“You scared me half to death!” I said.
He rolled out from underneath and grinned up at me. “Sorry. I was thinking about this old car, and I wanted to take a look. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Why would I mind?”
He sat up and wiped his sleeve across his cheek, which smeared a black smudge of grease across his handsome face. “Because it was your dad’s baby. I didn’t want to step in unless you were okay with it.”
I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and cracked it open. “Feel free. I know dad would smile down on you from above if you got it working.”
“I think it’s close,” he said hopefully. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Hunter started staying up late to work on the car, which meant he was still awake when I got home from work. He would share a beer with me while I ate my reheated dinner, laughing and discussing how my day was. We got along like good friends whohadn’tbeen apart for five years.
It was weirdly easy.
Were things supposed to be this seamless with a guy? Every relationship I had ever been in, back at the end of high school and throughout college, had been a struggle. I never connected with the men I dated.
Yet Hunter and I got along sosmoothly.
Is it because we’re perfect for each other,I wondered,or is it because we’re just good friends?
I hoped it wasn’t the latter.
One afternoon before my shift at the brewery started, I was sitting at the dining room table with my laptop. I was searching for the best business credit cards to apply for, when my doorbell rang.
Hunter was in the garage, so I got up and went to the front door. But when I opened it, nobody was there.
“Hello?” I called, confused.
Chatter drifted through the air. I walked down the porch steps and around to the garage, which was open to let in a breeze while Hunter worked. My new roommate was leaning against the open garage door frame, sweat glistening on his tan skin and soaked through the front of his T-shirt.
“Mrs. Hellman?” I asked when I saw the woman standing in front of him. “What are you doing here?”
The grey-haired neighbor who lived across the street turned away from Hunter and held up a ceramic dish. “I made you another casserole, dear. Macaroni and chicken. Wanted to make sure you were eating enough.”
Mrs. Hellman had been really sweet to me and Brad since our parents died, bringing over casseroles at least once a week. She usually gave us concerned, pitying looks, but today she was all smiles.
It probably has to do with the sweaty hunk working in the garage.
She handed me the casserole dish and immediately turned back to Hunter. “I just love a man who can work with his hands. Not someone who sits behind a computer all day. Arealman.”
Hunter pulled up his shirt and used it to wipe grease from his face. For three seconds we had a delicious glimpse of his six-pack abs, as tan and chiseled as the rest of him.
“I work behind a computer most of the time, actually,” Hunter said with an easy smile.
Mrs. Hellman made a dismissive sound. “I don’t believe it.”
Hunter chuckled and muttered something about getting a bottle of water, disappearing through the door in the garage.
“Who on God’s green earth isthatyoung man?” she asked as soon as he was inside.
“Hunter is an old friend of Brad’s. He’s in town for a couple weeks.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “And where is Brad?”
“He’s out of town on business until this Sunday,” I replied.
“Then you and Hunter must be having an awful lot of fun together.”