Watching Disney movies while downing copious amounts of coffee and chocolate chip pancakes is a hell of a party.

The most fun I've had in a long time.

The most fun I've had sober… ever.

We talk about nothing and everything through Mulan, The Lion King, and Inside Out.

Apparently, the Disney marathon has relaxed enough to include Pixar.

I lobby for the addition of Star Wars and Marvel.

Emma sticks her tongue out and mutters something about being done with Matt Murdoch's brooding bullshit.

But when I get home from work on Sunday and start season two of Daredevil, she joins me on the couch.

She mocks the show at every turn.

Rolls her eyes at every one-liner.

Complains endlessly about the mismatched plot lines.

But, the next night, she joins me for another few episodes.

She scoots closer.

Until we're close enough to touch, kiss, fuck.

We're too close.

But we're still not close enough.

Wes breaks the silence.

It's Tuesday afternoon. I'm two appointments down and dreading the third. It's not just that this client is a known pain in the ass.

Or my itch to move.

Or the way Emma is sitting at the counter, pretending she's not staring.

It's how completely out of my depths I am.

This is supposed to be an epic piece.

It's supposed to be fucking art.

For once, I actually poured myself into it.

This old-school lighthouse is my client's vision.

But it's mine too.

The tiny beacon of hope in the darkness.

A metaphor for the world.

Rocky shores most of the time.

Barely anything to guide the way.

But something.

And, fuck, when you find that, you need to hold on tightly.

I swallow hard.

It's everything, hearing from Wes, but that isn't the beacon of hope that's guiding me.

My beacon of hope is sending me to even more treacherous waters.

Wes: Do you realize there's a babe doing your bidding?

Hunter: A babe?

Wes: She sounded hot. This Emma who called the shop to invite everyone to your birthday party.

Hunter: Even if she did, is she really "a babe?"

Wes: Yeah. She is. Should have seen Chase's face when he picked up.

Fuck, I can see it now.

Hunter: He was delighted?

Wes: Yeah, like a polar bear in Arizona.

Hunter: That's specific.

Wes: Our AC is busted.

Hunter: And you're running?

Wes: We're closed for the day.

Hunter: Only for the day?

Wes: For a few days. Cash flow issues. We'll work it out.

If Wes is mentioning any issue, it's already huge.

Blacklist Tattoo is in trouble.

Wes, Chase, and Griffin are talented artists. They'll find new gigs easily. But not together.

This means the end of our surrogate family.

If I can still claim my place in our family.

Wes: You aren't telling me about this Emma babe.

Hunter: How do you know she's a babe?

Wes: Get with the times, Hunter. I checked her social media.

She posts a lot. Mostly her outfits. Or her makeup.

And, fuck, those outfits—

It's always something clingy or low-cut or short.

Like now.

She's wearing a white blouse. It's low enough on her chest to show off the lace of her black bra. It's not an all lace thing. Just a trim.

I saw it when I was packing her shit.

When I close my eyes, I can see her in it.

In nothing but that black bra and a matching thong.

She's here, teasing Chloe about work, studying between social media updates.

We're friends.

I'm not going to set her on that counter, roll her jeans to her ankles, and dive between her legs.

I need to go home.

Fuck myself until I can't come anymore.

That's the only way to keep my cool around her.

But there's no way I'm missing a minute of our time together.

We have plans tonight.

The gym. Dinner. The rest of season two.

I need that.

Her proximity. Her laugh. Her touch.

I need more.

But I'm taking what I can get.

My cell sings with a text alert.

Wes: You fuck her?

Hunter: That's Brendon's kid sister.

Wes: Shit, she's that Emma?

Hunter: Yeah.

Wes: She looks different.

Hunter: Her hair is a different color every month or two.

Wes: Damn. He could snap your neck like that.

I could hold my own against Brendon if it came to that.

But I'm not letting it come to that.

Hunter: I've been crashing at his place.

Wes: "Keeping her entertained" while he's away.

Hunter: Don't.

Wes: You think I was born yesterday? I know how you go through women.

Hunter: Not anymore.

Wes: Oh yeah, now that you're so busy not drinking?

Hunter: Did you have a point?

