DYLAN

"Oh, god."

A loud groan escaped as the sun peaked through the blinds. My hand instantly went to my forehead, trying to dull the throbbing ache.

I didn't know what was worse - the horrible hangover or the crazy alcohol-induced dream. Dream was too nice of a word. Calling it an embarrassing nightmare sounded far more appropriate. But a quick spin of the room laid my answer right before me. The hangover was worse.

Water. I needed water. A bucket of water - no, an ocean. I needed an ocean of water. Licking my dry lips, I slowly stretched my arm towards the side table, trying to find the glass through half-opened eyes.

That's when I noticed the items on the ground.

A pillow and blanket.

Did someone stay over? That's weird. Someone slept on the floor in my dream too.

Hearing the door to my room open, I quickly grabbed the first thing within reach. A television remote was hardly a weapon for defence, but it could do some damage if thrown fast enough at the head.

When Hunter came into view, the fear constricting my lungs vanished. "Oh, thank god. It's just you," I said, flopping back down against the bed.

"Shit, sorry. I thought you'd still be asleep." Motioning to the tray in his hands, he said, "I got you some breakfast. Hungry?"

"Starving!" My mouth watered as Hunter sat on the edge of the bed and put down the tray.

"I got you some toast... eggs... fruit... crackers in case you only could stomach that..."

Hearing him list the various items, I suddenly found the urge to ask, "Did you stay here last night?"

"Yeah, but on the ground." He nodded to the man-made bed on the floor as his focus remained on sorting out the plates of food.

"Why?"

Hunter looked up. "Why what?"

"Why did you stay here?"

"You were quite drunk, and I was worried about leaving you alone."

I picked up a piece of toast. "Oh, well, thanks. I'm sorry for ruining your night."

"Kiss me."

My eyes widened. "What?"

Hunter's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Did you say something?"

"Uh, no. Are you okay?"

Biting into the toast, I decided the best thing to do was to stuff my face with food. The perfect excuse for not having to answer.

Kiss me - this time, it was my voice that said it.

Scared that I'm going to say it? My voice spoke once again.

Oh god.

It was just like my dream.

"Dylan? Are you okay?" Hunter asked, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. "You just got super pale."

"I'm fine," I told him, reaching for my glass of water. "Just... a bad hangover." After a long sip, I tried to ease the awkwardness with a laugh (one that sounded more forced than I intended) and said, "Guess I was really drunk last night."

"Yeah." Hunter cleared his throat, his eyes remaining on the plate of scrambled eggs. "Do you remember anything?"

I'm still in love with you.

"No," I lied. "Not a thing."

18 WEEKS LATER

"I mean, it's so... drab..."

"I know. I was trying to put my finger on what was wrong with the piece... but that's just it. It's quite uninspired."

Criticism was something I had been used to since the day I was born. Honestly, I had no other choice growing up with my mother. Either you had to swallow any emotions that followed or be shamed for being affected by it.

Of course, criticism wasn't always bad. When it was constructive, it led me to be a better artist.

But when it came from overheard remarks by two people who had complimented my brushwork moments ago to my face, it stung a bit.

"And the brushwork? Atrocious. It's like it was painted by a child."

"Oh, stop it," the other man chided his partner, "That's an insult to children."

While they laughed, I stood behind them, pathetically holding myself and sinking my teeth painfully into my bottom lip to forcefully stop myself from crying.

"They will let anyone show their work here these days..."

"Seems that way. What a shame," he said with a sigh, "I wouldn't be surprised if she slept with the art director to get her work shown tonight."

I didn't fuck anyone.

I meant to say those four words in my head - I was the only one who was supposed to hear my voice yell that. But as the two heads turned, staring with wide-eyed, guilt-ridden expressions, I quickly realized that I had, in fact, uttered that sentence out loud - not only for them to hear but for the few patrons standing nearby.

Fighting back with more venomous replies at the two men standing before me was not a gift my trembling bottom lip would allow. With haste, I turned and disappeared into the crowd, heading straight toward the nearest bathroom.

Behind a locked stall gave me a brief moment of peace.

