Page 17 of Sweet Silver Bells
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
H unter and Olivia worked, finishing the job together as she hummed.
He tried not to stare at her with lovesick puppy eyes.
His brain worked hard to push him away from her again, and he began to let it.
It had become a maddening cycle—his heart swinging between fire and ice, forever undone by his wild, secretive tree siren.
You belong to her.
His hands gripped the bag of dirt as he filled the last planter pot, then lugged it into the kitchen. He set the pot in front of the door that led to the backyard.
But do you? Maybe she regrets it, coming here with you, with someone who can’t hear the sounds of the forest, the secrets of trees, the passion of the growing—the living—plants and botanicals that she covets.
“The light is wonderful.” Olivia didn’t have to work hard to convince him. Her eyelashes did that all on their own—he folded under that mysterious, seductive, heart-touching stare, hoping that there was no murderous intent running through her mind in case he told her no.
Maybe you like it, the danger of her. Maybe you need it.
“We might need to be able to open the door,” he sighed, a headache sneaking in, mixed with the too little and unrestful slumber that he got from the couch, catching up to him.
Don’t let her regret it.
The last of the poinsettias stood tall and proud, nearly pining over Olivia’s touch, leaves stretching out as her soft hands pulled away.
Hunter imagined that if he could hear them like she was so sure that she could, he would hear them whimpering, begging, worshipping the woman who put her soul into their care.
Hunter walked over to the kitchen counter, where the still slightly wet Danish box sat, forgotten about until now.
He lifted the lid and grabbed the one with candied oranges, taking a large bite, cream and jelly oozing into his mouth.
His stomach let out a large gargle in response, and Hunter smiled, the sugar making him instantly happy.
He turned to Olivia, who stood frozen in place, watching him eat.
She still wore the same black sweater dress his mom had chosen for her.
It clung from the dampness of rain and their kisses, now dry but streaked with dirt from working so close to the mantle and the fire.
The flames crackled in the living room after he’d poked them and added another log.
“Here, let me get you one,” Hunter said, opening the cupboard and bringing down a plate, only to drop it, startled by Olivia’s ability to appear right next to him without making a sound.
The ceramic cracked at his feet.
“Shit,” he said, jumping back. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
You’re blowing it, man.
He couldn’t tell if Olivia was hurt. If she were, she didn’t say. Instead, her warm breath exhaled, her lips aimed up at him as she closed her eyes and opened her mouth.
“I’ll try a bite.”
Hunter pulled a piece of the dough off his own Danish and carefully popped it into Olivia’s mouth. He could feel her heat, her fire on his thumb and forefinger.
What would it feel like if she closed those lips around my fingers?
She didn’t, only closing her mouth after she pulled away, while he watched a twitch appear in her cheek. Her eyes opened, and a magical sparkle suddenly appeared, an almost childlike joy as her eyes moistened.
“It tastes like Christmas,” she said, before backing up and turning away from him, bending down to the pots, petting the poinsettia leaves.
“What's wrong?” Hunter asked, worry filling him as he saw the slump in her shoulders, the slight hanging of her head, the sudden silence that hadn’t existed between them even once that day.
Instead of answering, she swooped back around, tossing her frizzy hair that somehow made her more beautiful, more of what he would have guessed a forest goddess would look like.
It was as if she had been drawn, a character version of herself that only existed in the minds of people who were far more talented than him.
She is real. Sarah, she is real. This is real.
Olivia was back at his side, her mouth open again, waiting for Hunter’s offering of more Danish. She wasn’t going to tell him, whatever it was. She didn’t trust him with whatever that was, at least not yet.
“I’m here for you,” he promised, offering her another bite of the Danish.
She chewed slowly, a look of relief softening her features, as if the sugar flooding her veins for the first time in far too long brought her back to life.
When her eyes opened again, they held something different—something new.
“More,” she demanded, the softness in her tone gone, replaced only by demand, need, and want.
Hunter would not refuse her and instead picked up a new Danish from the box, holding it up to her mouth.
She opened her mouth, taking half the Danish into her mouth before biting down on the blue and red berries with powdered sugar.
Hunter's cock stiffened, and he forced himself to swallow, his eyes flicking to the ceiling out of respect.
If she doesn’t trust me, I can change that. I can earn it.
But it wasn’t trust she needed—not right then.
Maybe she just wanted to hide.
