Page 66 of Something Like Sunflowers

“You are so bad,” I say, smiling from ear to ear and biting my lip to keep from letting him get the satisfaction of saying I did so.

“It honestly does look good. Smells good, too.” He peers at the stovetop, where I’ve just placed the meatballs to cool and am arranging the rice and veggies on our plates. “I might have to let you cook for me more often.”

“Don’t get too carried away. I’ve only done like three Fresh Doorstep kits so far, so I’m not exactly swimming with skills yet.”

“Fresh Doorstep. I knew it was too good to be true. You’re a fraud, Mrs. Isaac.” He takes me in with darkening eyes when we both realize what he said. The room is thick with our desire, and I’m not stupid enough to deny that’s what this is.

Pure, animalistic desire.

“Shit!” I suddenly remember. “I need to call and cancel my subscription before they renew! I won’t be home for two or three months. It’s just gonna sit there rotting.”

“Why don’t you just send a neighbor to grab them for you?”

“A neighbor?” I blink.

“Yeah, I’m sure someone would want to make the meals that are already scheduled to deliver.”

I shake my head, almost too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “I don’t know any neighbors.”

“A friend, then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow that tells me he’s not gonna let this one go. “Someone who lives near you who you could text?”

I turn away, pressing my fingertips to my stinging tear ducts, and he pauses, reaching across the counter and placing a hand on my shoulder and spinning me around. My eyes burn because I don’t like to confront pieces of me that are less than what they should be, but he squeezes my shoulder, and I don’t feel so alone. Not with Hunter.

I just can’t figure out if that scares me or not.

“Don’t you have any friends in the city, Dev?”

“Look, I just worked a lot when I was on the news, okay? Went out with work people if I did things. It’s not a big deal. Can you just hand me my phone?” I point to the end table behind him by the recliner where my sunflower and daisy phone case glitters in the light, and mentally lock my walls back in place around parts of me that feel far too raw and exposed for how new this is.

Hunter creases his brow but complies, reaching over to grab my phone which seems to be lit up with notifications, from what I can see. Probably more Pinterest wedding boards from Claudette and Molly. They’ve been texting them all day long, and I’m honestly about to tell them it’s a fake marriage just to get them to back off for a few hours.

I wish I would let myself loose on Hunter. My mind and my body are telling me two wildly different things about what I should and shouldn’t do with him, but he looks like a god sitting at his bar in his house on his farm and calling me his wife.

I’m hopeless.

Hunter finds my phone and squints down at the notifications, a sly smile spreading across his face that gives me pause.

“What is the Obscene AF Book Club?”

My face pales. Shit. No, no, no, no. That is not a corner of my phone he should be on.

“It’s nothing!” I shout, practically leaping over the counter at him, and earning an even deeper grin as he raises one eyebrow, drawing his hand back so I can’t reach it, and scrolling on.

“Well, nothing, as you call it, is texting you left and right. You got another man I should be worried about?” His eyes gleam as he scrolls through what I know with one hundred percent certainty is not another man, but worse. A complete cesspool of debauchery. Mortification falls over me in boundless waves.

Rightfully so. Because that chat group? It’s not for normal books. I slide around the living room, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch my phone back.

“My Internet friends and I read books and chat about them. It’s nothing,” I say, getting close enough to touch the hem of his T-shirt. But as soon as I do, he twists his body around and flops to the couch, holding up a pillow shield while he reads on.

“Interesting. So, you do have friends.”

I roll my eyes. Maybe it’s better to use reverse psychology on him.

“Whatever.” I cross my arms over my chest and assume nonchalance. “It’s probably nothing. Sometimes we find a new book and the text chain just goes off for a while.”

“But why is it obscene?” he teases, still scrolling. When I realize my reverse psychology very much isn’t working, I dart around the corner and yank the pillow shield from his hand.

“You really don’t want to know, I promise. Just give me the phone.”

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