However, I was quickly reminded of how fleeting a sense of peace can be.

Resting my back against the door, I silently begged the tears not to fall. I felt like a joke here. Those comments were only part of why my nails currently dug their way into the palm of my hands. Every time I showed up to one of these, I heard those comments; seen those fake smiles. I could recognize the interest dimming from someone's eyes the longer they stood in front of my work.

I grew up in a household full of these people. I knew exactly how to spot them.

Leaving my old life behind was supposed to give me a fresh start - a way to begin the life that I assumed meant to have. I thought this moment, showcasing my art for the first time in a proper gallery, would be a happy occasion.

But wearing a cocktail dress and heels made me feel more out of place than ever.

The worst part was... I was beginning to think they were right.

Maybe my work was uninspired. Maybe the brush strokes were sloppy. Maybe a child could do a much better job than I did.

Creating was so much easier when I wasn't doing it to afford food or pay rent.

Maybe this was all a big fucking mistake.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, sending a symphony of curse words to run through my head. Fuck, fuck, fuck! This time, the words stayed in my head - but I wanted nothing more than to shout each one out at the top of my lungs.

I couldn't keep doing this. I told myself tonight would be the last night of trying to sell my work. There were only so many times I could fake a smile and pretend to be oblivious to the snarky comments all night.

It needed to end. My head wouldn't be able to take this much longer.

But... what else did I have besides this?

What else was I going to do?

How could I give this up?

I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to paint and create.

But I also wanted to be able to afford to feed myself.

I had already been late on rent so many times - I wasn't sure if my landlord would give me another chance. Whenever I wasn't painting or trying to sell my work to the snobby city art collectors, I served every table I could in this city. And still, I was barely making a living wage.

The buzzing sound of my cell phone pulled me from my thoughts. But seeing the name flash across the screen only made everything worse.

Delilah.

I quickly wiped my eyes just as a tear fell. But the second one snuck its way out, it became impossible to stop the rest.

Counting couldn't save me now; I was far too gone for that.

I promised never to lie to my sister again. And yet, that's all I had done since returning home.

I lied about getting a decent apartment. I lied about my creativity. I lied about how successful my showings were. But worst of all, I lied about being happy.

I wasn't happy.

I couldn't remember the last time I was happy.

Miserable.

I was fucking miserable.

And my reflection staring back at me was only a reminder of how truly miserable I had become.

1 New Text Message: Delilah

With a heavy sigh, I opened the text.

Delilah: Missing you! Hope the big showcase is going well <3

Delilah: 1 Attached Image

I couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh at the photo. Delilah sprawled out on the couch with a plate of pizza resting on her tiny baby bump. All it took was seeing that little bump to remind me why I did this all.

That bump was the reason I left Europe and moved back. I wanted to do it for a long time - but I felt like moving from the place I said was my dream was me giving up. I missed out on so many important moments in Delilah's life. And now Lily's... a few of Rosie's... I didn't want to add the new incoming peanut to that list.

I was happier being here. But there was still something missing. What that was, I still needed to find out. My only hope was that I would come to the realization soon.

Opening my purse, I dug through to find my tools and quickly touched up my face. The last thing I needed was for any of these snobs to think I was crying. Tear streaks, smudged mascara, and the redness from my flushed skin were gone in a flash. Thank god for the power of makeup.

Sending off a quick reply to my sister, I took a deep breath and headed back into the sea of judgment.

Less than an hour to go, I reminded myself. I could do that. Easily. All I had to do was fake a smile until my cheeks ached, and I would be free to go home, grab the tub of ice cream from my freezer and cry myself to sleep.

Perfect.

A sigh of despair escaped as I approached my painting. Maybe they were right. Perhaps a child could do better. I never thought my brushwork was perfect - I knew it could use some work. I'm sure there could be something to set about my colour choices, especially where-

My thoughts were instantly silenced as my eyes fell on the title card positioned on the wall beside my painting.

What the fuck?

A red sticker.

A red fucking sticker?!

Was someone playing a fucking joke with me?

"Is-is that r-real?"

