Page 172 of From Now On

“You didn’t need to add that much time to your flight.”

“I know I didn’t.” He kisses the back of my hand. “Did you think of anything you forgot yet?”

“No, but I’m positive there’s something.”

He smiles.

“Have you talked to Conor recently?” I ask.

“Not this week. His mom flew in early to help Harlow with the last-minute preparations, and he was hoping to show her around Tampa Bay before they headed up to Atlanta. I think hewanted to make Anna feel extra special before Hugh and Allison arrived.”

“That was thoughtful of him.”

“Speaking of thoughtful…” He leans closer and kisses me.

I’m laughing, but it disappears as soon as his tongue touches mine. I moan into his mouth, louder than is really appropriate for a public place.

Hunter smirks when he leans back, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger. I cut it to just past my shoulders a few weeks ago, wanting to try a different style after having long hair for so long. It also means I wear it down more often, which Hunter seems to appreciate.

“How was it?” I ask quietly.

He sighs. “Sad. But mostly okay.”

Hunter’s grandfather passed away last week. It was sudden, a heart attack, and I wasn’t able to go because my boss was out of town and I couldn’t get anyone to cover the gallery for me. So Hunter went back to Casper alone for the funeral that was held yesterday. Up until five minutes ago, I thought that meant I was meeting him in Atlanta for Harlow and Conor’s wedding this weekend.

“You saw Sean?” I ask.

“Yeah, he was there. He’s still working at the auto shop, and seems to be enjoying it. Still showing up at NA. And he said he’s dating someone, but I didn’t get any details. Also mentioned coming to visit us in New York soon, but he’s said that before and it’s never happened, so…” He shrugs.

Hunter’s good at managing expectations when it comes to his brother. Maybe too good. It’s been four years since Sean’s overdose, and as far as we know, he’s stayed sober since. But Hunter still flinches every time Sean calls.

Some things just take time, I guess.

“My dad called last night. Lily won her art contest.”

“Good for her.”

“He asked about the holidays again. Wants us to come visit, maybe stay with them.”

“Are you ready for that?” Hunter asks.

I gnaw on my lower lip. “I don’t know. I told him I’d talk to you about it.”

It took me six months to call my dad after graduation. It was right after I got a receptionist job at the gallery where I now work as a buyer. The gallery where some of my paintings hang on the walls.

Our first conversation was awkward. So was our second. Lots of them have contained awkward moments, actually. But I kept calling. And he did too. We abandoned our former strict schedule, and that lack of structure helped some.

We’ll never have a normal father-daughter relationship, but we havearelationship. Maybe it’ll continue to improve, or maybe it’ll always be a little stilted. Either way, I won’t have to wonderwhat if.

“I’m up for it if you are,” Hunter tells me. “We went to my folks’ last year.”

I shudder at the memory. I loved visiting his family. Ihatedskiing. Hunter talked me into it.

He grew up skiing, and is naturally athletic. I’d never skied before, and am naturally clumsy. Honestly, I’m shocked I didn’t break any bones.

“No skiing next time,” he promises, knowing exactly why I’m grimacing right now. “We can go sledding instead.”

“How about you do the winter sports, and I’ll stay inside?”

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