Page 26 of Hunter

“Oh. So, you have no problem with long-distance friendships?” he asks.

“IloveMcKenna. Imisshaving her nearby, but I don’tneedto see her on a daily basis, the way I would a romantic partner.”

“I understand.” He cocks his head to the side. “But isn’t your whole attitude a little narrow-minded?”

“Maybe,” I say. “But it’s a lot safer and more practical.”

“Practical, I get. But safer? You don’t strike me as someone who always plays it safe. You take risks. I know it. I’ve seen it.”

“When? When I hooked up with you last summer? That wasn’t a risk, Hunter. You were available and hot. I was attracted to you. You were attracted to me. We hooked up. We had fun. We stayed in touch for a little while afterward. It was good while it lasted. Where was the risk?”

“The risk was that by spending that sort of intimate time together, it laid the groundwork for us to fall for each other.”

“Only if we had let that happen.”

“I’d argue that we did,” he says.

He’s right. Whatever I felt for Hunter Stewart last summer came pretty close to love. But confessing I once had feelings for him that went beyond attraction would just confuse things now, and it’s far more important for me to clear up whatever confusion and disappointment lies between us. We both need to move on.

“I’m not romantic like that,” I tell him. “I don’t believe in soul mates. I don’t believe there’s only one special someone for everyone on earth. There are four million people in Seattle. Roughly two million of them are men. I’m confident that one of them will be a perfectly suitable partner for me, and we will build—”

“Perfectly suitable…” He stares at me, his mouth open and eyes wide. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yeah. A hundred percent.”

“But what about love? What about falling? What about magic? What about—”

“I’m going to stop you there,” I say, taking a big gulp of wine. “You’re using fairy tale language, and life isn’t a fairy tale.”

“Itcanbe.”

“No,” I say. “Empirically, it’s not. And forgive me, but it doesn’t do you any favors to put those kinds of expectations on your future. No one can live up to that. As far as I’m concerned, ‘falling in love’ is a figure of speech, not a state of being. Perfection doesn’t exist. Fate is a myth. And as for magic—”

“You don’t believe that.” His voice is breathless, and his expression is dumbfounded.

“I absolutely do. I’m being serious.”

He reaches for my arm, then draws back his hand, rubbing his index finger against his lips in frustration.

“But didn’t you feel it?” he asks. “Last summer?”

“Feel what?”

“Magic,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with awe. I sense he doesn’t want to smile, but his lips don’t comply. They turn up anyway. His eyes sparkle, suddenly alight with memories. “Between us.”

“No,” I say, averting my eyes.

“Come on, Isabella!”

“I’m telling the truth. I didn’t feel…magic.” I shrug, trying to sell this as best I can. “I won’t deny that it was fun.Superfun. The sex—contrary to what I said earlier today; I was just being mean—wasmuchbetter than average. Libidos were met. Endorphins were released. Fun conversations were had. My best friend was forming strong feelings for your brother, which probably heightened things between us. And for a while, I was still able to catch that high over texts…but then, I wasn’t.”

“It got harder.”

“Yeah,” I say, remembering the negative ways my life was changing at the time.

“Because long-distance is impossible.”

I think about my family and friends, about my job, and church, and the volunteer work that’s so important to me. I think about the student I let down because I canceled a review session right before her exam. I never want to be that person again.

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