Macy, the art director's assistant, looked up from her clipboard. "Yes. Purchased about twenty minutes ago." Noticing my shocked expression, she added, "First time?"

"Yeah," I whispered in disbelief. "After all the stuff I've heard... I'm shocked."

Someone bought my painting. My first real buyer. Holy fucking shit!

I can finally afford to take a weekend off of work! Go visit Delilah and the kids!

"Can I ask who?"

With a sympathetic look, the woman shook her head. "Unfortunately, all our buyers remain anonymous. It's policy."

"Oh." The disappointment was immediately evident in my tone. I wanted to thank whoever it was in person. I wanted to hug them and squeal so loudly with excitement that I'd probably scare them off from buying something from me ever again. The policy of anonymity made sense when I thought about it some more.

"Remember this moment, Miss Miller."

"What do you mean?"

Macy glanced down at her clipboard and scribbled something on the page. "Once you get your first buyer, they start swarming like seagulls fighting over a piece of bread at the boardwalk. No one wants to miss out on the next big thing."

"I don't think that will-"

"Excuse me. Are you the artist?"

"Yes, I am." I turned my head to the sound of the voice. "Oh my god. Did you buy my painting?" I asked, ignoring the pressing side glare I knew Macy was shooting my way.

The older woman, dressed in garments I knew had to cost at least three months' rent for my shoebox apartment, shook her head. "Unfortunately, it appears I am too late. I was hoping to buy this piece for my sitting room. It's beautiful. When is your next showing?"

"I... I don't-" Words were suddenly a chore to think of. Did she really say she wanted to buy it? For a sitting room? A room where she would sit and look at it?

"Miss Miller will be back next week."

Turning to Macy, I whispered, "I will?"

"Yes," she nodded, "You will."

"Good! Tell William to give her more space," the woman said, referring to the art director, "I need to see more work!"

"Of course, Mrs. Bass."

Mrs. Bass didn't know it, but she changed my fucking night around. I wanted to squeal and jump with joy - however, the fear that doing such a thing would disturb the older woman into telling Charles not to give me another night of showcasing my work was enough to suppress my actions. Instead, I stuck to internally screaming my head off.

Macy was right. When one noticed the red sticker, the rest followed like a flock. I talked everyone's ear off about my work to anyone that would listen. And thankfully, due to Mrs. Bass, I could confidently and honestly say that I would be back next week.

I didn't care if anything turned into a sale next week.

Shit. I didn't even care if anyone showed up.

I was just glad I had my first real sale.

The time I thought would pass on in a dreadful state started to pass by far too quickly. Before I knew it, the hour I said I would suffer through before making my great escape was over. I lingered, not hoping to catch another interested patron but to just take everything in one last time.

That's when I spotted him.

Standing near the entrance. Having just come inside, he dusted the New York snowfall off his head and shoulders.

My chest filled with warmth at the sight of him.

Hunter.

"Hi."

"Hi," he replied, the corner of his mouth tugging into a cheeky smile.

Almost too scared to ask, I somehow managed, "What are you doing here?"

"I heard there was an art show full of talent going on tonight." His eyes did a scan of the room before falling back to me. "I just finished meeting some old friends and thought I'd stop by to see it myself."

I had mentioned tonight to Delilah but downplayed it as much as I could. I knew the chances of my pregnant sister being able to come were extremely low, considering she was already dealing with two little ones and would have to make the journey all the way into the city. And so, I didn't want her to feel obligated in any way.

It's just like all the other showings. It wasn't.

There will be plenty more. There wouldn't.

They happen all the time! The only reason I was here was thanks to Diane pulling some strings with a friend.

I didn't think it mattered that there wasn't a single person here that I knew. But seeing Hunter made me realize just how much I needed someone.

"Wow." The sound of his voice pulled me from my thoughts. "This is incredible, Dyl."

The enormous smile he had warmed my heart. His eyes scanned every inch of the painting, pointing out the little details he liked and commenting on my colour choices. Things I knew he wouldn't care to say in any other situation - which made it feel all the more special.

"I'm glad Europe doesn't get to keep all your talents hidden away from us anymore. Look at this thing!"

