No, not entirely accurate. Hunter had been acting weird for days. Brit had given him space, knowing her best friend well enough to know that he was a thinker.
He sorted things out by chewing on them in his brain for days, not by talking them out. But eventually he would talk. He’d say what was bothering him, and she’d be there for him.
It had been the way they’d done things for their entire friendship, and she was coming to learn that his mysterious, brooding silences were a lot more unnerving now that they were in a relationship, or whatever the heck they were doing.
And she wished like hell that she knew. They’d agreed not to put labels on it; she knew that. She was fine with that. It made things easier, actually, especially on the work front. Though she was confident she and Hunter had been as professional as possible while in the office, it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to have to talk to him in meetings, to stand side by side at presentations. Pretending to be just colleagues when they knew each other naked.
Even more uncomfortable were Hunter’s staff meetings. She was pretty sure he didn’t treat her any differently, but what happened if they ended things?
Or took things to another level?
Or when her peers found out? They’d all been cool about her and Hunter’s friendship over the years, but a romantic relationship was different.
What happened when Brit was up for promotion and got it? Would it be on merit?
Because she was the girlfriend?
Was she the girlfriend?
The whole thing made her head hurt. For that matter, she wondered if that was what was bugging him. He’d been talking to Cassidy more than usual the past couple of days.
Were they talking about transferring her? Or transferring Hunter?
He’d been all but silent throughout dinner, leaving Brit to carry the conversation. Which she didn’t mind, and yet she was increasingly concerned.
He might not want to talk about whatever was on his mind, but he needed to. She could tell by the dark circles under his eyes, the distracted silences that said he was past the point of processing and had entered the dwelling stage.
They opted to walk home after dinner rather than cab the few blocks. Maybe not their best decision, as the night was unseasonably cold, even by New York–winter standards, and she hugged his arm to her as they walked in silence back toward his apartment.
Hunter didn’t notice.
He hadn’t invited her to come home with him and in fact seemed a bit tenser with every step, which only made her more concerned.
She let him have his quiet for now, but once they were back at his place, she was going to do some gentle prying. It had been three days of this. She didn’t know what the heck had happened in between their dinner party at Taylor and Nick’s and now, but something was haunting him.
He was more or less normal at work, at least to everyone else, but she knew better. His smile didn’t reach his eyes and, most telling of all, his office door was always closed.
Even to her.
They entered his apartment building, walking up the stairs in silence. Outside his door, Brit waited as he pulled the key from his pocket.
Hunter hesitated before sliding the key into the lock, and instead of opening it, he turned toward her.
For the first time in days, he seemed to really see her, and what she saw on his face terrified her.
Fear. Pain. Regret.
He set a hand to her cheek. “Brit.”
She lifted a hand to his wrist, wrapped her fingers around it, trying however she could to offer comfort.
“Brit,” he said again, his eyes closing for a moment, looking unbearably tired.
“What is it?” she asked softly.
His eyes opened again, locking on hers. “You know that you mean everything to me.”
She smiled. “Those words would be a little less scary if you hadn’t been avoiding me for the past couple days. What’s going on?”
He took a deep breath and stepped back. Instead of answering her question, Hunter pushed the door open but didn’t move.
Giving him a puzzled look, Brit stepped into his apartment and turned on the light. She froze.
There were . . .
Moving boxes. Everywhere.
This couldn’t be right, she thought, increasingly panicked. Maybe he was just purging, donating some stuff to Goodwill . . .
Then she saw a stack of boxes near the bathroom, already labeled. KITCHEN. BATHROOM. CLOSET. BOOKS.
These weren’t things he was giving away. They were things he was moving.
“Hunter?” she questioned him, her voice shaky.
She turned toward him, but he didn’t meet her eyes as he dropped his keys on the counter and shut the door.
“Hunter.” Her voice was sharper this time. “What is this?”
Finally he looked at her, and the resigned determination on his face made her chest tighten.
“I’m moving, Brit.”
She shook her head, not understanding. Not wanting to understand.
“Moving? Where?” Brit asked. Her voice was steady, but her hands were not. She felt like her knees could buckle at any time.
“Home. Back to Kansas City.”
She took a deep breath. Okay. Okay. She couldn’t say she hadn’t known this would probably happen someday, but this . . . the already-packed boxes, the TV on the floor instead of mounted on the wall, the empty feeling . . .
This wasn’t someday, this was . . . it seemed soon.
“When?” she asked, looking back at him.
Hunter’s eyes pleaded with her to understand. “Next week.”
Her knees that had been threatening to buckle? They did just that.