Page 4 of The Hunter’s Affection

“Not a chance.”

The waitress, another college student, asked for their drink order.

“So how’s the school? And Tom?” Alessandra asked. They’d met as colleagues at Stone Haven High School, where Charlotte still worked as an English teacher, but Alessandra had quit a few months back to accept a job as a history professor at the university.

“Good,” she said. “He says hello.” Her principal had always loved Alessandra, and Charlotte suspected he might have made the moves on her this summer, now that she was no longer his subordinate, had she not met Kenton. Alessandra thought she was crazy.

“Tell him I said . . . oh, please no.” Those last words were said with plenty of sass, aimed at someone behind Charlotte’s back.

Charlotte was about to spin in her seat when Alessandra stopped her. “Trust me, you don’t want to look.”

When Toni followed Alessandra’s gaze, her eyes widened. Too curious not to look, Charlotte finally swiveled in her seat, but she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“Who are you looking at?”

She’d followed their gaze to a man at the bar with his back to them.

“Lawrence’s brother. I don’t think you’ve met him yet.”

The waitress returned with their glasses, red wine for the other girls and a Pinot Grigio for her. She’d never understood how anyone could actually like red wine. It was so gross.

Much to her mother’s dismay, she only liked white wine or beer in the summer. Unrefined, she knew.

So be it.

“No, I don’t think I have. How is Lawrence, anyway? And the bar?”

Toni shot her a loaded look—okay, so she’d been deflecting—and waited for her to speak. Might as well. They’d expect her to fess up eventually.

“You’re wondering where I’ve been.”

They waited for her to continue.

“My mother came for an extended visit—”

Both women spoke at once—“And you didn’t tell us?” “Why didn’t we meet her?”—but Charlotte chose to answer the second question.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be asking that if you knew her.”

She felt horrible speaking ill of her mother, which was why she rarely talked about her. Or her father. Mother always said if you didn’t have something nice to say . . .

“Charlotte!”

She’d done the impossible and shocked Toni. Charlotte didn’t need to ask why. She typically avoided speaking badly of anyone, and no doubt it was also hard for Toni, who’d lost her parents in a car accident, to understand how a parental visit could be unwelcome.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

And she truly meant it.

Alessandra put her hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Knowing you, I’m sure there’s a good reason—”

“Of course,” Toni cut in. “It’s just so strange to hear you mention your parents. You never talk about them.”

Alessandra pulled her hand away.

“And you don’t have to now. So your mom came to town, we missed her . . . and you.”

Charlotte felt a tingle behind her eyes at Alessandra’s sympathetic words. She even considered telling them everything. Well, not everything, but enough that her friends wouldn’t think her a complete monster for speaking ill of her own mother.

But the idea slipped away as Toni lifted her glass in the air for a toast. Her friends loved toasts. And she really did want to enjoy a night out with her friends. She needed it, and her story was sure to ruin the mood. Much better to save it for another day.

Or never.

“To Charlotte Harris. The prettiest, most proper Southern gal east of the Mississippi.”

She raised her glass.

“I can toast to that,” she teased, about to take a sip when a deep voice behind her stayed her hand.

“So what are we toasting to, ladies?”