I could feel my cheek redden, flushing with heat over his compliments. Others said similar things throughout the night, well, not as specific or energetic as he did. Regardless, it still didn't feel this way to hear their compliments. It didn't make my chest feel warm or my palms slick with sweat. It certainly didn't become a chore to stop my legs from giving out and collapsing with nerves.

But it felt that way with Hunter.

"So, how much are you selling this thing for? No, wait, let me guess!" He paused for dramatic effect. "Ten grand? Twenty? Oh... you drive a hard bargain. Fifty?"

Dropping my voice to a whisper, I said, "Well, actually, it's already sold."

"Sold? As in, someone bought it?"

I nodded proudly. "Yeah. And now they've invited me back next week to showcase more of my work!" A squeal left my lips as suddenly, my feet were no longer firmly planted on the ground.

Hunter spun me around in joy before slowly lowering me back to safety. "Dylan! That's fucking amazing! See! Remember what I told you at Christmas?"

After you get your first sale, everything will change.

I didn't believe him then. Truth be told, I just assumed he was trying to say the right thing. But little did I know then how real his words would become. Even Macy repeated the same thing.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Hunter reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out an item. A disposable camera. "Go on," he instructed, winding it up.

"What?"

"Smile!"

"What are you doing?"

"Taking your picture in front of your painting!"

"Why?"

Hunter looked at the camera in his hand. "I said I'd take your picture when you got your exhibit. Just like that Lauren Dubios guy."

"Laurent," I corrected. "And this is hardly an exhibit, Hunter. It's one painting."

"It's still a big moment. Come on!" He held up the camera. "Say cheese!"

I didn't even want to fight him on taking the picture. I couldn't help but stand there for the photo and smile - even with my embarrassed, red cheeks. The camera flashed, and Hunter instantly winded it up again. "One more," he said, "This picture will be worth a lot one day! I need to make sure I get enough photos of Dylan Miller, the worldwide famous artist before her fame and glory!"

"Alright, alright!" I waved his camera away after the fifth photo. "Put that thing away! Thank you again, you know, for stopping by. It was nice of you to do that," I said, "I'm sure a night out in the city with your friends would have been way more fun than this."

Hunter shrugged off the remark. "Not at all. This was definitely worth it." He looked around the space, noticing just as I was that we were part of the very few people left. "So, any big plans for the night now that you're a famous artist?"

"I've sold one painting since coming home, Hunter. I'm far from famous."

"You're famous to me."

Attempting to cover the blush, I turned to the side, grabbed my jacket off the hook and slipped it on - wanting to buy myself some time until my skin returned to its normal, not inflamed state. "Well, this famous artist gets to walk home in the cold."

"Do you know how cold it is out there?"

"I've got a warm coat, and it's not that far. Just a few blocks."

"Well, do you want some company?"

My lips tugged into a smile, noting his sudden nervous nature. "Are you offering to walk me home?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," Hunter scratched the back of his neck, "Is that alright for me to ask?"

"Of course." Pushing open the door to the gallery, a brisk chill sent a shiver down my spine as we stepped outside. Wrapping my arms around myself, I said, "Good thing it's not a far walk."

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I said, trying to minimize the chattering of my teeth. "Didn't realize the temperature would drop this much in a few hours."

"Here, take this." Hunter removed the scarf hanging around his neck and managed to secure it around mine before I had the chance to protest. "You've still got some California in there. Got to get used to the winter weather if you want to be a New Yorker, Dylan."

"I already have the crazy expensive shoe-boxed-sized apartment, so at least I'm one step there."

"How has moving back been? Happy with your decision?"

After the wedding, I stayed with the family for another week, and Hunter became the person I confided in about how I truly felt about being away. I didn't mean to unload everything on him. But it was the night before my flight, and I hadn't packed a thing - something I had been putting off doing all because I didn't want to leave.

"I'm not happy," I said, "That's the only way I can describe it."

"How long have you felt this way?"

"Since the moment I got there."

"What? Then why did you stay?"

