<b>Chapter </b><b>55 </b>
-CELINE-
I step back from the railing, my mind racing Hunter nned my birthday celebration? The cold, distant man who barely acknowledges me at the mansion went to all this trouble?
I need to think. I slip back inside the cabin quietly, careful not to wake Caesar who’s still sound asleep on the couch.
The soft glow from the firece casts dancing shadows across his peaceful face.
Moving to the kitchen, I busy myself cleaning up the remaining cake tes, trying to process what I just heard. Why would Hunter do this? And why hide behind Caroline?
The cabin door opens, and Caroline breezes in. “I’m heading back to the city now. You two okay here until Ie back tomorrowe morning?”
“Tomorrow morning?” I nearly drop the te I’m holding. “I thought you were taking us back tonight.
Caroline waves her hand dismissively. “Toote now. Caesar’s already asleep, and it’s a long drive. Besides, she lowers her voice, “the guest room is all made up for you two. Hunter will stay in the master bedroom at the other end of the cabin.”
“But-“I start to protest.
“No buts,” Caroline cuts me off. “Just enjoy your birthday gift. A peaceful night by theke.” She kisses my cheek quickly. “See you tomorrow!”
Before I can argue further, she’s gone<b>, </b>leaving me alone with my sleeping son and the man who’s suddenly be a mystery to <ol><li>me. </li></ol>
Hunter steps inside a momentter, closing the door against the cool night air. Our eyes meet, and the tension in the room thickens<b>. </b>Does he know I overheard him?
“Caroline left?” he asks, though he must have <b>seen </b>her go
I nod. “She said she’sing back tomorrow morning.”
Hunter runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve rarely seen him make. It makes him look younger, lessposed. “That’s fine. The guest room is ready for <b>you </b>and Caesar.”
“Thank you,” I say, gathering my courage. “For everything”
His expression doesn’t <b>change</b>, but something flickers in his eyes. “Caroline did most of it.”
“Did she?” I challenge gently. “Because I just heard you asking if I liked the cake.”
Hunter freezes, caught. The mask of indifference slips, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable.
“You nned this, didn’t you?” <b>I </b>press. “Not Caroline.”
He says nothing <b>for </b>a long moment, then sighs, “Does it matter who nned it?”
“It does to me.” I step closer to him, surprising myself with my boldness. “Why hide behind Caroline? Why not just tell me you wanted to do something nice for my birthday?”
His jaw tightens “It seemed… Inappropriate. I’m your employer.”
“So you went through all this trouble, then pretended it was Caroline’s idea?” I shake my head, confused. “I don’t understand you Mr. Reid.”
“Hunter,” he corrects quietly. “We’re not at the mansion now.”
The use of his first name feels intimate, a small boundary crossed. “Hunter,” I repeat, the name unfamiliar on my tongue,
We stand in silence, the ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly loud, Caesar stirs on the couch, mumbling something in his sleep before settling again.
Hunter’s gaze moves to my son, his expression softening in a way I’ve never seen before. “He looks peaceful.”
“He is,” I say, watching Hunter watch Caesar. “He had a wonderful time tonight.”
Hunter nods, then gestures to the coffee table. “There’s still one gift you haven’t opened.”
I follow his gaze to a small package wrapped in elegant silver paper. “I thought I opersed everything.”
“Not this one.” He picks it up, holding it out to me. “It’s from me.”
My heart speeds up as I take the package, our fingers brushing briefly. The touch sends a small shock through me that I try to ignore.
Carefully, I unwrap the paper to reveal a t ck case. Opening it, I gasp. Inside lies a set of professional artist’s pencils and charcoals, arranged in perfect gradients of color and shade. They’re clearly expensive–the kind I’ve only ever dreamed of owning
“How did you know?” I whisper, running my fingers over the silky wood surfaces.
Hunter watches me, his expression guarded but intent. “I’ve seen you sketching during your breaks. You’re talented.”
I look up, surprised. “You’ve seen my drawings?”
“The one of the garden was particrly good,” he says, a hint of a smile touching his lips. “And the portrait of Caesar capturing the <b>way </b>his eyes crinkle when heughs.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. I had no idea he paid such close attention. “Thank you. These are… they’re perfect.”
“There’s more.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out an envelope. “This is the main part.”
With trembling fingers, I open the envelope. Inside is a certificate of enrollment for part–time evening sses at the local art school -the same one I mentioned dreaming about that night in the garden.
“I can’t ept this,” I say, though everything in me wants to. “It’s too much.”
“Consider it an investment,” Hunter says, his voice oddly gentle. “You have real talent, Celine. It shouldn’t go to waste because of he hesitates, “circumstances.
My eyes fill with tears I try to blink back. No one has believed in my art like this before. No one has ever given me the chance to pursue it.
“Why?” I ask, my voice barely audible. “Why would you do this for me?”
Hunter takes a step closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne. “Maybe I’m not the cold bastard everyone thinks tam
I
“I never thought you were cold,” Ladmit. “Just… unreachable”
Something changes in his eyes a warmth I’ve never seen before. “And now?”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Now I don’t know what to think,”
He reaches out slowly, as if giving me time to step away. When I don’t move, his hand gently brushes a strand of hair from my face. The touch is feather–light but sends electricity racing across my skin.
“Thank you,” I whisper again, unable to find other words.
Hunter nods, then steps back, breaking the moment. “You should get some rest. The guest room is down the hall, first door on the left. There are extra nkets in the closet if you need them.”
I want to say more, to ask all the questions swirling in my mind, but the sudden distance he’s put between us makes it clear the moment has passed.
“Goodnight, Hunter,” I say, testing his name again.
“Goodnight, Celine.” He turns toward the master bedroom, then pauses. “Happy birthday.”
After he’s gone, I gather Caesar in my <b>arms</b>, careful not to wake him, and carry him to the guest room. It’s beautifully appointed, with arge bed and a smaller one that’s clearly been brought in just for Caesar.
Someone has even ced his favorite stuffed animal on the pillow–another detail Hunter must have noticed.
I tuck Caesar in, changed into the pajamas that have somehow been packed for both of us, then sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the art supplies and the certificate.
I
Something <b>doesn’t </b>add up. The Hunter Reid I know is aloof, businesslike, asionally kind to Caesar but always maintaining a professional distance with me.
This man–the one who notices which stuffed animal my son prefers, who sees my sketches and believes in my talent, who goes to borate lengths to celebrate my birthday–feels like a stranger.
A stranger with eyes <b>that </b>burn when they look at me.
A stranger whose touch lingers on my skin.
As I slip under the covers, my mind reys every interaction we’ve had since I started working at the mansion. The moments i caught him watching me.
The way his expression softens when he sees Caesar. The night in the garden when he seemed almost on the verge of saying something important before we were interrupted.
Sleep eludes me as one question circles in my mind: Who is the real Hunter Reid? The cold businessman or the man who gave me the most meaningful birthday I’ve had in years?
And why does the answer suddenly matter so much to me? <fn4c39> Chapters first released on findnovel</fn4c39>