Chapter 7

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog in my mind. What do I tell him? Lying has never been my strong suit, and right now, it felt like I was trapped in a lie I hadn't even started. I glanced over at Ashley, who was buried in her usual whirlwind of orders, and sighed. I needed her. She was the queen of handling uncomfortable situations, but right now, I was on my own.

I turned back to Hunter. He was still sitting there, waiting for an answer with a look of expectation. I was running out of excuses. My fingers absently traced the counter as I tried to form a response. Luckily, just then, a lady walked up to the bar and asked for a margarita. I seized the opportunity to distract myself by preparing the drink. It gave me time to think, time to figure out what the hell I was going to say to Hunter.

As I mixed the margarita, my mind raced. Hunter didn’t seem like the typical type of guy who would poke around in people’s business, but there was something about him that made me nervous. He sat there quietly, observing me with an intensity that felt almost...calculating. I served the drink, but when I glanced at him, his gaze was fixed firmly on me. The weight of his stare pressed against me. He wasn’t going to let it go.

"It's complicated," I muttered, not meeting his eyes as I dropped ice cubes into several glasses.

"I’m a good listener," he said, his voice calm, coaxing, as though he wasn’t just asking for the truth but expected it.

"I’d rather not," I replied, my voice tight, the words forced as I grabbed some napkins to wipe the already pristine counter. Anything to avoid the topic.

"Does it have to do with your past?" he asked, and my body froze for a moment. Who the hell was this guy? His question hit me like a punch in the stomach. No one ever brought up my past. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out if he was probing for something more. But his expression remained unreadable, too neutral. Too steady.

"Why do you even want to know?" I scowled, trying to push the conversation away.

"I have a natural curiosity," he said, his lips curling into a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

I scoffed, but the unease started to build in my chest. "You a cop or something?" I joked, trying to deflect, but his lack of response sent a chill down my spine. He just shrugged, his demeanor too nonchalant. It was unsettling. I took a deep breath, hoping the air around me would clear. But just as I was about to voice my suspicions, Ashley appeared from behind the bar, calling me back to reality.

"Time to get off work," she said flatly, sliding an arm around my shoulders. Relief flooded through me. I quickly gathered my things, slipping my purse into my bag, ready to leave. Hunter followed us without a word.

"Guess our conversation’s over," I said with a nervous smile, trying to act casual. But Hunter didn’t seem to mind. He smiled and reached up, brushing a stray strand of my hair behind my ear, a move that sent a shiver down my spine.

"See you around," he said before turning and walking away, hands in his pockets.

"That guy’s weird," I muttered, shaking my head as I walked with Ashley. She just smiled, as if this was normal.

"Typical Hunter," she said, and I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in my gut. There was something more to him. Something I couldn’t quite place.

---

The bar was a frenzy one late evening. I stare at my phone. The screen flickered under my gaze as I hovered over my mom’s number. My heart beat faster, the familiar mix of dread and longing swirling in my chest. Should I call her? Would she freak out? Of course, she would. How could she not? It’s been years, and now she was supposed to hear from her daughter, the one she thought was dead.

The thought of it paralyzed me. If I called her, it might just shatter everything. She would be happy, sure—but after the shock wore off, what then? What would I say to her? What if this whole thing got me caught? What if, in the middle of everything, I slipped up and ended up back in the same mess? The second time I’d break her heart.

I shook my head and slipped the phone back into my pocket. It wasn’t the right time. I couldn’t risk it. Not yet.

The tears that had welled up in my eyes earlier were still there, threatening to spill over. I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand, trying to push them away. I couldn’t let anyone see me like this. Customers would notice, and I’d be the crazy girl who cried in the middle of the day.

Just as I was about to compose myself, I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind me. I turned, startled, and saw Hunter standing at the bar, looking as if he had walked in just moments ago. My stomach twisted into knots.

"Hope I didn’t interrupt anything," he said, pulling up a stool and sitting down.

I smiled weakly, quickly wiping my face again before turning back to him. "Nope. Nothing at all," I lied. "What can I get you? The usual?"

Two weeks had passed since he first asked about the fake ID. Since then, he’d come in almost every day, and we’d fallen into a comfortable routine. I’d made him margaritas, we’d talked about random things, and he never once brought up the ID again. I almost thought he had forgotten about it—but something still lingered between us, like a secret neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

He nodded. "Yeah, the usual."

I set to work, mixing his favorite drink—tequila, orange juice, and lime liqueur, garnished with a lime slice.

"Here. Just how you like it," I said, sliding the glass in front of him with a smile.

"Thanks." He took a sip, then placed the glass down, staring up at the clock above the bar.

I leaned on the counter, watching him in silence for a moment. Finally, I spoke broke the silence. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. What can I do for you?" He replied, a little curious.

"If you have someone you haven’t seen in a long time, and that person probably thinks you’re dead... would you call them?" I asked, my tone casual but sharp.

He blinked, taken aback. "Let’s say... family." I tilted my head slightly, waiting for his answer.

Hunter rubbed his chin thoughtfully before replying,

"Who do you miss?" He asked, his gaze shifting from his drink to me.

I hesitated, my fingers idly rubbing against my wrist as I wrestled with the urge to tell him the truth or just keep my silence. The weight of the decision felt heavier than it should have.

"I don't want to talk about it," I muttered, the words slipping out before I could second-guess myself.

Hunter's lips quirked into a half-smile. "You're the one who brought it up," he said, tapping his fingers on the counter with slow deliberation. I found my attention fixated on his hands as they moved—a small gesture, but it somehow made everything feel more personal. He had a point, though. I had opened the door; now I had to decide if I wanted to walk through it.

"My mom," I exhaled, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.

He leaned back slightly, considering my words. "Then you should call her," he said gently, his voice surprisingly warm. "It's the best thing to do." His suggestion hung in the air between us, a quiet invitation.

I stared into the depths of my drink, fighting the sudden rush of emotions. But his words echoed in my head, stirring a storm of thoughts. Why hadn't he asked me more? Why hadn't he questioned why I had to pretend I was dead? Maybe it hadn't clicked for him yet.

I tried to brush off the sudden wave of anxiety that hit me. "Thanks, Hunt," I said, the nickname slipping out before I could stop it.

"Hunt?" He laughed, clearly amused. "That’s new."

"I know." I grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "It’s shorter. Nicer."

He slid his empty glass toward me. "Another margarita?"

I mixed the drink and handed it back to him. As he took another sip, he leaned back slightly, looking at me with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"Don’t you miss your daughter?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost too gentle.

My heart skipped a beat. My breath caught in my throat. I froze, my mind reeling. How did he know? How could he possibly know about Autumn? Was he stalking me? Had Ash said something? My head spun as I struggled to keep my composure.

I frowned at him, my chest tight. "What are you talking about?"

Before he could respond, I turned and walked out of the bar, my heart hammering in my chest. Something was off, and I had no idea what it was—but I was about to find out.