Letting out a sigh, I answered him with an honest, "I felt like I had to." I took a sip from my glass of water. "It was always my dream to go, and then Diane got me that amazing internship opportunity at the gallery... I kept telling myself I was just homesick... that it would pass and I would start loving it. But I never did. I loved it when I was there to visit. However, staying there has been so lonely. And now Delilah is pregnant again, and I could barely afford my flight here this time around... what if I can't afford it when she's closer to her due date? Am I going to miss another baby being born? Am I going to have to sit back and let all these memories pass by again without me?"

"Do you want to come home?"

"It's not-"

"Yes or no. Do you want to come home?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"So, why don't you?"

"Because I feel like I'll be letting everyone down."

"Dylan, the only person you're letting down right now is yourself. Who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks? Not just anyone would pack up their life and move to a new city across the world. That's a big change. And it's not like it's been a week. It's been over a year. If you're not happy now, it won't change by forcing yourself to be there."

"I'm happy that I moved back," I told him. "I am." Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I sighed and added, "If you had asked me that before the showing, I probably would have given you a whole speech about how lost I still feel. Shit, if you had asked me that three hours in, you would have found me crying in the bathroom." Feeling his concern stare into me from the corner of my eye, I tried to lighten the mood with a laugh. "I know selling my first painting doesn't magically fix everything. But it helps. You know? Maybe this isn't what I'm meant to do for my entire life... but now I have hope that I can keep at it for a bit longer while I still figure it all out."

He smiled. "You spent a lot of years doing what everyone else wanted. It's okay to take time and figure things out for yourself for once - you deserve it."

"Thanks. And thank you for playing therapist for me since the wedding. I didn't want to stress Delilah out with all of this, so I really appreciate you being there for me."

"That's what friends are for."

Stopping outside my apartment door, I turned to him and said, "Well... this is me. When's your train home?"

Hunter checked his watch. "Not for... about two hours." He grimaced. "I thought the snobby art folks would party it up for a bit longer. But that's alright. I'll just hang out at the station."

"Do you want to come up? I mean, until you have to get your train."

"You don't mind?"

I shook my head. "I can't say I have a lot to offer up there, but there's an episode of my favourite housewives reality show starting soon, and I have a tub of ice cream I'm willing to share."

"How could I say no to an offer like that?"

Unlocking the front door, I led the way up the staircase and to my apartment. "Welcome to my shoebox," I announced as we stepped inside.

The apartment was tiny. But it was mine. That was my favourite part. Mine. All mine.

Sure - I could barely afford the rent, heating was minimal, and hot water was scarce. But no one was helping me. I didn't have a trust fund paying for it or parents that purchased it and let me live there under conditions.

Beyond the small entryway was a kitchenette and living room to the left, while the right had my bedroom (a thin wall that didn't have a door) and a bathroom.

After kicking off my heels and hanging up my coat, I turned to Hunter. "I'm just going to quickly change into something more comfortable. Ice cream is in the freezer but feel free to take whatever you want out of the fridge. But be warned, there's isn't much to choose from!"

"Got it!"

Disappearing behind my bedroom wall, I made quick use of finding some clean clothes - which was surprising considering I had been putting off going to the laundromat for weeks now.

It turned out drunkenly confessing I still loved him and then pretending I forgot all about it was the best thing that ever happened to our relationship. As I forced myself to interact with him more to test if he would bring it up, we started talking again. And talking led to conversations. And those conversations went from forced to natural.

All things considered, it was nice being around Hunter again. Months ago, I never would have thought I would invite him upstairs for ice cream. Now it felt... normal.

I liked us being normal.

Fidgeting with the back zipper of my dress, I let out a groan of frustration. "Hunter?" I called out to him. "Can you help me?"

Within a split second, he stood in the doorway. "What's up?"

"I think my zippers stuck." I turned around, motioning to my back. "Can you fix it?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." His feet shuffled against the creaky floorboards, positioning himself behind me. "I just need to..." He brushed the strands of my hair to rest over my shoulder, "Okay, now let's see..."

I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the tips of his fingers delicately press against my back. It's just a zipper, Dylan. Calm down. Each passing second made it feel impossible to be anything but calm. I tried to distract myself by focusing on something in my room. The clothes on my bed. Frames photos on the wall.

