say. “Do you want me to?” I don’t know what makes me ask. I’m pretty sure I know the answer. Ever since he found out about my fake Find Love profile, he’s not hidden the fact that he knows exactly what he wants.

Me.

I haven’t quite gotten over my What if I cross that line with my best friend and it all goes to shit and I spend the rest of my life alone and unhappy hurdle.

“Sutton,” he says, hands braced on his hips. His eyes churn with desire and determination. He takes two steps closer, leans near my ear, and says, “You and I both know the answer to that.”

My hands immediately cover my belly, silently telling the butterflies in my stomach to calm down. His answering grin tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“L-lets . . .” I pause to get my wits about me. “Let’s keep working.”

He gestures toward the hallway. “Lead the way.”

The guest rooms are mostly empty save for the bed I use and a desk. We bring the furniture out to the barn. I’ll either refurbish what he has or buy new. Back inside, we make quick work of the living room and move on to his bedroom.

Pillows are tossed on the floor, the blankets are mussed in every direction, and the fitted sheet is pulled off the corner of his bed. Whenever I’ve stayed over (and the two times we’ve shared the same bed), he slept like the dead and barely moved. Something has been making this man toss and turn all night.

“You not sleeping well?” I grab a few pillows and set them in a pile against the wall.

He looks up from where he’s seated on the edge of his bed going through his nightstand. “Not since Friday.” His eyes never look away from mine.

I drop the blanket I’m folding and sit next to him. “Want to talk about it?”

His shoulders slump, and he lowers what looks to be a pile of greeting cards to his lap. “Work is a lot right now.”

“You haven’t said much about your case. What’s going on?”