Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Natalia
Hunter Delucia.
That’s what the return address read on the package I’d been staring at since the mailman delivered it. Just seeing his name, looking at the heavy ink of his slashy handwriting, made me happier than I’d been in the last week-and-a-half.
Hunter had kept to his word of not making contact, leaving the ball in my court. And even though I’d thought about him more than a few times each day, I still hadn’t taken the initiative to reach out.
I sat at my desk in my home office, typing up notes on Minnie Falk, a patient with a severe compulsive counting disorder. Unlike many patients, she didn’t have a specific fear of what might happen to her if she didn’t perform her counting rituals. Nonetheless, she suffered a profound sense of incompleteness when she didn’t do many of her tasks in sets of four.
I sat back into my chair with the package still in my hands and took a deep breath. My fears of Hunter were really no different than Minnie’s fears. I obsessively thought about the man, felt the compulsion to talk to him each day, and had a profound sense of incompleteness when I didn’t.
What had my advice for Minnie been this week?
We’d been working on interrupting her pattern. She’d quit smoking a few years back and had recently started again when her sister passed away. Although I would’ve loved for her to quit altogether, my job was to work with her on her OCD behavior, so I focused on her four-cigarettes-in-a-row habit. Today we’d worked on changing that pattern as the first step in changing her compulsion. While she still smoked her four cigarettes in a row, I had her wait sixty seconds between smokes rather than light one cancer stick off another. And after the third one, I’d had her eat a quick snack—just a piece of cheese—to break the pattern a bit more.
Maybe this contact, a package, would give me some relief from the unsettled feelings I’d had as of late, yet still keep some distance between Hunter and me. Anxious for relief, I ripped into the box like a kid on Christmas morning.
Inside was what looked like a black wrist brace of some sort. King Wrap Strap. Below the name was a description of the product. Comfortably stops wrist and thumb from off-hand shot veer. Underneath it was a note on a piece of Khaill-Jergin stationery, the firm where Hunter worked. The handwriting fit the man—very dark, as if he was heavy-handed with a pen, and tall, slanted downstrokes, masculine-looking. Was I insane to think his handwriting was sexy? The note itself was short and sweet, but boy did it hit the target.
Now you have a reason to think about me.
I smiled from ear to ear like an idiot. It was so sweet that he’d sent Izzy the shooting strap he’d told her about. In fact, overall, since the day I’d met him, Hunter had been nothing short of sweet. Sure, he was forward and crude, but even that had an odd sweetness to it.
It was nearly impossible to get any work done for the rest of the afternoon. I picked up and put down my phone—deliberating over calling him—ten different times.
I should call him to say thank you.
No, I should have Izzy call.
But it would be rude of me not to call. After all, he sent the package to me.
Although the contents was for Izzy.
I’m going to call.
Picks up phone. Puts it down thirty seconds later.
This is ridiculous. Where are my manners? I have to call.
Eventually, after debating with myself for upwards of a half hour, I settled on a simple text:
Natalia: Just received the package. Izzy is going to be so excited. That was very sweet of you to send. I might even get a smile from a fifteen year old this evening.
The dots started jumping around almost immediately. My heart rode along in anticipation.
Hunter: Excellent. And is her stepmother smiling these days?
I had no idea how to answer that. The truth was, I really missed being around him. As I sat at my desk, contemplating my response and chewing on my bottom lip, another text came in.
Hunter: Stop thinking of how to respond and go with honesty.
Natalia: Busy. I’ve been busy.
Hunter: That doesn’t answer my question, Natalia.
I don’t know why I decided to text what came next.
Natalia: I ended things with Marcus.
His response was immediate.
Hunter: Have dinner with me.
Natalia: Just dinner?
Hunter: Well, I’d rather eat you. But if that’s not an option, I’ll take sharing a meal.
The familiar flutter swarmed in my belly. He was so straightforward and unlike any man I’d ever dated.
Natalia: When?
Hunter: Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven.
Natalia: Okay. But it’s not a date, right? We’re just two friends having dinner.
Hunter: Put whatever label on it that makes you happy, sweet pea. But wear something sexy.