Page 29 of Capitally Unexpected

I’m climbing the stairs to my—our—unit on a Tuesday night after the type of very long day quickly becoming my norm.Today included my normal forecasting shift, along with publishing a blog post and video about the incredibly active week Tornado Alley has seen. No one in the country has been able to escape news of the devastation and the posts are already getting more traction than anything I’ve done so far. I’m glad I decided to ask forgiveness and not permission to include links to fundraising efforts for those impacted.

I push open the door and the smell of melted cheese smacks me in the face, making me groan and drop my bag on the spot.

“You’re back!” Hunter exclaims. He sounds genuinely happy to see me every time I walk through the door. He claims he leaves the apartment while I’m out, doing recon of grocery stores for the app or meeting with Hayden or Duncan about business stuff. I take a big sniff of whatever deliciousness he’s whipped up for today, guilt spreading through me even while my stomach growls.

“Food will be ready in three minutes.” It hasn’t gotten old yet how he’s able to time each recipe from my departure at the station.

I sit at the table, worried if I go to my room to change, I’ll end up on the bed and miss out on whatever smells so delicious. Regret fills me almost instantly when the waistband of my pants cuts into my stomach. My day-to-day clothes aren’t going to cut it much longer. One of the momfluencers I started following suggests using a hair tie looped through the buttonhole to give you another inch or so. I’ll have to try it tomorrow.

“Here we are,” Hunter says, setting a plate down in front of me, as well as one at his spot. His forearms are bare, hair mussed from the heat off the stove, and yet, the most alluring part is the tea towel draped over his shoulder. A different type of hunger fills me.

“What? You’re not off chicken, are you? I mean, it’s fine if you are, I can make something?—”

“No, no, it smells delicious.” I cut him off, guilt doubling atthe thought he’s doubting his food while I drool over the man presenting it.

Do I have a right to drool over him?I don’t even know.

Hunter is still standing there, looking at me expectantly. Shit. “Oh, you know, the novelty of actually eating at the table, with placemats and everything.” He smiles, heading to the stove, checking the burners are off. He leaves the towel behind and sits next to me.

“I did find these placemats in my room, you know. So, you either bought them, were gifted them, or were reverse robbed.” Hunter’s staying in the second, much smaller bedroom. I had done some consolidating when we thought Jax would be staying here for more than one night, but who knows what other treasures he might find. The room will eventually become the nursery, but we’ll cross that bridge when the water gets high enough.

“My money’s on reverse robbed,” I say, before taking the first bite of food and letting out a moan I have no chance of containing.

Hunter’s eyes darken slightly, but his tone is light. “You think it’s good now, but you’re missing out on how this wine compliments the sauce.” He pours himself a glass of wine while I look sadly at my water glass.

“That’s just mean. It’s payback for the moan, isn’t it?”

He winks in return and then digs in himself. We fall into a comfortable silence, though my mind races. Why can we joke so easily, but we can’t talk about what we are to each other?

“So, I had something I wanted to ask you about,” Hunter says, setting his fork down.

Is he a mind reader? I mirror him, keeping my hands empty. “Sure, what’s up?”

“So, my parents, well, my dad and stepmom, Margaret, are wanting to visit all of us here in DC. They were thinking of visiting over the 4th of July.”

So, not a discussion about us. Got it.

“That’s nice—you all have made it easy on them congregating in the same place.”

Hunter laughs. “That’s what Margaret said. They also . . . they were hoping to have a chance to meet you. I know it’s less than two weeks away, but I’d like for them to meet you too.”

My heart warms at knowing I’m not some secret Hunter is trying to keep hidden. I didn’t think shame matched his style, but confirmation is comforting. “So, they know about all the reasons you made the move?” I wondered what he told them when he announced his move, but knowing how much I hate talking about my relationship with my mom, I didn’t want to pry.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to lie to them. They took it well. I found out my mom and dad got married a week after finding out she was pregnant with Duncan. They had been together for a while by then, so different, but he got it.”

I nod, piecing together bit by bit Hunter’s family dynamic.

“It would be great to meet them. I found out today my boss got me access to watch the fireworks from the Post Office Tower for my post on how the weather impacts viewing fireworks. He mentioned I could bring a person or two . . . I’m not sure I could get the okay for everyone, but the four of us seems likely. Would they like that?”

The only word to describe Hunter’s expression is beaming. “That would be amazing, Mich. Would your mom want to come too?”

Hunter’s face falls, matching the shuttering I know my expression just did.

“Sorry . . . do you not ...” He trails off, not knowing the end of his sentence.

I take a deep breath in. “I think I told you, my mom and I have a difficult relationship. Several therapists have helped me to recognize she sought validation from men and nowhere else, leading to some questionable parenting decisions, and someworld views she’s tried to pass on to me about men and their reliability. It is hard to be around her.”

Hunter reaches out and squeezes my hand before returning it to his side of the table. I wish his reassuring warmth lasted longer.

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