Chapter 18
Natalia
Hunter Delucia.
That’s what the return address read on the package I’d been staring at since the mailman delivered it. Just seeing his name, looking at the heavy ink of his slashy handwriting, made me happier than I’d been in the last week-and-a-half.
Hunter had kept to his word of not making contact, leaving the ball in my court. And even though I’d thought about him more than a few times each day, I still hadn’t taken the initiative to reach out.
I sat at my desk in my home office, typing up notes on Minnie Falk, a patient with a severe compulsive counting disorder. Unlike many patients, she didn’t have a specific fear of what might happen to her if she didn’t perform her counting rituals. Nonetheless, she suffered a profound sense of incompleteness when she didn’t do many of her tasks in sets of four.
I sat back into my chair with the package still in my hands and took a deep breath. My fears of Hunter were really no different than Minnie’s fears. I obsessively thought about the man, felt the compulsion to talk to him each day, and had a profound sense of incompleteness when I didn’t.
What had my advice for Minnie been this week?
We’d been working on interrupting her pattern. She’d quit smoking a few years back and had recently started again when her sister passed away. Although I would’ve loved for her to quit altogether, my job was to work with her on her OCD behavior, so I focused on her four-cigarettes-in-a-row habit. Today we’d worked on changing that pattern as the first step in changing her compulsion. While she still smoked her four cigarettes in a row, I had her wait sixty seconds between smokes rather than light one cancer stick off another. And after the third one, I’d had her eat a quick snack—just a piece of cheese—to break the pattern a bit more.
Maybe this contact, a package, would give me some relief from the unsettled feelings I’d had as of late, yet still keep some distance between Hunter and me. Anxious for relief, I ripped into the box like a kid on Christmas morning.
Inside was what looked like a black wrist brace of some sort. King Wrap Strap. Below the name was a description of the product. Comfortably stops wrist and thumb from off-hand shot veer. Underneath it was a note on a piece of Khaill-Jergin stationery, the firm where Hunter worked. The handwriting fit the man—very dark, as if he was heavy-handed with a pen, and tall, slanted downstrokes, masculine-looking. Was I insane to think his handwriting was sexy? The note itself was short and sweet, but boy did it hit the target.
Now you have a reason to think about me.
I smiled from ear to ear like an idiot. It was so sweet that he’d sent Izzy the shooting strap he’d told her about. In fact, overall, since the day I’d met him, Hunter had been nothing short of sweet. Sure, he was forward and crude, but even that had an odd sweetness to it.
It was nearly impossible to get any work done for the rest of the afternoon. I picked up and put down my phone—deliberating over calling him—ten different times.
I should call him to say thank you.
No, I should have Izzy call.
But it would be rude of me not to call. After all, he sent the package to me.
Although the contents was for Izzy.
I’m going to call.
Picks up phone. Puts it down thirty seconds later.
This is ridiculous. Where are my manners? I have to call.
Eventually, after debating with myself for upwards of a half hour, I settled on a simple text:
Natalia: Just received the package. Izzy is going to be so excited. That was very sweet of you to send. I might even get a smile from a fifteen year old this evening.
The dots started jumping around almost immediately. My heart rode along in anticipation.
Hunter: Excellent. And is her stepmother smiling these days?
I had no idea how to answer that. The truth was, I really missed being around him. As I sat at my desk, contemplating my response and chewing on my bottom lip, another text came in.
Hunter: Stop thinking of how to respond and go with honesty.
Natalia: Busy. I’ve been busy.
Hunter: That doesn’t answer my question, Natalia.
I don’t know why I decided to text what came next.
Natalia: I ended things with Marcus.
His response was immediate.
Hunter: Have dinner with me.
Natalia: Just dinner?
Hunter: Well, I’d rather eat you. But if that’s not an option, I’ll take sharing a meal.
The familiar flutter swarmed in my belly. He was so straightforward and unlike any man I’d ever dated.
Natalia: When?
Hunter: Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven.
Natalia: Okay. But it’s not a date, right? We’re just two friends having dinner.
Hunter: Put whatever label on it that makes you happy, sweet pea. But wear something sexy.
***
“You smell so fucking good.” I nearly whimpered at the sound of his throaty voice in my ear. True to form, Hunter pulled me against him the minute I opened the front door. Wrapping me in a hug that bordered on crushing me, his hot breath tickled my neck as he spoke.
Jesus Christ. Have the four cigarettes in a row, Minnie, if it gives you this type of relief.
“Thank you,” I managed to squeak out and then cleared my throat. “Come in. You’re a few minutes early, and Izzy hasn’t gotten home yet. I don’t like her to come home to an empty house if I can help it. She isn’t usually this late. I’m sure she won’t be long.”
I closed the door behind him and walked to the kitchen, needing a little space. Looking over my shoulder, I turned back to ask if he’d like a glass of wine and found Hunter’s eyes glued to my ass.
