Page 45 of Reticent

Heather dangles her keys in a wave, passing us in the parking lot. “Goodbye, you lovebirds.”

I drop my hands from Hunter’s arms, and he moves his hands from my shoulders. There’s a noticeable shift between us as we continue our stride toward our cars. It seems as if Heather’s lovebird comment shook him too.

Chapter Eighteen

An hour and a half outside of town, tucked away from the public beach, stands a row of a half dozen houseboats along the harbor. I roll my suitcase down the wooden pier, breathing in the salty air as the cool breeze kisses my face.

Hunter’s houseboat is the last of six floating homes and the most modern, with a rooftop deck and an exterior made of mostly glass. The closer I get to his property, the more I smell the aroma of a home-cooked meal. Before knocking on his door, I reapply a fresh coat of lip balm. As he opens the door, I tuck the tube into the back pocket of my jeans.

“Hey, you.” A boyish grin crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“Hi.” My mouth waters—because of the delicious-smelling food, not because of my six-foot-three, sex-on-a-stick baby daddy. “Do I smell smothered chicken?”

“You do. Come in.” He takes my suitcase from me.

I trail behind him through the door, my eyes quickly sweeping his swimmer’s body in a pair of gray sweatpants and a Henley. Yep. Sex-on-a-stick. I sigh inwardly.

He rolls my luggage to a wall before standing in front of me, allowing me to hold on to his arms as I toe off my Vans. “Your hair looks amazing,” he says, taking in my new braids.

“Thanks. Jordyn did them last night. It took forever.”

“Well, you look beautiful, but you always do.”

I take his compliment for what it is—genuine but not flirtatious.

“I hope you brought your appetite.”

“My craving for chicken has been off the charts lately.”

“I’m aware. We’ve had extensive conversations about your love for chicken.”

“Good to know you were listening.”

“I’m always listening.”

“Same.” I let go of his arms, dragging my gaze from his face to the biggest sofas in the middle of the room. “If you need me this weekend, I’ll be right there.” I point to the leather couch before crossing the room and sinking into the cushions. “Much better.” I sigh, rubbing my swollen belly. It’s a miracle I can still walk upright without tipping over.

“Tired?” He props my feet on the ottoman.

“Nope. Just hungry.”

“Dinner is almost ready.” Hunter leans over and presses a kiss to my stomach. I love it when he does that.

“Do you need any help?”

“No. I’m good.” Hunter walks into the stainless-steel kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Maybe later. But are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“I’m sure.”

I can’t tell if he’s being a control freak about his kitchen or if he just wants me to relax. If it’s the former, I don’t mind. His kitchen, his rules.

Thanks to his open floor plan and large windows, I can enjoy both views from where I sit—of the water and him. There is nothing sexier than a man who knows his way around the kitchen. He moves around the area confidently and efficiently, like he’s in complete control.

I wonder if he ever cooks for the women he sleeps with. Is that part of his seduction? Does he bring them here? Will I find any travel-sized women’s toiletries in the bathroom? And has he had sex with anyone in the past few weeks of us getting to know each other?

“I have to pee.” I lower my feet to the floor and scoot to the sofa’s edge before pushing myself up.