Or maybe she wanted to be there with him.
She placed her hand on his wrist and raised his hand to his own mouth as he took a bite.
“More,” she said through those eyelashes.
Fuck me.
He obliged. “It’s the last one.”
“You eat,” she said. Hunter opened his mouth, and as he did, Olivia grabbed his shirt and pulled his face down to hers as she bit the other end of the Danish.
Sweetness exploded in Hunter’s mouth, crumbled flaky dough falling between them, white cream filling dribbling down Olivia’s chin as she still held his shirt down, as she did not indicate that she would let go.
Olivia chewed and swallowed, licking her lips, and extending her neck up to Hunter’s, her eyes staring into his.
His whole body relaxed, wanting to fall into her, this odd comfort, this warmth that he found in the little woman with a magical voice.
She seemed to know what she wanted; and maybe what she wanted was him.
She kissed you. You kissed her back.
And he was all hers, even though he wouldn’t be wrong to question his sanity or if he should run, if he should have taken her to the police station and said he found this missing person.
If his mom did truly join a church, there had to be some kind of program to set Olivia up with so she wouldn’t be alone.
No, she wouldn’t be alone because you wouldn’t let her be.
Hunter pulled back, panting. “Olivia.” Even her name on his lips sent his body into a spiral—tense, needy, wondering what other parts of her body smelled like, tasted like.
But Olivia wasn’t accepting his words, his hesitation, and instead brought her mouth to his again, silencing him. Their lips danced once more, and her hips moved forward into his while her hands found their way into his hair, massaging his scalp and the back of his neck.
She let him out of his willing hostage situation and looked down at the bulge in his pants, smiling proudly at her work.
“You’ve never had a man.” He raised an eyebrow at his question.
“That is something that seems easy to change,” she said, and let her head roll back around, her hair swaying off of her shoulders as her hips grinded against him, presenting her chest, her neck to him.
Control, Hunter. Have fucking control.
If Sarah couldn’t be here, if he went feral for a woman for the first time since she had passed away, he would do it right, he would do it honorably. This was not a rebound. Olivia would not be an outlet for his grief.
Hunter grabbed her hips and kissed up her jawline tenderly, bringing the escalation of their heat back down to a gentle simmer. She moaned, the softest little sound that made him, for the first time, want to bite into someone’s throat, claim them for him and only him.
How could he stop this? How could he tell her, with words too clumsy for a creature like her, that she was the most achingly beautiful thing he had ever seen—that even the moon must envy the way she pulled the tides of his heart?
How could he confess that every glance, every soft sigh, carved him open—only to ask her to wait?
Because he did want her.
God, he needed her.
But not like this.
Not hurried and breathless on a kitchen counter, not tangled in potting soil and powdered sugar, not while the cold dirt of the world still clung to them both.
Their first time, her first time, should be worship.
A moment that would haunt him long after the last leaf fell from the trees.
She had been his for less than a day, yet already he knew: if she turned her back and melted into the forest shadows once more, he would follow her into that darkness without a single heartbeat of doubt.
He would surrender everything just to find her there again.
“Olivia,” he gasped again, her hands moving down his chest, lower and lower, dangerously close to the bulge that made her proud, that told her what a good little tree siren she was, that made him want to show her exactly how proud she should be.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Thank God.
“Come back,” Olivia pouted. Her face slightly scared him, her protruding lip more a threat than something cute and playful.
“Someone’s at the door, and they don’t usually go away.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“See?”
Olivia sighed. “Do you usually have so many visitors?”
“Unfortunately, yes, no one can ever seem to just leave me alone.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Hunter, I know you’re in there,” he could hear through the door, recognizing the voice.
Olivia raised her eyebrows.
“See, they never can just go away,” he shrugged, moving out of the kitchen but taking her hand in his, not leaving her alone, not showing any indication that he was rejecting her. It was the opposite; he wanted her by his side. The world should know, the world should meet Olivia.
“I’m coming, hang on,” Hunter yelled, approaching the front door, gently pulling Olivia behind him. The lock unclicked, and the natural light framed Sadie standing there, hip popped out and arms crossed. She looked at him from underneath her glasses.
“You look like shit,” she snorted.
“Ah, yeah, we were potting some plants.”
“We?”
Hunter moved to the side so Olivia was more visible, and Sadie’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“You—you have another friend? When did this happen? I thought you were sick.”
