Page 13 of Dating the Grump

“We’re going to keep trying until there is one.” His reluctance to leave without me eating something is palpable, but he grabs his keys and follows me out the door into the chilly morning air. “I can see I’m going to have to keep a close eye on you, goddess.”

I know my habit of skipping meals isn’t good for me, but it’s often necessary. Especially since I tend to run late a good part of the time. His concern warms my heart. I’ve never had anyone worry about me. “I’ll grab something after my meetings this morning.”

Lucky for me, Hunt knows a shortcut to the bank and ends up dropping me off with three minutes to spare. I hurry into the bank with the lingering warmth of his concern following me.

The next hour passes in a blur of meetings, but the night with Hunt replays through my mind, turning me into a mass of nerves.

After the first round of meetings, the adrenaline starts to wear off, and I can feel the effects of skipping breakfast. My stomach grumbles loudly, a harsh reminder of my oversight. I glance at the clock, realizing there’s still a good hour before I have even a brief window to grab anything.

As I sit back in my chair, trying to focus on the numbers in front of me, my phone buzzes with a text from Hunt.

Hunt

Have you eaten?

Me

Not yet, really slammed here. But I will soon.

Hunt

Hold on, I’ll see what I can do.

I dive back into all the work spread out before me, trying to prepare for the next round of meetings, and lose track of time. A while later, I look up to see Hunt walking toward my desk with a brown paper bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. His grin is broad and playful, but his eyes are filled with the heat that causes my girly parts to melt.

“Hi.” He leans over and places a kiss on my cheek before setting the bag on my desk.

I reach inside the bag and find a breakfast sandwich and some cut fruit.

“You didn’t have to do this.” But I’m so freaking glad he did.

“I couldn’t let my goddess go hungry. Not on my watch.”

His gesture melts my heart. If I hadn’t fallen in love with him the first moment we met, he would’ve just stolen my heart. I reach for the breakfast sandwich. “Thank you. You’re great.”

“I know.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ll remind you just how great I am when you get off work.”

“I can’t wait.” Oh, man. How am I going to get through the next few hours anticipating what Hunt has planned for me?

After he leaves, I gobble down the sandwich before heading up to the executive offices for the next round of meetings.

Over the next two weeks, our lives blend together into a united rhythm. After each workday at the bank, I find myself drawn to Hunt’s house, where he welcomes me with open arms and a smile that makes all the stress of the day melt away.

We fall into an easy routine, a dance of familiarity and discovery. The evenings are a mix of homemade dinners—sometimes Hunt's expertly grilled steaks, other times my own attempts at pasta—and quiet, intimate conversations that stretch late into the night. We talk about everything and nothing in particular, learning each other’s stories, desires, and dreams.

The only dark cloud in my sunny world is dealing with his former career. People flock to him anytime we go out together. The men usually bring up his injury, which he hates, or the women eye him like a perfectly cooked steak, which I hate. Neither of us has been handling going out in public well, so we’re starting to spend more time at his gorgeous home.

Cash Montoya stops by my desk one morning with a directive that leaves me both surprised and honestly relieved.

“Good morning, Molly,” he says, his usual stern demeanor softening slightly with a smile. “I wanted to let you know that moving forward, your primary focus will be handling Hunt Sola’s portfolio and investments. We believe your expertise and familiarity with his accounts will ensure top-notch service for our very important client.”

I blink, processing his words. “Of course, Mr. Montoya. Thank you for the trust.”

“It’s well-placed,” he replies before heading off to his next task.

With the new directive, my days become more streamlined. Instead of juggling multiple accounts, I focus solely on Hunt’s financial needs, ensuring his investments are managed with precision and care. The work is gratifying, and the added time it frees up allows me to leave the bank a little earlier, eager to spend my evenings with Hunt.

One Friday night, after a particularly long week, I arrive to find Hunt waiting with takeout from my favorite restaurant. He pulls me into a hug as soon as I step in the door. “Rough day?” he asks, his voice a soothing balm.

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