The small mirror on top of my dresser... the one that was pointed right at him... allowing me to see the crease in his brow... the way he slightly stuck out his tongue to concentrate on his task... the joy in his eyes when he got the zipper to budge and how they softened when he slid it down.

His eyes remained on the exposed skin of my back. It felt like he was counting every freckle and mark. I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. Maybe it was nothing at all - perhaps I analyzing what his softened glance meant far too much. Besides, it's not like anything would happen between us.

All Hunter did was help me unzip my dress.

And all we were doing was having a normal night before he had to get on his train home.

Clearing his throat, his gaze averted to the floor as he took a step back. "All fixed. I'll, uh, leave you to it."

Turning to thank him, I could only catch a quick second of his figure before it disappeared out of the room. I had to forget whatever was running through my head. None of it mattered. And creating a false narrative over a look in his eye while he unzipped my dress was bordering on madness.

Discarding my dress, I hung it up on a hanger and shoved it into my closet before quickly tossing on a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt. I exited my room, reminding myself to forget and return to normal.

Normal.

Hunter and I were normal now.

And as I spotted him sitting on the couch, nervously tapping his fingers against his thighs, I would have forgotten to act normal if it weren't for that voice inside my head screaming it every second. The tub of ice cream and two spoons were on the small coffee table.

"Lily will love knowing you have her art on the wall."

I sat down beside him and reached for a spoon. "She's getting pretty good now."

"Well, that's all your doing. Did I tell you she talked to me for an hour the other day about colour theory? I learned all about the cool and warm tones she likes."

"Really?"

Hunter nodded, popping off the ice cream lid. "And when I asked her if she learned that in school, you know what she said?"

"Yes?"

"She said she learned it from Auntie Dylan."

"Glad I'm teaching her something then."

"You could be teaching a lot of kids."

Dipping my spoon into the container, I raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

"You would be good at it - teaching art."

"I don't know about that."

"Why not? You thought about it before - even liked the idea of it!"

"Because my niece listening to me doesn't mean a whole class will. Besides, all kids like art. And what if I just passed down my artistic talents to her?"

Hunter shrugged, scooping up a chunk of cookie dough and vanilla ice cream. "I just think you would be good at it. That's all."

"I'll think about it."

I wasn't sure if I meant those words, but it was enough to put the conversation to rest. Grabbing the remote, I flipped through the channels until I found our show for the night and relaxed into my seat. If I was worried about any awkwardness between us, Hunter instantly diminished it by asking little comments about the show.

"Who's she?"

"Why are they fighting?"

"That's a big ass house. She can afford that all from a single dog store?"

"It's a very high-end dog store," I said, "But there are rumours her husband is under federal investigation for tax fraud."

His eyes widened, fixated on the screen. "Damn. This is a good show." In fact, he was so focused that the ice cream on his spoon melted before he had the chance to eat it, resulting in it falling on his shirt.

"Ah, shit. Ethan's going to kill me."

"For coming home with a stain?" I teased.

"Yeah. And the fact that this is his shirt." He looked back at the television. "Good. Commercial break. I'm going to try and get this out."

"I have stain remover under the sink in my bathroom."

"Perfect."

As Hunter hurried off to take care of his stain, I remained on the couch, unable to wipe the smile off my face. There was no doubt that the feelings I drunkenly confessed still lingered. It's not like I could (or would) act on them... but moments like these filled my heart with a sense of warmth I greatly missed.

"Is that my phone ringing?" Hunter's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"What? Oh," the sound of the ringing cell phone quickly became evident to my ears. "Yeah! Do you want me to get it for you?"

"If you can! Phones in my jacket pocket! It's probably Ethan," he replied, "I forgot to let him know I found you. Probably thinks I'm lost wandering around an art gallery."

Getting off the couch, I made my way to where his jacket was hung and dug through the pocket until I found his ringing phone. "Hi, Ethan!"

"Hi- wait. Dylan?"

"It's me!"

"Oh good, he found you!"

