The Mating Game by Lana Ferguson - 7

“So how exactly did you get into this? This thing you do.”

I turn my face from the passenger window, catching his expression, which I assume is him trying not to seem overly curious. There’s a little scrunch between his eyes and a purse to his lips, almost like he’s trying to make sense of his own question.

“This thing I do?”

“Yeah,” he semiclarifies. “On the internet.”

I consider that. It’s not really a question I’ve ever had to answer, largely because most people who know about my account have been following me for years, even if the explosion in popularity is fairly new. They saw it happen in real time.

“I started working with my dad’s business when I was still in school. I always loved what he did—taking a place that needs a lot of love and turning it into something gorgeous. I don’t know. There’s something simple and beautiful about that.”

“You said your dad did this for eighteen years when you were yelling at me yesterday.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t yell .”

“Sure you didn’t,” he snorts. “But past tense? He doesn’t do it anymore?”

“No, he…” I frown, trying not to let the familiar melancholy creep in. “He had a stroke,” I tell him. “When I was eighteen. He hasn’t really been the same since.”

“I’m sorry,” Hunter offers.

I shake my head. “He can still get around, but his hands don’t work the way they used to.”

“That must be tough for someone who’s spent their whole life using them.”

My chest clenches. He has no idea how tough it’s been, and I doubt he’d care to hear it.

“Yeah,” I manage. “It was…an adjustment. He still consults sometimes.”

“Okay, most of this makes sense. It’s the TikTok thing I don’t get.”

I chuckle under my breath. “You really are way too young to be so old.”

“It’s a curse,” he responds dryly.

“I was doing this job in North Carolina,” I tell him. “TikTok was starting to become a whole thing , and I just started posting some footage for fun. We never expected to go viral.”

“ ‘Viral’?” he echoes.

I outright laugh this time. It’s like he’s eighty, and what I don’t say is he is entirely too hot to be this old.

“It sort of blew up,” I clarify. “Got a million views practically overnight.”

Hunter makes a face like the idea of a million people seeing anything he’s done makes him uneasy, and there’s something endearing about that.

Or maybe I’m still a little hung up on the way he touched me not half an hour ago.

If I concentrate, I can still feel the phantom press of his fingers against my throat, the skin there prickling with interest as if silently asking for more. I’d never felt such a strong reaction to anyone’s touch before, and after the haziness in my brain cleared up, I concluded that it has to be some sort of hormonal garbage, nothing more.

Even if I’m still thinking about it. Just a little.

“So you said your brothers are on their way?”

“Mm-hmm. They should be here tomorrow.”

“Great,” he deadpans.

I cross my arms. “Why are you so against the renovations? Jeannie told me about how business has been slower. Don’t you want to try to do something about that?”

The way his expression tightens…I almost feel bad for asking.

“It’s…complicated.”

“I can do complicated,” I assure him.

“I suppose…it has a lot to do with my parents.”

He looks like he’d rather be talking about anything else, but I can’t help it. Strangely, I have this overwhelming desire to know what it is that makes the grumpy innkeeper tick.

“Your parents?”

He glances at me from the side. “They died. Car accident. Ten years ago now.”

“Oh,” I answer quietly. I feel like a dick for asking. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

The pup has had a rough go of it these last few years. Last decade, really.

Well, shit.

I did not need to hear anything that would endear me to the grumpy innkeeper.

“Now I’m feeling even more shitty for calling the place dingy.”

He surprises me with a barely there grin, the action making the scruff on his face crease with what might be a dimple hiding underneath.

“Don’t worry,” he tells me. “It wasn’t really me you insulted, just my dead parents.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you actually kind of a shit?”

“Maybe a little.”

I can feel myself grinning too now, and I wonder if maybe Jeannie was right—if Hunter isn’t as mean as he seems.

“I forgive you for being so oblivious,” he teases.

His phrasing gives me pause, and without even thinking, I laugh bitterly, replying, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He eyes me curiously, and I feel a sudden wave of embarrassment, something that’s commonplace when I think about my dad and all the things I’ve missed this last year. How I could have been so oblivious to how he’s been struggling. Hunter is still looking at me from the corner of his eye as if he’d like to say more, but for some reason, the idea of spilling my guts about my family woes makes my stomach twist with distaste.

My eyes flick to the radio, and I suddenly reach to turn up the knob. “I like this song.”

Hunter doesn’t prod at my blatant diversion, thankfully, but I can feel him watching me from the driver’s seat as I keep my eyes trained out the opposite window. He doesn’t ask me any more questions while we continue on the winding path that takes us down the mountain toward town, leaving me with nothing but my own thoughts for company.

“I have to pick up a few things,” Hunter tells me when we both step out of the Bronco on Main Street. He points in the opposite direction. “The pharmacy is down that way.”

“How do I find you again when I’m done?”

