Page 84 of Something Like Sunflowers

Things here have been taken care of and renovated, like every other local staple this little town has. A free smile slips across my face with the knowledge that this is likely because of Hunter.

My Hunter.

“Is that little Devy Lynn I see in my crystal ball?”

Abel’s deep cadence crackles through the air and peppers me with joy and familiarity. It’s as if his laughter was designed for that purpose alone, and it’s proven so when my eyes meet his and I see the curve of his rosy, Santa Claus cheeks holding up wire rimmed glasses that must be the same damn pair he wore all those years ago, the red paint on the rims worn and faded.

He chuckles, elbowing the gumball machine for old time’s sake and lifting the flap to pull out a single sphere.

“You always did like pink best, if my old memory serves me right. The littlest Campbell with the biggest personality.” He puts the gumball in my hand and closes his fingers around mine.

“Welcome home, Your Highness.” He drops my hand and bows to me with a wry smile.

“Oh, knock it off, Abe, you old goose. You don’t need to go bowing for me.” I swat at his arm, but as gently as possible. It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s got a funky gait about him when he walks or stands or, really, anything he’s doing. He doesn’t use a cane, but as I peer over to his desk area, a smile pulls at the corners of my lips.

“You still have that damn stool, Abel? You don’t want a new one?”

He huffs and waves his hand. “I’ll have you know that stool has done me plenty well. No use recreatin’ the wheel.”

“It’s leaning on one of the legs,” I point out, which only seems to earn me a scowl.

“I heard a rumor, you know. I tend to hear these things, being the center of everyone’s world and all,” he teases with a wide grin.

“Oh?”

But he doesn’t elaborate. He just grins like a proud grandparent, laughing at me when I huff in protest.

“Oh, come now, Your Highness. You know I don’t spread gossip. I only collect it.”

I roll my eyes at the old man and look over the tops of the shelves for Lemon and Shana, but they’re off looking for stuff on the list Hunter gave us.

Rope, zip-ties, cables, bolts, and duct tape…

Honestly, the list sounds like something he might need to tie up a victim, not build a stage. The thought sends an unnecessary thrill straight between my thighs, and I snap the hair tie on my wrist to bring myself back down from Hunter La La Land or whatever the hell this place is called where pure unadulterated fantasy and lust live rent free in my mind.

“You’re blushing.” Abel chuckles, turning and hobbling back to his stool. I follow him because I feel the very instantaneous need to correct him.

“I am not blushing.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m not.”

He whips back toward me, impressively fast for his age, and cocks an exasperated look my way, a rumpled loose-leaf paper held tightly between his left fingers that he clings to while he speaks.

“You and Mr. Isaac are insufferable. You have long since been destined for love, and yet you fight it so relentlessly. It’s a miracle you’ve even been given the chance to choose again.”

“Choose again?” I furrow my brow, leaning over the counter and picking at the glue on the edge of his laminated No Returns sign.

“Well, of course. Why do you think you’re here, young lady? Everyone has a choice. Every choice has a purpose. You can choose love, or you can choose whatever else exists out there.” He turns away suddenly, shoving his crumpled papers back into the desk drawer before glancing my way, brows pinched with sadness etched over his features. “But this is important. Be prepared to live with the consequences of your choice. Should you choose the alternative, you may not be led down this path again.”

“What’s the alternative?”

I honestly don’t know.

If Hunter is the first choice, is Not Hunter the other?

Not Hunter means Not Ellie…Not Lemon and Not Shana.

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