“Well, alright,” I said, sitting down.
“I’ll go fetch the food!” Paige said, and before Hunter or I could protest that she was a guest, not our servant, she was in the next room; in the next breath she returned bearing a platter of sliced mangos and blueberries and strawberries and a pitcher of coffee. “The crepes are almost done, cook says.”
She scraped enough mango slices onto my plate to keep a small orchard in business, and for a few minutes I occupied myself with getting enough of that sticky syrupy goodness into my insides as was humanly possible. Then the dam burst, and I began to tell Hunter all the ideas that had been percolating in my brain overnight.
Hunter started off the conversation leaning back in his chair, a detached smirk on his face.
Three minutes in, he was leaning across the table toward me, his eyes lit with interest, gesturing almost as wildly as me as he expanded on the ideas and tossed out names of artistic types he knew who might be able to help us get the product in on time.
He had some good suggestions, but also a few that showed he knew as much about the advertising business as I did about traditional Chinese tea-brewing, and I was so involved in shooting down the more disastrous ones—and, okay, maybe also a little distracted by the way his eyes flashed when he was impassioned, and how he leaned forward, subconsciously rolling up his sleeves and revealing those toned biceps— that almost all the food was gone from the table before I realized that neither of us had given Paige a chance to speak all breakfast.
“Shit, I’m monopolizing this whole thing, aren’t I?” I said, breaking off to look at Paige. “And you drove out here for that society thing and everything.”
“Oh, don’t apologize,” Paige insisted. “I’ve got everything I need, and I love to see my little sister at work.” She stood, giving me a hug around the shoulders. “Not enough to miss a shift at the florist shop, though, so I’m going to beat it and leave the fine detail to you guys without my supervision. See you next week at Mom’s dinner?”
“Can you think of a way to get me out of it?” I said with a sigh, and Paige laughed.
“Let me walk you to the car,” Hunter said eagerly, standing and helping Paige into her jacket.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Knox.”
“Please, call me Hunter, I insist.”
The cook brought in more food then, steaming and fresh from the griddle, but even a platter of bacon and blueberry pancakes with chocolate syrup, eye-catching though they might be, couldn’t distract me from the sight of Hunter walking my sister out, his hand on the small of her back.
He leaned close to her, murmuring something in her ear that I couldn’t catch.
But I did catch Paige’s delighted giggle.
I looked at the bounty spread out before me, food more elaborate and delicious than any I’d ever had the privilege to eat before, and suddenly, I wasn’t hungry at all.
I felt a lot like being sick, to be honest.
Then I saw Hunter turning back from the car towards the house, and I hastily speared something and put it in my mouth. It tasted like ashes, but I chewed furiously. I couldn’t let him guess how I was feeling.
Hunter sauntered back into the room as casual as a cat. “How’s the food?”
“Fine!” I said, not looking up. I could feel his gaze on me, scrutinizing me, and I took another bite of food, a bite so casual it could have been written up for violating dress code. “So. What do you think about the pitch?”
“Honestly?” He paused, and I tried not to hold my breath. “I love it.”
I looked up, startled. “Wait, really?”
I mean, I knew the pitch was great. But I was so used to having to fight to prove myself that I’d thought I would have to fight him, too.
“Hell yes,” Hunter said. His grin was wide and unaffected. “You actually get it—the tradition of the family, how to honor that legacy while bringing it into the future. I’m one hundred percent behind that.”
His words lit a warm fire in my chest, the sweet warmth of validation enfolding me like a wool blanket.
I was good at my job. I knew that. But it was nice to hear someone else say it.
“Where to begin?” he said, almost to himself. “There’s so much to do, and the board’s been fretting for ages, they’re already impatient, got to have something to show them—but can’t neglect Chuck, he’s on my ass about deadlines and revenue, if he gets an excuse…”
I cut in. “What about a sizzle reel?” I suggested.
Hunter gave me a look so blank it could have used a name tag.
“A long ad,” I clarified. “Like a movie trailer, except…for advertising.”
“Of course, of course.” He still didn’t look sold, though.
“It’s the perfect way to showcase the new direction,” I went on. “We can get the cameras in here, get the board to see what we see in these grounds, in the distillery—we can capture that sense of history, that love—”