Wes: "Hey, Wes, nice chatting with you. You are the only brother who will talk to me, but I'm going to be an asshole to you anyway. I just love burning bridges."

Hunter: Don't talk about her like that.

Wes: You like her or something?

Hunter: Doesn't matter.

Wes: Fuck, it doesn't. Girl is throwing you birthday parties. You should hear the way she says your name. Like it's her favorite chocolate or some shit.

Hunter: You coming to the party?

Wes: Fuck yeah. Gotta see you fuck shit up with this girl.

Hunter: Your support means a lot.

Wes: You're welcome.

My shoulders relax.

He's fucking with me, yeah, but that's Wes.

This is the most normal conversation I've had in ages.

Wes: Chase isn't working tomorrow. If you want to come by.

Hunter: I thought you were closed?

Wes: We'll be open in the morning.

Hunter: I'll think about it.

Wes: Griffin is lukewarm toward you, and everybody else here thinks you're a piece of shit. But none of them will actively kick you out.

Fuck, he really hasn't changed.

Hunter: That's a warm welcome.

Wes: I was just thinking that.

Hunter: Great minds.

Wes: You gonna tell me what you want for your birthday or do I need to buy you a fleshlight?

Hunter: Live your dreams.

Wes: Not sure you'll like that.

Hunter: Honestly, Wes, I just want you there.

Wes: Don't get all sappy and shit.

Hunter: It comes with the territory.

Wes: Well stop. I get enough of that with Griffin. If you're gonna have feelings, at least hide them behind your steely blue eyes the way our big brother does.

Hunter: I'll keep that in mind.

"Hunter, hello!" Emma calls from the front desk. "Are you there?"

I shake my head. "Checked out."

"No. Check this out." She motions for me to come here.

I do.

She turns her laptop around to show off the results to her last art history test.

A big, fat 92 percent.

"I'm a genius." She motions to the Keurig. "You should worship me with a coffee tribute."

"Sure." I chuckle. "I'll drink coffee in your honor."

She shakes her head and pats the spot next to her. "No, you'll bring me coffee."

"How about I buy you an Americano?"

"Really?" Her dark eyes fill with doubt. "What's the catch?"

"Really." The catch is I need to get my eyes off her tits or I'm going to do something I can't take back. Fuck, she looks good in that white blouse. Professional. Like she really is training to own a business.

"You're being nice."

"I'm always nice."

"No." She looks to Chloe, who's back in Dean's suite, working on a mock-up with him. "Hunter's usually a jerk, right?"

Chloe makes that kinda motion.

"Hot though." Dean winks at her.

Emma makes a show of rolling her eyes. "Not everything is about that."

He scratches his head. "It's not?"

She looks to me. "You know what this means, right?"

"No."

"You promised you'd take me through running the shop."

"Now?"

"No." She presses her palms into the counter. Her nails are purple today. A deep shade that's almost black. "Tonight. After dinner."

"And Daredevil?"

"Well… yeah." Her cheeks flush. "But not because I like it."

"Of course not."

"I watch it for your sake."

"Uh-huh."

"Otherwise, you might get confused and think it's good."

"That would be awful."

"Yeah, I wouldn't want your taste to degrade that fast."

I can't help but chuckle. "I appreciate your concern."

"It's because I care about you."

"You're sweet."

"I do what I can."

My client digs the work. Loves it even. I finish the piece on a high. Float to the gym. Take all of Emma's teasing in stride.

All right, I enjoy her teasing.

Especially the way she eggs me on about lifting more and lifting harder because "I'm not going to impress any babes at this rate."

We walk home together.

She issues orders as we cook dinner. Assigns me the chopping, measuring, stirring.

Sighs over her perfect carbonara.

After her shower, she's clean and wet and dressed in a tiny tank top and shorter shorts.

She settles on the couch and pats the spot next to her.

With each episode, she moves a little closer.

Until she's right there, her thigh against mine, her head on my shoulder, her fingers brushing my forearm.

Fuck, I want her there.

I want her there too badly.

I make an excuse about how we need to get to the shop now. Before it's too late.

But it's already too late.

I'm falling for her.