Chapter 13
“Go ahead and cry, Savvy. Don’t hold it in.”
That voice—smooth, low, way too close—hit me out of nowhere.
I whipped around and found Hunter Holt standing right beside me, like he’d materialized out of thin air.
He didn’t say anything else. Just handed me a folded white handkerchief, like it was no big deal.
“Here,” he said casually.
I stared at him, then at the damn thing like it was a diamond. Slowly took it with trembling fingers.
“…Thanks, Uncle Hunter.”
But I didn’t use it. That handkerchief was expensive as hell. The fabric screamed custom and money. I’d rather sob into my sleeve than risk ruining something I couldn’t even afford to dry-clean.
I clutched it awkwardly, unsure what to do.
Hunter tilted his head and gave me a half-smile. “What, do I look like a serial killer or something?”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“You always look like you’re facing a firing squad whenever I’m around,” he said, a touch of self-deprecating humor curling in his voice.
Once upon a time, Hunter had just been the cool younger uncle of the Holt family. The guy we called “Uncle Hunter” out of habit. Handsome, yes. Intimidating? Hell yes. I treated him like he was untouchable royalty. But now?
Now I knew he’d been harboring some kind of twisted, slow-burn crush on me all this time.
And I didn’t know what the hell to do with that.
Luckily, he didn’t push it. He just let the moment sit, then exhaled slowly and said, “Whatever. We’ve got time.”
Then he looked at me dead-on, calm and serious. “Savannah, I just hope you stop living like you’re someone else’s charity case.”
“Don’t shrink yourself to fit their comfort. Make a damn life that belongs to you—your rules, your name on the door.”
Even if I’m not in that picture with you.
The way he said it—low, resolute, with zero emotion—sent a weird ache through my chest. Something cracked, deep and quiet.
I didn’t know what to say.
