Page 41 of Hunter

“And he died the same day he joined his brother’s crew, Daniel,” she says, as though trying to reassure me. “The things he did, or didn’t do, will always taint what we once had.”

“I’ve never had a first ‘love’,” I admit, “apart from my brother’s girlfriend, but that wasn’t real love; it was infatuation. One that made me feel so awful about myself.”

“Jeez, this conversation went downhill fast, didn’t it?” she giggles, and I laugh with her. She’s right, this is supposed to be a date and so far, we’ve only focused on our past traumas. Time to turn this train wreck around and sweep her off her feet.

I pull away down the road, passing many motorbikes along the way, no doubt heading toward her brother’s bar for the evening. It takes a good half hour before we get into the city, where I pull into my building’s underground parking lot. The restaurant is only a short walk away, and, like most evenings, it’s warm and pleasant outside. She shifts a little when I take her hand inside of mine and begin walking along like a normal couple. I almost ask her if she’s ok with it, but within seconds, she smiles and grips my hand back like she’s enjoying it.

We walk into the back of a fancy Italian, the type of place where I might bring clients. I know she won’t be impressed by its opulence, but when she meets the owner, Beto, I hope she sees why I come here so much. Plus, the food is excellent, so much so, it is often full of native Italians who always speak highly of it. As expected, when we sit down, she widens her eyes over the grandeur of this place.

“Daniel, this is a little outside of my comfort zone,” she says quietly, “forgive me now if I embarrass you by using the wrong fork or something.”

“Lou, please don’t even think you could embarrass me,” I try to reassure her, “none of this matters; you’re supposed to enjoy yourself.”

“Daniel!” Beto’s voice booms in his thick Italian accent. “With a beautiful girl no less.” He takes a theatrical moment to look at her with one of his warming smiles. “Si, I approve!” He laughs at me before turning back to face her. “You, bella, you could do better.” His over-the-top charm works, and she giggles. He then looks at my feigned insult and throws his hands up defensively. “Mi scuse, I am a silly Italian man who likes the sound of his voice too much…we all do!”

“Beto, this is Lou; Lou, this is my good friend, Beto.” I introduce the two of them and he bows theatrically before kissing the top of her hand. “Beto normally sorts out my choice for me, but it’s up to you, Lou, what would you like?”

“Oh, I’ll eat anything, but no offal, please,” she says with a slight wince at the same time as Beto feigns shock over her words. He then waves his hand and laughs before going to get us some appetizers and a bottle of wine. “You obviously come here often.”

“For about ten years now,” I say to her as the waiter pours our drinks for us. “Beto knew my parents from way back and, well, yeah…”

We both giggle over my unfinished sentence for it’s not really a story worth telling.

“So, what did you need to talk about with me? Some new date with Trent?” she asks before taking a generous sip of her drink.

“Actually, you and Trent are officially no more,” I reply rather bluntly.

“Oh? Since when?” She looks confused, and a little disappointed if I’m not mistaken.

“Don’t worry, Lou, I’ll still help you get a place of your own,” I tell her, noticing her visibly relax by slumping her shoulders down with a long breath. “Your ex came to the office this afternoon,” I explain, “he told me you were off limits, that you belonged to him.”

I cover her hand with one of mine because she’s suddenly turned pale; she’s visibly anxious over what I’ve just told her. She takes in a large gulp of wine, looking away with a humiliated expression. She’s close to tears.

“What did you say back to him?” she asks so quietly that I have to lean in closer to hear.

“First of all, I asked if you were aware of his ownership, but ultimately, I told him it was up to you who you saw,” I tell her with conviction. “This is your life, Lou, no one can tell you who you ‘belong’ to. The very idea is absurd!”

“What happened then?” she ventures and stares back up at me with her big blue eyes looking desperate.

“Trent came in and Tony pulled a gun on him, warning him to stay away from you.” She gasps at the same time as a stray tear slides down her cheek. “Trent’s obviously off the idea, so I guess that means you’re off the hook.”

“Fuck,” she whispers as she clasps her hand over her forehead, then shakes her head for a moment or two. “I have to go, Daniel, I can’t stay here.”

She gets to her feet to leave but I immediately block her path, to which she looks absolutely panicked.

“Lou, stay!” I demand, holding on to her wrists with little force but enough to let her know I mean it. “No one is scaring me off; no one is stopping you from making your own damn choices. If you want to leave because I make for boring company, then fine, I won’t stop you. But if you’re worried about Tony or Phoenix, then don’t. I can take care of myself, and I…I can take care of you if you need me to.”

We look at one another for a few moments, her eyes asking if I’m sure, my eyes trying to tell her I’m more than sure. Out of the blue, she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly. After the shock of it, it takes me next to no time to hold her back.

“Truth be known, I’m kind of glad you don’t have to pretend to be with Trent anymore. I kind of hated it.”

We laugh against each other just as Beto brings us our first courses. We then pull away and I gesture to the food, silently asking her if she’s going to stay. She smiles and sits down, giving my heart permission to finally beat again.

_____

Louisa

Not quite believing that I’m walking into my boss’ fancy pants apartment right now, his second home for the city no less, I look around in awe and wonder. It’s typically masculine but with plenty of personal effects. Family portraits adorn the walls in artistic shots, professionally taken and framed in some expensive studio somewhere. All surfaces are clean with sharp edges, however, the softness of his couches and armchairs is enough to make it still feel homely. In fact, it’s softer than I thought it would be.

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