Hunter’s mouth tilts up in a lazy grin, that hint of a dimple now obvious beneath the scruff on his cheek. I feel a brief flash of curiosity as to what it might feel like under my palm, which I quickly shake away.

“It’s not exactly a big place,” he assures me. “I’ll find you.”

“Well, let me give you my number. Just in case.”

Hunter’s brow furrows as if he thinks this is unnecessary, but after a moment he reaches down into his pocket to fish out his own phone. Something that immediately makes me reel.

“What is that ?”

Hunter glances down at the phone—if you can even call it one, and the jury is still out as far as I’m concerned—in his hand. “My cell phone?”

“Tell me that’s not a flip phone,” I press incredulously.

Hunter looks amused now. “Looks that way.”

“I didn’t even know they still made those.”

“Wouldn’t know,” he tells me. “I’ve had this one forever.”

“And by ‘forever’ I assume you mean since they first started making cell phones, judging by that thing.”

“It gets the job done,” he assures me. “Your number?”

I rattle it off and watch in wonder as Hunter taps it in on the ancient keypad, flipping it shut with a thwip sound after. A thwip . That sound brings back all kinds of nostalgia from what feels like a billion years ago. Is Hunter an actual modern-day version of the caveman? I’m still staring at him with a blank expression as I try for the dozenth time to puzzle this man out, but he’s already shoving his phone back into his pocket and adjusting the gray beanie he seems so fond of.

“Don’t take too long,” he urges. “Gets colder after dark.” He frowns as he says it, eyeing my jacket. “You did bring something heavier than that, right?”

I frown down at my choice of attire. “No? It’s warmer than it looks though.”

“Not for Colorado after dark in the middle of October it isn’t.” He huffs out a breath, and before I even register what he’s doing, he’s shrugged off his brown Carhartt coat, leaving him in only his thick flannel as he thrusts it toward me. “Take this.”

“I can’t take your—”

“I can’t have Miss Fixit freezing to death on me,” he counters before I can finish. “Too much to do.”

I scoff at his smirk, but at that moment, a stiff breeze chooses to gust over us, and I shiver. Damn it.

“Fine,” I say, snatching his coat and putting it on. “Thank you.”

He pauses, eyeing the way I’m shrugging into his coat like he’s now understanding what he’s done. A mask of indifference slides over his face, his jaw clenching a bit. “It’s just a coat. Don’t think much of it.”

“If you say so,” I huff. “I guess tell me where I can buy a warmer coat as well.”

“Check out Cat’s place,” he tells me. “It’s that way”—he dips his chin opposite from where I need to go first—“but it’s not far.”

I nod dumbly, watching him turn to stalk off, his broad, plaid-clad form obvious against the stark white of our surroundings. I can’t help the way I turn my face and press my nose to the dense fabric of his coat, inhaling deeply and getting a lungful of his fresh, enticing smell. One I’m realizing now must not be some sort of cologne but instead is just him . His scent hits me like a freight train, seeming to seep into my skin, and going deeper, as if settling on my bones. It’s an odd sensation.

My skin prickles and my cheeks flush, and for the briefest and most embarrassing of moments I imagine a pulse between my legs that comes on so suddenly it gives me pause. I quickly jerk my face away from the coat, debating whether or not I should take it off, but honestly, it is really warm.

I finally remember I came here to do something, putting away my incredulity of everything that is Hunter Barrett to turn and head toward the pharmacy. As I walk, it dawns on me that I didn’t get his number.

I find the pharmacy without much difficulty, and thanks to the elderly shopkeeper, Martha, I walk out with my prescription as well as a rather large tub of saltwater taffy that she convinced me I needed after I casually mentioned I’d never tried it. I’m not usually one to argue against candy, so it didn’t take much nudging on her part, truthfully.

I carry my items in a brown paper sack with twine handles, exploring the quiet sidewalk of Pleasant Hill as I make my way back to where Hunter parked the Bronco. The people here are all bundled up in winter coats as they pass me by, but still they take the time to offer a wave or a kind smile if their face coverings allow for it. I can’t help but notice how different the atmosphere is from California—and not just the weather. People back home barely look up when they’re crowding sidewalks, too busy checking their texts or their fantasy football picks or whatever else is so important on their phones.

My own phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out to swipe it open and read the text there.

Dad: Everything looks great, kiddo. Don’t work yourself too hard out there.

A smile touches my face, though I still feel a pang in my chest. I sent my dad some pictures I took this morning of the lodge with some of my initial ideas, something I always do when I start a job, but now there’s a tinge of sadness to the ritual that comes from wondering how much more time I get to do this with him if I can’t land the signing bonus with this HGTV deal.

