Page 150 of My Treasured Obsession

Two weeks ago, we sat side by side in the auditorium classroom, holding hands as another cult classic horror movie played on the big screen. Hunter didn’t flinch at the jump scare, simply watched the movie with an engrossed quality—I was so proud of him for getting over his fears—while polishing off the blueberry muffins I baked fresh for him that morning.

I pulled out my notebook, flipped it over to a blank page, wrote a message, and passed it to him.

By the end of the year, I’ll be adding ‘private chef’ to my résumé with the amount of cooking I do for you.

Hunter read it in the midst of a gory scene before plucking my pen and replying back in a neat cursive scrawl.

I’m very grateful, doll, and I love everything you make for me.

In fact, I’m wondering when my sweet little neighbour will be inviting me over for dinner?

The praise washed over me like a drug. He made me so giddy with a few words.

How’s this upcoming Friday?

It’s a date.He wrote.

What’s your favourite cuisine?

I’d whip up whatever he requested becauseIwas just that whipped.

He wrote his reply and slid me my notebook back.

Anything you make for me, but I have a fondness for Italian.

When I peered at him, face warming with a blush, Hunter simply bestowed a butterfly-soft kiss on my cheek. We went back to watching the movie, our hands twined together, and a sense of tranquility floating between us.

And regardless of when I ended my classes or work meetings, Hunter always stayed back until I finished so he could drive me back home. Technically, I could hitch a ride with my best friends, but I knew how much Hunter cherished the task of taking care of me.

“You don’t always have to wait for me,” I’d cajoled one time when I stepped out of my evening finance class and saw him waiting for me in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his hands in his trouser pockets.

Hunter had this upper-class, rich-boy quality to him that just did it for me. It rang in the way he carried himself, in the way he dressed, and in the way he smelled. To me, he was the crème de la crème of Montardor’s high society. Confident, charming, and the right amount of cocky when the situation called for it.

Even now, with the lines of fatigue sketched in his face from his long day, he still appeared suave and deliciously alpha in a tailored coat and dress shirt, and that welcoming smirk on his face that never failed to make my heart thud in response.

“And I’ve told you before that I prefer to drive you myself.” He stroked a knuckle down my cheek. “I don’t like going home if you’re not there, sweetheart.”

I cupped his face and rose on my tippytoes to kiss him. “Okay then.”

Plus, I enjoyed commuting with Hunter. Time spent conversing with him while listening to his music playlists was something I looked forward to every day and every evening, similar to how people looked forward to their first cup of coffee in the morning to get their day started and their cup of nighttime herbal tea to unwind before bed.

I didn’t know when it happened, but Hunter became the key to my smooth circadian rhythm and I feared that without him my entire cycle would be amiss.

“Okay then,” he parroted playfully. “Speaking of home.” He fished out a key from his pocket. A red heart charm hung from its end. “Here. It’s a key to my place in case you and Luna ever want to come over, whether I’m there or not.” He attempted to play it casual by shrugging. “I want you to know that you can come and go as you please.”

He’s telling you his home is yours too, Gabriela.

My heart twisted in my chest. I gently grabbed the key from him. “Oh, no.” I couldn’t even feign a nonchalant demeanour as I joked, my voice layered with thick emotions that gave me away. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Luna and I are basically going to camp at your place starting now. Good luck trying to get rid of us.”

Hunter wrapped an arm around my waist and lassoed me into his chest, soft blue eyes searching my face. “I never want to get rid of either of you.” He tipped my chin up with a leather-gloved hand. “I want your print all over my home. I want my sheets to smell like you, my shelves filled with your books, my kitchen stocked with your favourite foods. Every inch of you over every inch of me. Do you get me, Gabriela?”

What a fool I’d been, thinking we could ever just be platonic.

We were always meant for so much more.

After Franco, I jumped from one fling to another, trying to fill the void in my chest, to no avail. I thought I was content living like that—I thought there wasn’t a single man out there who could fit my standards.

Now I wondered if the universe had left an empty space beside me, not because there wasn’t anyone to fill it, but because it wanted me to wait for divine timing. It was slowly pushing Hunter into my orbit so he could arrive at the perfect instant and take his rightful place.