I raised a brow in question when they eventually rose to mine. Of course, he didn’t bother to pretend it hadn’t happened. That wasn’t his style.
“You have a great ass,” he said instead.
“This isn’t starting out like two friends having dinner. You’ve been here thirty seconds, and you’ve already told me how good I smell while pressing our bodies together and commented on my ass.”
“Didn’t say this was a dinner as friends.” He shrugged. “You did. Besides, you’re wearing perfume and a dress that is sexy as hell. You’re ready for a date.”
I rolled my eyes and continued to put that distance between us. “Would you like a glass of wine or not?”
“Sure.”
He followed me into the kitchen. Standing across from the refrigerator, he leaned against the counter in a confident stance.
Lifting his chin toward the sink, he asked, “How’s the drain holding up? No leaks?”
I uncorked the wine I’d opened yesterday and poured two glasses. “Nope. All good.”
When I handed him a glass, he caught my eye. “Damon come around again?”
“No. I think you scared him away.”
“Good.”
I sipped my wine. “So where are we going tonight?”
“One if by Land, Two if by Sea.”
“On Barrow?”
“That’s the one.”
“I pass it all the time. I have a client nearby.” I squinted. “Looks romantic from the outside.”
“Saw it featured in Architectural Digest a few years back. Been meaning to go. But haven’t had the chance.”
“I thought you came to New York all the time.”
“I do. Meant there was no one I wanted to take there.”
God, he was sweet without even trying.
His words, coupled with that intense stare, made me squirm. I grabbed my phone from the counter. “I wonder where Izzy is. She’s not usually this late. What time is our reservation?”
Before Hunter could answer, the front door opened and slammed shut.
“I was beginning to wonde—” Her face halted my sentence. It was red and blotchy, and her eyes were swollen. She’d definitely been crying. I went to her. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she snipped.
Hunter and I glanced at each other. His carefree face from a moment ago was gone, replaced by lethal anger.
“Izzy,” I said. “You need to give me more than that. Did someone bother you on the way home?”
For the first time, she noticed Hunter was in our apartment. She also caught the look on his face and seemed to realize the man was ready to kill someone if she didn’t put his mind at ease.
“Oh. No. Nothing like that.”
I blew out a heavy breath. “Then what happened? You’re late, and you’ve clearly been crying.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are you sure?”
Izzy slumped into the couch without removing her backpack. “One of the girls on the basketball team was talking about Dad.”
I sat down next to her. “Like what?”
“Apparently her dad was an investor of Dad’s, and when they sent home the player roster for the team, they listed both you and Dad as my emergency contacts. Her father saw the name, saw me at the game, and since I look just like Dad, he knew. Now everyone knows my father is a criminal.” Tears filled her big brown eyes. “And that’s not all.”
Oh God. More? I wasn’t sure my heart could take seeing tears spill over. Izzy was a tough girl. She hadn’t cried since her father’s sentencing hearing, and even then, she hid them from everyone.
“What else happened, sweetie?”
“Yakshit is going to the dance with Brittany.”
“What dance?”
“The Sadie Hawkins dance.”
“Isn’t that a dance where the girls invite the boys?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t even know you asked Yakshit to go with you.”
The tears spilled over. “I didn’t.”
“Oh, honey.” I pulled Izzy into a hug.
She tried her best to hide the sobs. There was no sound, yet her shoulders started to shake. We stayed that way for a solid ten minutes—her sobbing and letting me hold her. I hated the cause and her pain, but I was happy I could give her whatever comfort she would allow.
When she sniffled the end of her tears, I pushed the damp hair from her face. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
“I just want to eat and go to bed.”
Hunter had retreated to the kitchen. I assumed to give us some privacy. I looked over at him with an apologetic face just as he looked up from his phone.
“Hi, Hunter.” Izzy forced a smile. “I wore my J strap today at practice. Thanks for sending it.”
He nodded. “No problem. Hope it helps.”
Izzy noticed what I was wearing. “Are you guys going on a date?”
I answered no at the exact same moment Hunter answered yes. That made her smile.
She got up from the couch, finally removing her backpack before heading to the refrigerator. “What’s to eat?”
Hunter answered. “You like Italian food?”
Her spirit chirped up. “Nat made sauce?”
I walked to the kitchen. “No, sorry. I made you a turkey and avocado wrap.”
She tried to mask her disappointment. “That’s okay.”
“Come on. Leave that wrap for lunch tomorrow,” Hunter said. “Let’s go get some lasagna and meatballs.”
“Really?” Izzy’s eyes sparked a glimmer of happiness.
He looked at me while answering. “I don’t fool around about food.”
“Do I need to change?”
“Nope. You’ll be the prettiest girl in the room, even after basketball practice.”
Lord, I swooned. The only thing sweeter than his compliments to me was him giving one to my Izzy.
***
“These are as good as Nanna Rossi’s.” Izzy shoveled another meatball into her mouth and spoke with it full. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“I won’t. As long as your room is cleaned every Sunday before we go for dinner.” Nothing like a little bribery.