Shrugging off my potential melancholy, I pass a storefront window that holds several outfits on vintage-looking dressmaker’s mannequins. A hand-painted logo across the glass that reads Cat’s Closet catches my eye and makes me stop on the sidewalk.

I realize this must be the store Hunter mentioned. I pull his coat a little tighter around me as another breeze blows through, and I can’t pretend that it isn’t partly because it smells so good. It’s like being wrapped up in a spa towel, the smell of clean sunshine and rain enveloping me, making me feel strangely calm and more than just a bit warm. Instead, my limbs feel a little laxer, my skin thrumming with heat. Maybe the whole scent thing isn’t so bad.

I wager it wouldn’t hurt to check things out considering he was so confident he could find me at any given time within city limits. With that in mind, I pull open the wooden door to the sound of a bell jingling, signaling my entry. There are more mannequins boasting various pieces of winter clothing scattered about the inside, as well as hanging displays on the walls and even some home decor here and there. I pick up the end of a knitted scarf that catches my eye near the entrance and rub the soft material between my fingers as a voice calls out from somewhere in the back.

“Hey, be right there!”

I decide that the scarf is a must-have as I pull it from around the mannequin’s neck, and I’m moving on to check out a rack of sweaters when I hear footsteps sounding nearby. A woman who’s a tad shorter than me with thick dark hair appears from between the clothes racks, her smile warm and genuine as she notices me browsing.

“Sorry about that,” she says. “I was nuking some leftovers in the back.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” I tell her. “I just saw the display outside, and everything looked so cute.”

Her nose wrinkles as her head cocks to the side. “You’re not from around here.”

“What gave it away?”

Her lips quirk. “Because I know everyone from around here.” Her brow furrows. “You look familiar though. Have you visited before?”

I shake my head. “No. First time.”

“Hmm. I swear I’ve—Oh my God.” She snaps her fingers. “Are you Tess Covington?”

I reel a little, blinking. “Yes?”

“Oh my God! I’m sorry, total stalker moment,” she laughs. “I follow you on TikTok.”

“Oh!” I laugh nervously. I always feel awkward when people recognize me. “Right.”

“I’ve been following you since the North Carolina remodel,” she laughs. “I swear, I have an entire reno wish list, thanks to you. My boyfriend is so excited about that.” She says this last bit with a hint of sarcasm, smiling good-naturedly. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I’m having a starstruck moment.” She sticks out her hand. “My name’s Cat. Cat Campbell.” She shakes my hand enthusiastically when I give it. “Well, technically my name is Catalina—named after my grandma, mind you; she’s full Greek—but after Step Brothers came out, it was all ‘It’s the fucking Catalina Wine Mixer!’ shouted after me everywhere I went in high school, so you can imagine—” She presses her lips together suddenly, looking sheepish as she releases my hand, which she’s realized she’s still shaking. “Sorry,” she offers. “I’m told I talk too much when I get excited.”

I can’t help but laugh, deciding on the spot that I like Cat. “It’s fine. Totally get the nickname. Did you know my real name is Esther?”

“Shut up. Really?”

“Really. Also named after my grandma. Not Greek though. Just very old and very into her seven cats.”

“I think it’s a rule that all Esthers have to love cats,” she teases.

I shrug with another laugh. “Well, she put all seven of them in her will, so…”

Cat laughs with me now, her smile morphing into a confused look. “So what are you even doing here? Pleasant Hill doesn’t really seem like your usual.”

“I’m renovating the Bear Essentials Lodge up the mountain, actually.”

“Oh! Hunter’s place?”

I nod. “You know him?”

“Oh yeah. He and my boyfriend graduated together. They’re old friends. I was two years below them though—I’m always teasing them that they’re old now, since they turn thirty-two next year.”

The bell over the front door rings, interrupting her and yielding the broad frame of the man in question as he ducks inside. He brings with him that same sharp scent I’d only just started to get used to from his the aroma of it washing over me and making me feel that same embarrassing pulse between my legs. Is that even normal? Am I going to get horny for every shifter man I meet now?

“There you are,” he murmurs, his low voice doing nothing for the situation between my legs. “I thought you were going to meet me back at the Bronco?”

I shrug, giving him a smile as I shift uncomfortably. “I thought you said you could find me.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Just testing out your theory,” I tease.

He notices Cat standing there, and when I turn back, I find her looking between us curiously. “Oh, Hunter gave me a ride into town.”

“Ah.” She flashes a grin in his direction. “Hey, stranger. About time you came down from your mountain to dwell with us townies.”

Hunter rolls his eyes. “Been busy. That’s all.” He frowns at the bag I’m carrying. “Seems like you found more than a prescription.”

“The nice lady at the store talked me into some saltwater taffy.”

Hunter makes a face. “That’s bad for your teeth.”

“I’m sorry,” I snort. “Should I have gotten you some Werther’s Original instead, Gramps?”