“Oh, Sadie, you’ll always be my best pal.” Hunter laughed. “Who knew you were so possessive?”
"I’m too old to be recruiting new friends every time my usual speed dial grows up and moves on. Hi, I’m Sadie."
Olivia stared back, not replying, not smiling. Hunter’s gaze moved back and forth between the two until he couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“Now that that’s out of the way, I really was sick.”
He wasn’t lying. The first few times he had heard Olivia sing had so drastically altered his mind that he could not be responsible for his actions, for his memory. People stayed home these days with common colds, and this seemed much worse than that.
“Well, I just came to check on you.” Sadie cleared her throat. “Don’t invite me in or anything—it's freezing outside.”
“I’m afraid to invite you in to be honest,” Hunter admitted. “There’s potting soil everywhere. Turns out I can’t pour dirt out of a bag without bits spraying all over the room.”
Sadie laughed. “Is this another one of your vinegar experiments?”
You really have to stop telling people about your hobbies.
“I can still smell it, by the way. But at least it’s not knocking me out this time.
I approve.” She held out an off-white, sparkly envelope.
“Your big prize from the raffle. Tickets to the Christmas Eve ball. I’m sure you’re just dying to waltz back into your old wedding venue. What could possibly go wrong?”
Hunter took them as the phone in his pocket vibrated a few times. Sadie mirrored him, pulling out her own. Chimes rang over and over and over again between the two devices.
“Group chat.” Hunter shook his head. “I said no more group chats.”
As if a group of coworkers would listen to him.
Celia 2:53 pm:
Winter break biatches. Reminder that we are doing a meetup at the downtown holiday market tomorrow, 6pm sharp.
Nina 2:53 pm:
Does anyone remember if it's cash only?
Darius 2:54 pm:
Who’s going to be my ride buddy?
Elaine 2:55pm:
There are like two rides and they are for children.
Nina 2:55 pm:
Woah, woah, children don’t get dibs on everything fun.
Darius 2:55 pm:
As long as there's a good pilsner, I’ll be there.
Sadie's fingers began typing, a playful smile sneaking onto her face.
Sadie 2:55 pm:
Can we bring a plus one?
Elaine 2:56 pm:
“Sadie, who are you bringing?”
Sadie 2:56 pm:
“I’m not asking for me.”
Her chin was raised towards Olivia as she said to Hunter, “I’m talking about your charming new friend here. Lovely conversationalist, she is.”
Hunter shook his head.
Hunter 2:56 pm:
“Can we skip the black cat energy?”
Nina 2:57 pm:
I’m bringing Tom.
Darius 2:57 pm:
Who’s Tom?
Nina 2:57 pm:
My husband, who you’ve met nineteen times.
Darius 2:58 pm:
His name is Tom and you expect me to remember him?
Sadie 2:58 pm:
Hunter is bringing his new lady friend.
Nina 2:58 pm:
HUNTER DOES NOT HAVE A NEW LADY FRIEND.
Sadie 2:58 pm:
Oh, he does. I’m looking at her right now. He looks like he might kill me.
Darius 2:59 pm:
Atta boy, hound dog.
Hunter 2:59 pm:
Do not call me a hound dog.
Darius 2:59 pm:
I think it’s going to stick.
“Sadie, what the hell?” Hunter growled at her.
Olivia reached out her hand protectively in front of Hunter’s chest, like she was planning on attacking, on defending something that was hers.
“This feels hostile now.” Sadie took a step away, Olivia’s eyes going dark, almost vacant. The hairs on the back of Hunter’s arms stood up, a chill running down his spine.
Hunter gulped, worry flooding his heart, his chest as he looked over to Olivia, praying that what his eyes conveyed was not nefarious, that Sadie would not be lying on his porch dead in the next few breaths.
“Thanks for these,” Hunter said, holding up the envelope. “You’re a good friend, Sadie.”
“You mean the best,” Sadie said, slugging his shoulder but shooting a nervous glance at Olivia. “I’ll leave you two crazy kids to it. I’ll see you tomorrow. Both of you then?”
Hunter had no doubt that she regretted roping Olivia into this, and he would panic and deal with the implications of dragging his little tree siren out into the world.
“We will be there,” he said.
“This was plenty awkward,” Sadie said, turning around, hands in her jacket pockets as she walked off toward her car parked on the curb.