Page 49 of Hunter

“He chose a beautiful plot of land,” adds Harper. “Right on the Taiya.”

“I’d love to see it,” Isabella says, her eyes shining when she smiles at me.

“Really? It’s a half-mile walk through the woods.”

“I’m game if you are.”

“I should probably help clean up—”

“Go!” says Gran, whisking us away with a flick of her wrists. “We can handle clean-up. Go show your girl where you’re going to live.”

Isabella gasps softly. “Oh, Ms. Stewart, I’m not—I mean,we’renot—”

“Gran, we’re not a couple. We’re just…friends.”…with benefits.

“Sure you are,” says Gran, standing up with her empty plate, picking up Paw-Paw’s, and taking both out to the kitchen.

As Isabella and McKenna share an inscrutable look, I notice that Isabella’s cheeks are bright red. I’m eager to assuage any embarrassment she might feel.

“Come on,” I say, standing up and squeezing her shoulder like a friend would. “An after-dinner walk will be nice.”

She gazes at McKenna for an extra moment before standing up.

“I’d like that,” she says.

“We’ll catch up when you get back, Iz,” says McKenna, still eyeing her best friend curiously.

Isabella nods at McKenna, then follows me out the lodge door.

***

Isabella

We walk in silence past the campfire at the center of the campground, past McKenna and Tanner’s cabin, to a wood-chip covered path in the woods that leads to a river behind the Stewart’s campground.

As we fall out of view from the lodge, Hunter’s hand brushes against mine tentatively. I press the back of my hand to his in a silent invitation, and he threads his fingers through mine in response.

“Sorry about Gran,” he says softly.

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Your face got red.”

“I love your gran,” I tell him. “I love your whole family, in fact. But it’s no one’s business what we’re doing, or why we’re doing it, or who we are to each other.”

“I agree.”

“She’s sassy, your gran,” I tell him. “But my abuela is, too. Don’t worry. I can handle them.”

We walk in companionable silence, the sounds of nature our soundtrack as we stroll. As the sound of the river gets louder, we veer off the path to the right.

“I should warn you,” he says. “There’s not much to see yet.”

“There’s a concrete foundation, right?”

“Yep. Had it poured in May, as soon as it was warm enough.”

Trees have been cut to make space, so it’s brighter as we step into a clearing. The river is in full, glorious view, and a large, dark gray concrete slab dominates the leveled space.