“I’ll just deny I said it.”
I pointed my fork across the table at Hunter. “I have a witness.”
Hunter shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything. Did you say something, kid?”
Izzy showed off her dimples while shaking her head. “Nope. Didn’t say a word.”
The two of them had been teaming up against me since we left the apartment. I didn’t mind, especially since it seemed to take Izzy’s mind off her terrible day.
“Are you Italian, too, Hunter?”
He nodded. “I am.”
“Did your mom do a big Sunday night dinner like Nanna Rossi?”
“No, she didn’t. My mom was sick a lot when I was growing up.”
“Oh. Mine was, too. She had cancer.” Izzy had surprised me a lot today with all of her openness. “Did your mom die?”
“Izzy,” I tried to gently remind her of her manners. “That’s not really dinner conversation.”
“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” Hunter said, turning his attention back to Izzy. “She died when I was seventeen.”
“Was she sick for a long time? My mom was only sick for, like, a year. She had small cell bronchial carcinoma—they call it oat cell cancer. Barely anyone gets it unless they smoked. My mom never smoked.”
Small cell bronchial carcinoma shouldn’t roll off a fifteen-year-old’s tongue so smoothly.
“My mom was sick for a lot of years. But she didn’t go to the doctor. She didn’t take care of herself.”
Izzy held up her hand to show off her charm bracelet. She wore it every day. “This was my mom’s. My dad bought her most of these.” She fingered through the collection of dangling charms until she found the pearl-colored ribbon. “Nat bought me this one last year on my mom’s birthday. It’s the ribbon that represents lung cancer. Is there a ribbon for what your mom had?”
Hunter looked down at his own wrist. “Not that I know of. But my mom made this bracelet.” He wore a beautiful, braided leather band with a thin silver rope entwined through it. I’d noticed it before. “She used to do a lot of craft projects when she couldn’t get out of bed.”
God, this was the strangest date ever. We were sitting in a fancy, romantic restaurant with a fifteen year old, discussing death. And…it wasn’t even supposed to be a date.
Izzy frowned. “Yakshit’s mom died early, too. She wouldn’t go to doctors either.”
Hunter and I exchanged glances. “Sounds like you two are close,” he said.
“We were. Until he decided to go to the dance with Brittany.”
Izzy so rarely allowed me access to her emotions. I jumped on the opportunity to understand what was going on in her teenage head.
“Why didn’t you ask Yakshit to the dance if you wanted to go with him?”
She shrugged and pushed pasta around on her plate with the fork. Her voice was a vulnerable tone I so rarely heard. “I was afraid.”
“Afraid he would say no?”
She shook her head. “But now he likes Brittany.”
“Maybe not. Sometimes people say yes just to go out on a date.”
Izzy looked up with a glimmer of hope in her sad eyes. “Like you and Marcus?”
My eyes flashed to the smirk on Hunter’s face. I sighed. “Yes. Sort of. He was nice, so I went out with him and gave it a chance.” I squeezed Izzy’s hand. “You’re young. I’m not saying you should go ask out every cute boy at school. But if it was the Sadie Hawkins dance, and you really liked him, you should have asked him. Don’t be afraid of getting hurt.”
When I looked back up at Hunter, he was staring at me. He spoke to Izzy without breaking our eye contact. “Sounds like good advice, if you ask me.”
After dinner, Hunter went back to our apartment with us to make sure we got home safe. Izzy thanked him for dinner and took off to her room the minute we walked in.
I kicked off my heels. “Thank you so much for tonight. I know it wasn’t exactly the date you had planned, but I appreciate what you did. You have a sweet side, Mr. Delucia.”
He looked over my shoulder and down the hall to Izzy’s bedroom. Finding it all clear, he wrapped his hands around my waist and locked them behind my back. “At least you admit now that we were supposed to go out on a date.”
I hadn’t thought about my words. But the least I could do was be honest. He deserved it. “I wore this dress for you and put on the perfume you told me you liked when we first met.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “I know. But it’s nice to hear you admit the truth for a change.”
“God, you’re so arrogant. You couldn’t just accept the compliment.”
He cupped my face in his hands. “Friday night. Just the two of us.”
I nodded. Somewhere between him opening up to Izzy during dinner and the ride home, I’d given in.
Hunter’s eyes dropped to my lips. “Now kiss me. I missed this mouth.”
For the first time, I didn’t think about it. I kissed him—well, at least it started that way. Hunter took it over after about three seconds. It was tamer than the kisses we’d shared before, probably because we were both aware that Izzy was just down the hall and could walk out at any moment. But it was no less passionate. Before it broke, he did that thing that drove me wild—catching my bottom lip between his teeth and tugging. Lord, the man can kiss.
“Seven o’clock?” he asked.
I nodded. “It’s a date.”
He smirked and leaned down for one last peck on my lips. “Yes, it is. It was always a date.”