"He did indeed," I said, "Hunter's just getting an ice cream stain out of his shirt."

"Don't rat me out!" Hunter groaned from the bathroom.

I pressed the spoon against my lips to suppress my giggle. "Don't worry, Ethan. Your brother is safe! I'll fill him up with ice cream before he gets back on the train home."

"Well, thank you for taking such good care of him! And I'm glad you two could spend some time together..."

"Mmhm." I noticed a piece of paper on the ground and bent over to pick it up. "Me too."

Ethan chuckled. "Don't tell him I told you... but the poor boy was freaking out before he left."

"Why's that?" I asked, looking over the paper in my hand. Was this my receipt?

"He was worried sick about being late for your show. Practically lept out of the car while I was still driving once we got to the station!"

"Wouldn't he have been more worried about being late for dinner?"

"What dinner?"

My eyes fell down to the paper in my hand. Official Sales Receipt.

"Look at that!" Hunter happily announced, looking at the wet spot on his shirt. "The stain is all gone. It's like it never happened-" He fell silent, noting where my attention lay. "Is everything okay?"

"Dylan?" Ethan asked from the other end of the call. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah," I said into the device. "Hunter will call you later." Before waiting for a reply, I hung up the phone. "What friends did you see tonight?"

"W-what?"

"What friends did you see tonight?" I repeated. "You said you saw some friends before stopping by. What friends?"

"Just some people I used to work with."

"Named?"

Hunter fell silent. "I... uh-"

"So you weren't worried about missing my show?"

"I-"

"Did you come to the city just to see it?"

"It's-"

"Yes or no, Hunter."

"Yes."

I looked back down at the receipt. "And then you bought my painting?"

"Dyl, I-"

"Yes or no."

"Yes." The despair was written all over his face as he released a heavy sigh and stepped toward me. "Dylan, please, I didn't- I just-" he cut himself off, falling silent. He took another step, minimizing the distance as his voice dropped to a soft whisper, "From the second you downplayed how important tonight was to Delilah... I knew something was going on. And I was there in the crowd, and I overheard what those people said... and then you walked off so upset that I... I don't know. I knew what they were saying was wrong, and I wanted to help prove they were just being arrogant assholes and didn't know what the fuck they were talking about. I promise you, Dylan, I only did it because I thought it would help and-"

Once upon a time, I learned the ones that love you would do anything in the name of protection. It wasn't always what you needed... their decisions weren't always right. But you could always tell their intentions were pure.

Hunter assumed I'd be upset that he bought the painting. I was anything but that.

I loved him. And knowing what he had done for me tonight was just a reminder that past, present, and future me would always love him.

And so, blinded by love, I finally gave in to the one thing I had wanted to do since seeing him the first night at the wedding.

I kissed him.

Seconds felt like minutes in that kiss. It was like the entire world around us collapsed into the background. I missed him. Everything about him. The way he knew everything about me and made me smile... how he could make me laugh while talking me down from what felt like my highest ledge. The way he was with Lily and Rosie... how he was constantly thankful for Delilah and Ethan...

I loved him.

I missed him.

And I had just kissed him.

The sounds of glass smashing and women yelling from the television pulled me back into reality.

Oh, fuck. I just kissed him.

Breaking the kiss, I pulled my head back, staring at him with widened eyes. "Shit," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-"

Before I could finish my sentence, his hands cupped my cheeks, and Hunter pressed his lips back to mine. Any fears, worries or doubts I had over kissing him were instantly diminished. Thank god. It felt good to kiss him. There were years of secret desire burning with every touch. It was like I could feel everything he had wanted all this time - and it felt exactly like what I wanted.

My hand rested on his chest, gently gripping the material of his dress shirt. Even as our lips parted, allowing us a chance to catch out breaths, his hands moved to my waist, keeping our bodies close.

"That probably wasn't the smartest decision... right?"

"What? Kissing? Like this?" He pressed his lips to mine. "Is that what you meant," kiss, "by me," kiss, "kissing," kiss, "you?" kiss.