Cat bursts out laughing, catching my attention. “Wow. I might love you, Tess. I’m glad someone is finally roasting Hunter about his Stone Age ways. Did you know he still carries a flip phone?”

“I know ,” I guffaw. “I thought I had suddenly time traveled to 2007.”

“So glad the two of you met,” Hunter harrumphs as he frowns down at us. It’s weird that even his frown does something strange to me.

“Mm-hmm. Especially since you were hiding her,” Cat accuses him. “I think the fact that you have a celebrity staying at the lodge warrants a text.”

“Oh,” I cut in. “I’m not really a—”

“I doubt she wants you guys pressing your noses to the windows like she’s a zoo animal or something.”

“I would not ,” Cat huffs. “But this is great, right?” She beams back at me then. “You can get the lodge some amazing exposure, right?”

Hunter frowns back at us both. “I’m sure that she’s not worried about—”

“I mean, I do have some friends over at Travel Quarter who might—”

“There’s no way any of them would be interested in my dingy little lodge,” Hunter snorts. I feel guilt creeping up at his use of my term, but he looks mostly unperturbed by it. Disinterested, if anything. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “You ready? Jeannie will be cooking dinner before long.”

I nod back at him, his tone cutting off any further discussion. “Yeah. Just let me pay for this scarf and look at the coats really quick.”

“Okay.” He bobs his head in agreement. “I’ll go start the truck.”

We watch him leave the way he came, and I hear Cat’s sigh after the door closes behind him, drawing my attention. “Don’t mind him,” Cat offers. “He’s not nearly as grumpy as he makes himself out to be.”

“Right. I’m sure.”

“How long are you staying, anyway? You should totally come out to Fred’s with us the next time we go. I mean, if you want. No pressure or anything.”

“Fred’s?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s the only bar in town.” She grimaces. “I know. It’s a terrible name for a bar, but it’s been there for, like, fifty years. The owner refuses to change it. He thinks it’s fun .”

“That sounds awesome, actually,” I tell her honestly.

“Yeah?” Her smile widens as she claps her hands together. “Great! It’s usually just me and my boyfriend, Jarred, and maybe a few locals, but at least you can meet some new people, hopefully? And there’s always dancing, if you dance. Oh, and Paula makes the best cheese fries in the state. Well, I’m assuming. I haven’t had every rendition, obviously, but I—” She sighs. “Shit. I’m doing it again. I’m sorry. You’re just, like, probably the most famous person to ever visit,” she laughs.

“It’s fine,” I assure her. “Fred’s sounds great. I’d love to come.”

“Awesome!” Cat reaches into her back pocket for her phone. “Can I get your number? I can text you when I figure out when we can come after you for Fred’s. My boyfriend is out of town right now, but he should be back in a week or so. You’ll still be here, right?”

“I will be,” I tell her before I give her my phone number. “That sounds great.”

She taps out a text, and I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. “I can’t believe I have your phone number! I promise not to make you give me an autograph or anything.”

“It’s fine,” I chuckle. “I promise.”

I follow her back to the cash register after she shows me the coats, continuing to happily chat at me from over her shoulder, and I find myself genuinely excited to have made something of a friend here. Well, someone other than Hunter, that is. If I can even call him a friend—and I’m still not sure I can. It isn’t lost on me that Cat is the second person to hint that the stony innkeeper is warmer than he appears to be.

I find said innkeeper standing by his truck, stoically looking out at the rapidly sinking sun with a serene expression. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and standing like that, he looks younger somehow. Less burdened, if that’s even a thing.

I shrug out of his coat as I approach, and his normal frown colors his lips when I hold it out to him.

“Grabbed a better coat,” I tell him. “But thanks for lending me yours.”

He’s still frowning at the garment like it offends him, looking from it to me as if he doesn’t believe I actually got a warmer one. He finally takes it after a beat, and when his fingers accidentally brush against mine, it feels like a current of electricity passes between us, one that I feel zapping deep in my belly. Even when it passes, I still feel the echo of the sensation, like it’s reverberating through me.

Huh, that’s weird.

“Ready to go?” Hunter’s voice is a little rougher as he tucks the coat under his arm.

“After you, Gramps,” I tease, trying to ignore the strange sensation currently coursing through me that has me wanting to snatch his coat back and bury myself in its warmth again.

Hunter rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t stop him from walking me to my side of the truck, yanking the door open, and holding it until I climb inside. I try to remember the last time anyone opened a door for me but then scoff at my own line of thinking.

He’s just being nice.

The thought almost makes me laugh, since being nice doesn’t seem to be Hunter’s forte.

And as he climbs back into the Bronco, I tell myself that the twinging desire to ask for his coat back is just the chill clinging to the cabin of the truck. That the strange tightness of my skin can be attributed to this also.

Because honestly, I have no other idea what it could be.