Page 51

It would be a really bad idea to barricade the door shut, right? We were given a private room, which I was glad for. When we walked in, it felt like everyone turned to stare, noting my dress and the creases there, the way I walked like I was still wearing work boots, not slippers, so retreating in here was a relief. But every time I felt like we were getting somewhere, someone walked in.

“Quick, before someone else comes back,” I said with a smile. “Now, I don’t suppose there’d be any tomato sauce in this place?”

“Are you serious?”

Hunter’s snort had me looking up, his mouth twitching, ready to smile.

“About sauce? No, not really, but if they had some…” His expression said that was a no. I spiked the tiny sliver of lamb with my fork and then inspected it before turning back to him. “About information? Yeah, Hunter, I am.”

I shoved the lamb into my mouth because I was hungry, because it smelled amazing, and because if we got this whole dinner thing happening, then he could confess whatever the hell had him looking so constipated. I’d never seen Hunter’s face look like this before. He blinked, those long, dense lashes brushing his cheek before he poked at his food, right as I let out a groan.

I admit, I was sceptical about this place. It seemed to be all theatre. Beautiful interior design, every inch gleaming, the soft lighting creating this fancy-pants ambience that the artificial lights of McDonalds could not compete with, but this was no quarter pounder. The lamb was so tender I’m sure I could’ve cut it with the side of my spoon, the rich meat combining with the sharpness of something that tasted a bit of pepper, but with a eucalypt aftertaste. Through that was a saltiness that helped every taste amplify in my mouth. Hunter’s eyebrow jerked up at that, then encouraged by my sounds, attacked his own food.

Answers could wait, my body decided. My fork scraped disgracefully across the plate in an attempt to find more, but there was only the potato stack. I cut into that, popping some of it into my mouth, hoping it was just as good.

Damn…

Soft, soft potato and thick, rich cream, it was stopped from being too stodgy by a sharp cheese along with a little nutmeg. It was the best potato bake I’d ever tasted and there was a place up the road that did it with lashings of bacon.

“Oh god…”

Hunter let out a hopeless little sound, obviously having the same experience. We stared into each other’s eyes, sharing something, right as the door opened again to usher in a waiter with another plate. They took away our first ones, and I was proud of myself for not clawing it back to lick it clean, instead looking down at the new dish with interest.

“Jamie—” Hunter said as soon as the waiter was gone.

“Maybe tell me after dinner,” I said, my fork gripped tighter. “I’m starving and I…” My eyes found his. “I’m not going to like what you have to say, am I?”

“Probably not,” he admitted with a shake of his head.

I gripped my wine glass stem and then downed the contents.

“Right.” We were ripping off half the Band-Aid, not brave enough to pull it free. “So, then let’s enjoy dinner and then afterwards, you can tell me, that way I don’t make some kind of terrible scene in a place that looks like the Prime Minister of Australia would feel out of place in.”

“Deal.”

He reached over and picked up the bottle of wine, refilling my glass.

“Oh, that bad, huh?” I watched him fill it right up. “Just so we’re clear, if you get me drunk, you’re holding my hair back when I vomit all of this very expensive food.”

Hunter shook his head.

“I always do, don’t I?”

I smiled then, remembering the scrapes he and Hayden got us out of when Millie and I were still kids. Anything to keep his parents from finding out.

“You do.”

I stared at him then, seeing past the suit, the slick hair, everything, seeing the man I’d spent half my life around, and I told myself that’s why I was prepared to wait. Away from the restaurant, somewhere quiet, he’d tell me everything. Hunter was always the blunt one, so I felt like I could trust him with this. I looked down at the next dish and then dug in.

“Oh my god, food coma…” I groaned as we got back into the car. I offered to split the bill on the meal, but Hunter just looked at the print out inside the leather folio, went pale, and then shook his head, handing over his credit card.

“Who would’ve thought so many tiny morsels could fill you up,” he said, sighing as he sat back against his seat. “So…” His head rolled my way. “Grab an ice cream from the petrol station on the way home?”

“Duh!”

That’s how we came to be sitting on the bonnet of his car, facing the sea, watching the waves crash in as we licked our ice creams.

“So…”