Page 88 of Hunter
“Wanna try that again?”
“Yes, please,” I say, winding my arms around his neck. The balloons unthread from my fingers and fly away. I don’t care—I’m not letting go of him. Ever.
We kiss long and hard, deprived of one another for a long and torturous four weeks apart. By the time we lean away, we’re both dazed and panting…and he’s sporting a sizable bulge in the front of pants; it presses into me as we hold each other close.
“I lost your balloons,” I whisper, leaning my head back to look at them, colorful and jolly, clinging to the hangar-like ceiling of the airport terminal.
“How close is your place?” he mutters close to my ear.
“Not far,” I say, “but didn’t you check bags?”
“Fuck. I did.”
“So, calm down a little,” I say, looking down between us meaningfully, and swallowing a giggle, “and let’s go get them.”
“It’s good to see you,” he says. “I missed you like crazy, baby.”
“I missed you, too,” I tell him, leaning up on tiptoes to kiss him quickly again.
He steps away from me and reaches for his bags, slipping the strap of a duffel bag over his shoulders and adjusting its bulk to cover his crotch before reaching for the rolling bag he dropped.
“Can I help?”
“Nah. I’ve got these two, and two more really big checked bags,” he says. “You wanna pull your car around, and I’ll bring it all out?”
I hate letting him out of my sight even for a second, but I remind myself that he’s moved here to be with me. I don’t have to hold on so tight.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll be the one waiting outside in the blue piece-of-shit Honda Accord.”
“Blue piece-of-shit Honda Accord,” he says cheerfully. “Got it!”
Thirty minutes later, his bags are taking up every available bit of space in my back seat and trunk, and we’re headed north to my condo in the culturally diverse neighborhood of South Park. My grandparents settled in this part of Seattle decades ago, and most of my family still lives there. I bought my two-bedroom condo for $285,000 three years ago, and in Seattle, where housing is ludicrously overpriced, I still consider that a bargain for what I got. I have two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a chef’s kitchen. But the realpièce de résistanceis my living room, which has a full wall of windows where South Park treetops underline a view of the Seattle skyline. Three years later, and I still marvel at that view every time I enter my home. I love this city. I do.
But I also loved Skagway over the summer, and I can’t wait to return with Hunter to our cabin in the woods this spring. Thebest of both worlds. A perfect mix of two people and the places they call home.
“You got the house all closed up for the winter?” I ask him, marveling that he’s here in my city, here in my car, sitting next to me.
“Yep. Heat and water off. Everything sealed up tight. I got some plantings in before the first frost,” he tells me. “The front porch is going to be awesome next summer.”
“Where will we stay over New Year’s?”
“In one of the guest cabins,” he says. “I don’t think we should re-open our place until I get there in April.”
Ourplace.God, I love him.
“I hope you like my condo,” I say. “It’s so weird to me that you’ve never been there.”
“Like buying a place sight unseen, huh?” he asks. “Nah. I trust you. If you love it, I will too.”
“Will it be a culture-shock for you to live in the city for half the year?”
“A little bit, maybe. At first. But I’ll get used to it. Better to be here with you than anywhere else far away.”
“I hope you always feel like that,” I tell him in a sudden rush. “I hope you never feel like you gave up too much for me.”
He looks at me askance. “I hope the same for you. We’re both making sacrifices, Bella. Not just me.”
“I feel like you’re giving up more.”