Winter Jacket (13 page)

I took my
time standing up and stretched out my limbs.

"I can't believe I'm still awake,"
Hunter laughed, shaking her head. "Normally I'd be in bed before 10pm on a Saturday."

"Now who's the grandma?" I teased.

"No talking about age, remember?" she admonished.

She’d caught me again. "Do you have a ride home?" I was worried for a moment that her friends had left her and then I'd feel obligated to give her another ride home.
Okay, truthfully, I both worried and also secretly hoped that would happen.

She scanned the few people remaining in the bar, not looking worried. "No, I'm good.
My friends are still here."  She gave them a wave. I glanced in the direction of where she’d spotted them.  Thankfully I still didn’t recognize any of them as current or past students.

She turned to me and gave me a warm, brilliant smile. 
“Thanks for saving me tonight.”

“Any time,
Hunter.” 

I felt
confident about going in for a hug. We'd spent all night talking to each other after all, and I was naturally hug-y. My immediate family had never showed that kind of open emotion, but Cady and her family were all about hugs, and it had worn off on me. 

She must have misinterpreted my intentions, because as I leaned in for a hug, her arms weren't the only things touching me.
I made a surprised noise when I realized her lips were pressed against mine. The kiss was short-lived, however, before she realized her mistake. When she pulled back, I’m sure the confusion was writ large on my face.

“Oh my God,” she hastily mumbled.
  “I’m so sorry.”

I was too startled to form
complete sentences. “No. It’s. No, don’t worry about it.”

She
grabbed her bag from the table. I noticed how, for the first time since I’d met her, her eye contact faltered. She wouldn't lift her head to look at me. “Thank you for being so kind tonight.”

I cleared my throat,
self-conscious and aware of just how bright the overhead lights were now that the last patrons were milling out the front entrance.  “No problem at all.”

+++++

CHAPTER
SEVEN

I stabbed at the top of the cellophane cover with a steak knife from the butcher block and threw the frozen dinner into the microwave.
I knew how to cook, but nothing was more depressing than making a meal for one. As I pressed the pre-programmed buttons on the microwave, however, I began to rethink that statement. 

I stared out the kitchen window into my backyard.  Outside, the sky had turned a murky purple and the wind rattled my ancient windows.  Rain fell, gentle at first, but progressively hit harder against the windows.

All day that day, I’d thrown myself into marking up student papers.  I had to get the work done before tomorrow’s Monday classes, but it also served as a decent distraction to what had happened at Peggy’s the previous night. When I was busy circling grammatical mistakes and underlining awkward phrasing, I had little brain space left to dwell on the fact that Hunter Dyson had kissed me.

After eating my unsatisfying meal, I
planned to continue distracting myself by rereading one of my favorite books. As an English professor, you'd think I would be sick of reading and tired of books in general, but I spent so much time either grading or writing myself that I had little time to actually read.  No sooner had I curled up on the couch, thrown a blanket over my legs, and had started to immerse myself in 18
th
-century English society, when I heard a knock at the front door.

I unfolded my legs from beneath my body and rose
.  I heard another knock, this time more tentative, and I hastened my step to the front door.  I stood on my tiptoes to peer out through the small window at the top of the door.  Outside, standing on the porch was a hooded figure. The slender, but angular shoulders and equally feminine legs indicated it was a woman, so my momentary panic faded.  Although my neighborhood was relatively safe, as a woman who lived by herself, I was still wary of unannounced visitors.

“Yes?” I opened the door just a crack.  “Can I help you?” 

The woman took a small step forward, out of the rain, and pulled back the hood of her soggy sweatshirt.

“
Hunter?”

My book would have to wait.

“Hi.” She chewed on her lower lip, looking uncertain.  Her normally meticulous hair was damp and flat against her forehead.  Her clothes, a hooded sweatshirt and running shorts, were soaked through.

“Jesus…come in,” I insisted, hurriedly. “Get out of this rain.” I took a few steps back to make room for her.

She flashed me a quick, grateful smile and walked across the front threshold. I could hear the wet noises her socks and running shoes made on the hardwood floors.  Once inside, she immediately peeled off her sweatshirt.  It took some effort as it was soaked from the outside downpour. I felt tempted to help her when she looked stuck, but after a moment’s struggle, she managed to pull the top off. Despite shedding the cumbersome sweatshirt, however, she was still wet.  The t-shirt that had been hiding beneath her outer layer stuck to her skin. 

