Page 109 of From Now On

That consideration triples the nerves.

I shut and lock the front door, then spin around to face him. Hunter’s standing by the bookcase, studying the painting hanging next to it. “Did you paint this?” he asks, not looking away from the wall.

I swallow before walking over. “Uh, yeah. It’s supposed to be my mom’s hair salon.”

The painting is a collection of colorful shampoo bottles, mixed with few spiky cacti and one candle. All sights I associate with home. Before she could afford to rent a chair at a salon, my mom used to see clients in our apartment. Most days when I came home from school, there was a woman sitting in our living room getting highlights or her bangs trimmed. And since we didn’t have a yard, my mom would buy me plants. Succulents, and then cacti, when it became obvious I have whatever the opposite of a green thumb is.

“Do you want anything to drink?” I offer.

He’s still staring at my painting, and I feel as self-conscious as I did when he was looking at my sketch in the living room of the rental.

“Sure, water sounds good.”

“Coming right up.” I head into the kitchen, and Hunter follows me.

The bowl of yogurt and granola I made before realizing I didn’t have time to eatandshower is sitting out on the counter. I forgot to stick it in the fridge before hustling to the bathroom.

“Late dinner?” Hunter asks, spotting it.

“Just a snack,” I say, grabbing a glass out of the cabinet and filling it with water before setting it down in front of him.

“Thanks.” He glances at the bowl. “You gonna eat?”

“Oh. No. I’m good.” I grab the bowl and stick it in the fridge.

When I turn back around, Hunter is watching me. “You can eat, Eve. I’m not in a rush.”

Yeah, there’sno wayI’ll be able to stand here and eat while he’s a few feet away. When we’re about to have sex.

“I’m good. I just brushed my teeth.”

One corner of his mouth kicks up in that almost-smile that he flashes a lot more freely than a full one. “I like the taste of yogurt and granola.”

My cheeks burn. Based on the way Hunter’s lips move a half inch higher, he noticed my blush.

My pulse picks up, hammering wildly in my fingertips and especially in that wet, secret spot, and it’ll be a miracle if I make it through tonight without having a heart attack. I’m freaking out just from the suggestion that Hunter’s going to find out what Itastelike. That he’s going to kiss me soon.

I want this. I want this so badly it feels like I’m living in a hallucination of some wild fantasy that’s far removed from reality. And I’m scared. Terrified, actually, that I won’t be what Hunter expects.

“I’m not hungry,” I manage to say.

“Okay.” He picks up the glass of water I poured and drains it in one sip.

I watch the cords of his throat work as he swallows, mesmerized by the smooth motion.

I find Hunter fascinating. I always have. He’s a puzzle I haven’t solved. One I don’t have most of the pieces to. Everything I learn about him prompts more questions.

The empty glass lands on the counter with a soft tap, and then he’s walking toward me.

Before I can speak, before I can become more nervous than I already am, he’s cupping my jaw with one hand. Sweeping a calloused thumb across my cheek and sliding his fingers into my hair. And then, his warm mouth is covering mine with a perfect pressure it feels like I’ve waited an eternity to experience.

I’ve spent an embarrassing—and guilt-inducing, before my breakup—amount of time wondering what kissing Hunter might be like. Considering I can’t stand near the guy without worrying about self-combustion, it seemed like a dangerous prospect.

Turns out it is.

Thisis what a first kiss is supposed to feel like, some distant corner of my mind decides.

And I no longer have anything to feel guilty about. For the first time since that awful night at La Bella Napoli, I’mthrilledabout being single. That gaping terror of being alone doesn’t feel big or scary. It’s freeing, like I shed a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying.

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