Page 39 of Crossed Paths
My breath tightens, just for a second.
Hunter goes on, voice quiet. “Told him we’re seeing each other. That it’s serious. That I’ve felt this way a long time.”
“And?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
“He was stunned at first. Proper gobsmacked. Kept repeating it like it didn’t compute—‘you’re dating my sister?’ like I’d told him I’d joined a monastery.” He lets out a soft huff of laughter. “And then I said it. That I’m in love with you.”
I still.
His eyes are steady on mine, but he’s not pushing. Just holding it there, offering it gently.
“He didn’t really know what to say at first,” he continues. “Then Bernard… well, Bernard chose that exact moment to detonate.”
I don’t laugh. I should laugh. He said something funny. But I don’t.
Because all I can hear—echoing in my chest, my ears, my fingertips—is that word.
Love.
He said it. Out loud. No hesitation.
My heart is thudding, heavy and unsteady, as if it doesn’t quite know what to do with the weight of it, as though it’s trying to protect me from the hope that’s rushingin too fast.
He watches me carefully, like he’s trying to read what I’m not saying. But he doesn’t push.
And maybe that’s what undoes me.
I rest a hand on his chest, feel the rise and fall of his breath beneath my palm.
“You love me,” I say quietly. Not a question. Just trying the words out, letting them sit between us.
He nods once. “I do.”
There’s a beat of stillness between us, warm and breathless, like the whole world is holding its breath.
Then Hunter exhales, a soft, rueful sound. “I know this probably isn’t the most romantic place to say it,” he says, glancing briefly around the cramped office—filing trays, a half-dead spider plant, the unmistakable smell of pub carpet and hot fryer oil creeping in through the cracks. “I wanted it to be better than this.”
He shifts closer again, cupping my waist with both hands now, thumbs gently brushing the fabric of my shirt. “But I’ve wanted to say it for so long, Alex. It’s been sitting in my chest, taking up space. And I couldn’t keep carrying it around without letting you know.”
My breath hitches, something sharp and sweet catching in my ribs.
“I don’t want you to say it back,” he adds quickly, searching my face. “Not yet. I know you need time. I know this hasn’t been easy, and that loving someone again... after everything... it’s not just about feeling it. It’s abouttrustingit. And I’d wait forever if that’s what you needed.”
His voice doesn’t wobble, but something in mine does when I breathe out.
Because his words send a thousand butterflies winging to life in my stomach—soft and bright and real. Not panic. Not fear.
Hope.
Gentle and giddy and terrifyingly alive.
I don’t reply. I just pull him to me and kiss him—reallykiss him.
No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just need. Fierce and full and everything I’ve been holding back for days, weeks, years maybe. His hands tighten at my waist like he’s anchoring himself, and I open for him, tasting warmth and want and something that feels dangerously close to joy.
When we finally break apart, his pupils are blown wide, chest rising and falling like I’ve knocked the air right out of him.
I smirk, wiping my thumb slowly along the edge of his lip, teasing. “So…” I say, voice low and lilting, “you thinking of staying over tonight, or is that bed of yours going to get jealous?”