“Did you jump in the lake with all your clothes on or something?”

She grimaced and pulled her hair out of its ponytail to shake out her dripping hair.  “No,” she noted drolly. She ran her fingers through the blonde locks like a wide-picked comb. “I was running and got caught in the rainstorm.  Who knew it was monsoon season?”

I glanced past her and out the front picture window.  The sky was dark and ominous and I could see the rain, slanted from the wind, wherever the streetlamps fought against the evening.

“Do you always run during an apocalypse?” I lightly teased.  “And at night?” I hated that I sounded like an overly concerned mom.

She frowned. “No. But I needed to do some thinking, and I always do my best thinking when I run.”

“I do my best thinking in the shower,” I said without thinking.  Her eyes fixed on me, and I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “Um. Let me get you a towel,” I offered.  “You’re dripping all over the floor like a melting snowman.”

“Oh no,” she gushed, noticing for the first time the puddle that had accumulated around her shoes. “I’m
so
sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” I waved off.  I eyeballed her again.
She looked a little bit like she’d just washed ashore.  A mermaid who’d just been given legs. “Just…stay there.”

I spun on my heel and took off for the linen closet in the hallway.  I grabbed a clean towel, one from the top of the pile that still smelled like fabric softener.  Realizing that a towel probably wasn’t going to be enough, I took a detour to the guest bedroom.  I had a walk-in closet upstairs in the master bedroom,
but the guest bedroom’s closet and wardrobe served as overflow.  I mostly kept my workout clothes and pajamas in the second bedroom. 

I pulled a clean,
long-sleeved shirt from one of the dresser drawers and held it up.  Hunter and I were about the same size, her bone structure a little finer, but it would fit.  This particular shirt had shrunk from multiple washings and I rarely wore it myself.  I hesitated before exiting the room.  Should I bring her pants as well?  All she was wearing was shorts. I mentally shook myself.  No.  That felt like crossing a line.  It’s not like I was inviting her over for a sleepover party. The shirt might have been inappropriate enough. 

The longer I battled with myself in the guest bedroom, the more awkward I felt.  Why was she even here in the first place?  Maybe I should have found out before I’d bolted down the hallway and left her in the foyer.  Maybe she wasn’t planning on staying that long; maybe she was just returning my book.  But why would she go for a run with a book, I reasoned.  She probably just got caught in the rain and realized she was close to my house and was looking to wait it out.  I nodded with some finality.  Yes, that was probably it.  And while I hesitated in the guest bedroom, she was probably politely freezing in the entranceway.  I usually kept my house a few degrees
chillier than necessary in the Fall to save on heating bills, and I’m sure in her damp clothes she was feeling it.

I left the room and found
Hunter still standing in the front foyer looking strangely at ease in her soaked running outfit as she inspected the black and white photographs that hung in the entranceway.  She looked up at the vaulted ceiling when the rain outside suddenly became louder.

“I think it’s hailing,” I announced, walking toward her. The tin roof that I’d thought was so charming when I’d originally purchased the house was romantic in the rain and horrible in the hail.

Hunter looked despondent.  “I really chose an awesome day to go for a run, huh?”

“You’re more than welcome to wait out the storm,” I offered, shrugging.  I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but internally I was elated.  The Weather Gods
were certainly on my side tonight.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she murmured.  She shifted her weight from one squishy foot to the next.

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “It’s not like you’re keeping me from any plans.  You apologize too much, by the way.”

She nodde
d, but still looked uncertain about the genuineness of my hospitality.

“I got you a towel and a shirt,” I said, awkwardly thrusting the objects in her direction. “Don’t fee
l obligated to put on the shirt; I just thought you might be cold. There’s pants and socks that go with that, too, if you want.”

She took the offered towel and cotton shirt.  “This is perfect.  Thank you,” she said quietly.  The emotion I had originally identified as ease had slid off her features and was now replaced with something else, a little shiftless and uncomfortable.  “I hate to ask, but could I get those pants, too?”  She pulled at her nylon running shorts
with a frown, and I noticed the goose bumps that covered her pale legs.  “I’m kind of soaked through.”

“Of course.  I’ll be right back.”  I hustled to the bedroom, faster than the original trip, and grabbed a pair of sweatpants from a bottom drawer that I hoped weren’t too big for her.

