~CELINE’S POV~
Hunter looks like a mess.
Worse than a mess.
His shirt is wrinkled, his collar loose, his hair disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it all night.
There’s a dark flush to his skin, the kind that only comes from too much whiskey, too many mistakes.
His eyes are glassy but sharp, locked onto me like I’m the only thing keeping him standing.
And I should leave.
I should turn around, whisper a quick goodnight, and forget that I ever wandered here in the first place.
But I don’t.
Because the moment stretches too long. Because Hunter doesn’t look at me like I’m just a maid. Because despite everything, a part of me wonders if he wants me here.
He lets out a slow breath, then rakes a hand through his hair, as if trying to pull himself together.
