Page 134 of Hunt for You

Sam tipped his head. “That’s a lot for a kid.”

I snorted and grabbed a piece of the very yummy free bread. “That was nothing. The weird part was instead of playing sports, I was put in twice-weekly self-defense classes—when I was ten—and forced to have monthly meetings with law enforcement because everyone thought my dad’s people were going to try and come for me, so they wanted me to have people I could feelcomfortableto talk to,” I said, making my eyes big because it was such a farce.

“Law enforcement?” he asked, his voice a little tight because,felon.“You mean, Police?”

“No, I meanlaw enforcement.That’s what my aunt always called them. I know now that they were FBI, but she never told me.”

“The FBI came to your house when you were a kid—?!”

He cut off because my knee shot up to bang the underside of the table and make the glasses and silverware clatter—and I overreacted, my hands shooting out to catch the wine glass so it wouldn’t spill, and instead I accidentally knocked the water glass clean over, so it splashed all over the free bread.

“I’m sorry!” I gasped, shooting to my feet—but that made the table rock and then the wine glass reallydidtip over, and even though I caught that one, it still spilled a little over my hand and the tablecloth and my heart kind of shattered. “Sorry—sorry!”I squeaked.

Sam was chuckling. “Bridget, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry, I don’t talk about this stuff and I don’t sit around with people over a glass of wine and… I should never have said yes to this,” I breathed, tearing away from the table towards the bathrooms.

“Bridget—”

He started to get up out of his seat, but I was hurrying. I caught one of the waitresses on my way and whispered something about cleaning up my mess—saw how her eyes found Sam behind me and lit up and my stomach clenched, and I fled to the little bathroom at the back of the restaurant.

I was having trouble breathing and knew this was all just a dumb idea, so I got out my phone and texted him.

ME: I’m sorry. This isn’t going to work. You should leave. I’ll get an uber home.

But he didn’t answer. Because he was a good date and had his phone on silent? Or because he’d already given up and left?

I don’t know how long I sat in there trying to get my hands to stop shaking, but when I finally got up the courage to walk carefully out, our table was empty and a bus boy was clearing it.

I felt relieved and really sad at the same time.

I stood there in front of the bathroom door for a minute watching a spotty kid clean up the table I’d destroyed and reminded myself that there was areasonI didn’t do this stuff. There was areasonpeople like Cain felt like I belonged to them. And I needed to stop fighting that.

I was still close to tears when I pushed out of the swinging restaurant door—and stopped dead, because Sam was out there, leaning against the hood of his very cheap car, frowning at his phone.

There were some bushes and a couple trees in the garden that ran alongside the sidewalk between us, so I was only seeing him through the gaps. And he hadn’t realized I was there. So I got to just look at him.

If I’d seen him without any context, I would never have picked him for any kind of spiritual man. I wouldn’t have thought he was wise, or thoughtful, or gentle.

My stomach trilled at the sight of him because he was thick and strong and had that air about him that men who could be dangerous always had—an underlying confidence in their own strength, combined with a subtle wariness.

He must have felt me watching, because his head came up and caught me staring. For a second we just looked at each other. I hadn’t moved away from the door because I didn’t know what to say. But he pushed off the car and straightened, his expression a question… and a little fear.

“I’m sorry. I know that was weird,” I said. “I just… I’m just not good at this stuff.”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t care. I just want to talk to you.”

“But…” I made myself walk along the little path around those trees to the parking lot, my hands clenched to fists at my sides. “There’s no way this is going to work,” I said, flapping a hand back at the restaurant.

Sam frowned. “So, let’s try something else?”

Was he serious? “Like… what?”

Then he reached behind him for something he’d left on the hood of the car then held it out.

It was a big paper bag with the restaurant’s logo on it, clearly full of boxed up food.

“You must be hungry?” he said, just loud enough for me to hear it over the rush of cars on the street behind him.

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