When I returned, she looked a little more at ease than when I’d left her.  “You can change in the bathroom,” I said as I handed her the pants.  “First door on the right.”

I watched her squish down the corridor, her wet socks leaving foot-shaped puddles on the hardwood floor, until she reached the bathroom.  When she closed the bathroom door, I immediately pulled my phone out of my hoodie front pocket and texted Troian.

Help. Winter Jacket is in my house
. I stared at the sent message. Hunter was in my house.  Hunter Dyson was in my bathroom, changing into my clothes.  I desperately needed to do something to keep my mind from creating inappropriate mental images.

I left the front foyer in favor of the kitchen and filled the kettle with water for hot chocolate or tea.  I didn’t k
now if she drank either, but I was sure a quick warm-up would be appreciated, plus it gave me something to do instead of creepily lurking outside the bathroom door while she changed clothes.

I put the pot on the burner and turned from the stovetop when I heart the sound of bare feet padding against the wooden floor. 
Hunter had reappeared, looking far too comfortable in her borrowed clothes.  We were about the same height, with myself being slightly taller and broader in the shoulders, but the clothes were a good fit.   The top was thin from numerous washings and hugged at her waistline.  Her small, round breasts swelled beneath the material.  Jutting hipbones peeked out from the waistband of the sweatpants, and I found myself wondering what the rest of her body looked like.

“What should
I do with these?” she asked. She awkwardly held out a small pile of damp clothes.

I cleared my throat, hoping my staring hadn’t been too obvious.
“Here,” I offered, holding out a hand. “I’ll hang those up for you by the fireplace.”

She shook her head and pulled the damp pile against her chest like she was protecting it. “You’ve already done more than enough. I can certainly manage to hang them up myself.”

I nodded, humming, and turned back to the stove. “I’m heating up some water if you’d like something hot to drink,” I told her.  “Tea? Hot Chocolate? Instant Coffee?”

“I’ll take some tea if it’s not too much of a bother.”

“No trouble at all. You have a preference of flavor?”

She shrugged her bony shoulders. “Mint if you have it? It reminds me of my grandmother.  She’d make it whenever I was sick.”

“You planning on getting sick?” I asked, busying myself with the task of pulling out the tin container that held all my tea bags.

“Well, I’m sure running in this weather doesn’t help,”
Hunter sighed.  Her eyes flicked over to the window in my dining room.  It still continued to storm outside.

I got her a mug, dropped the teabag in, and poured hot water to the cup’s brim. “So what’s on your mind?” I asked, pushing the cup across the kitchen island in her direction.  I felt a little like a bartender. “What’s this deep thinking you had to do so desperately that you went o
utside without a life preserver?”

Hunter
hunched over the kitchen island.  She shuffled her tea between her cupped hands.  “There’s this girl,” she said after a moment’s pause.  “And I can’t tell if it’s just a silly crush on my part, or if it could actually be something.”

My heart sank into my chest, which was a ridiculous reaction, I knew. 
Hunter was young and beautiful.  It was just a matter of time before she found someone. I wondered if it was someone I knew.  I wondered if they’d met at Peggy’s. I wondered if it was Leah. I suddenly hated hedonistic Peggy’s. 

“Oh really?” I managed to get out.  I knew I didn’t sound like myself; my voice
was wound tight and strained, and I wondered if she noticed.

She dipped the tip of her index finger into her mug and swirled the murky-colored beverage around.  “I don’t know what to do about it though.  I’ve never had to pursue someone.  I’ve always
been the pursuee.”  She made a face. “That isn’t even a word.”

“I’ll turn off my English professor button and let that one slide.”  I tried to make my tone light, but it still sounded stiff.  I should have been flattered that she felt comfortable enough to bring this personal issue to me, but instead I felt miserable. I found myself becoming anxious for the storm to lighten up enough so she could leave
, and I could start drinking.

My phone rattled, indicating I’d received a text message.
OMG. She wants you!!!
screamed Troian’s over-exuberant text.  I flicked the phone to silent and hastily shoved it into one of the kitchen drawers. It made an obvious noise as it banged against the other contents in the drawer, and Hunter gave me a perplexed look.

While my brain churned for something to say, she proceeded to pull her damp hair up in a bun.  She didn’t get very far, however, as a chunk of hair had gotten caught in the chain of the small, silver cross she always wore – apparently even while running.  I heard her quietly curse as she tried to tug her hair free.