"Hunter," attempting my warning tone became ineffective as I giggled. I didn't even try to protest when he kissed me again. And again. And again. I just wanted to be smothered by his kisses.

His attention went to my jaw, trailing his lips up to my ear. When I thought I was allowed to catch my breath, he kissed my neck on the spot he knew drove me crazy. I was thankful my back was pressed against the kitchen counter - otherwise, I feared I would have collapsed due to the action. His kisses moved to the center of my throat and up to my chin, until his lips met mine again.

"Tease," I whispered.

Hunter smirked and opened his mouth - likely to say something cheeky in response. Suddenly an enormous fear materialized, swarming the front of my mind. And before Hunter could say a word, I blurted out, "What are we doing, Hunter?"

"What do you mean?" The grin he wore dimmed as he pulled back slightly.

"I just... look, I don't know what got into me, but if this is just going to be another one of our one-night things... I think we should end it here. It will get messy, and honestly, my feelings for you are still there, so I don't think I can-"

Hunter took a step back and turned his back to me. My heart dropped, taking residence in the pit of my stomach. He picked up his cell phone and returned to his spot in front of me. I was confused, to say the least, but I knew my silence was the best option for me to take.

"I'm not here for a one-night thing, Dylan." He rested his hands on either side of the counter, leaning his body into mine. "Are you?"

I shook my head.

"Good," he said softly. "Now, I need to make a quick call, okay?"

I nodded, once again, opting for silence. I couldn't trust myself to not blurt out something else. However, the fact that he needed to make a phone call now of all times was certainly an interesting choice. With his close proximity, I could hear the ringing from the phone. And with each passing second, my confusion and anxiety increased.

"Delilah?"

"Hunter? Is Dylan okay? Ethan said their phone call ended abruptly."

"She's fine." He lowered the phone. "You are fine, right?"

I nodded.

"She's fine," he confirmed, "Listen, I have to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I'm in love with Dylan."

That was the first time I heard him say he loved me in years. And this moment felt like the first time he told me he was falling in love with me.

His eyes fixated on mine as he spoke. "I've been in love with her from the moment we met. And I know I'll still be in love with her until the day I die. If I'm being honest, there's not a day that's gone by where I haven't thought about her and how much better she's made not only my life, but me as a person. She's beautiful... and kind... and thoughtful. She has the most forgiving heart. And, shit, have you seen her art? She's fucking talented."

With a smile painted across his lips, Hunter continued, "I know I fucked up a lot, and my second chances should have all run out by now. But she is the best thing that has ever walked into my life. And I just want you to know that if she gives me this one last chance, I'll never, ever fuck it up... because she's the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Hunter paused, listening to whatever was being said to him on the other end of the call. The hand resting on my hip gently squeezed. His brows creased. He looked so cute when he focused.

"Delilah wants to talk to you," he said softly, handing me the phone.

I pressed the device to my ear and took a deep breath before saying, "Hi, Del."

"Hi, Pickle. Listen, just answer me with a yes or no. Do you love him?"

"Yes."

"Have you kissed yet?"

With flushed cheeks, I replied, "Yes."

"Did he kiss you first?"

"No."

Delilah gasped. "Oh my god, Pickle! You kissed him first?"

"Yes."

"Are you happy?"

For the first time in what felt like forever, I answered that question with one hundred percent certainty. "Yes."

"Then I'm happy for you."

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Who am I to stand in your way? You love him. And that boy clearly loves you. You should see his face whenever you walk into a room. Lights up like a fucking Christmas tree! Isn't that right, E? E? He's snoring, but he agrees with me." My sister, finally done trying to wake her sleeping husband, continued, "I want you to be happy, Dylan. And if he's who you want to be with, then be with him. Okay?"

Coming to the realization of what this all meant, my emotions flooded through my body all at once. "Okay," I whispered.

"Call me later."

After a quick goodbye, I hung up the call. My eyes, glossed over and fighting back the tears, made their way to Hunter. There were so many times since meeting him when I asked myself if I would do this all over again. Every time, I wanted to say no. But I couldn't.

I used to think the universe played a cruel joke on me the day I saw him in the bar 18 months after he first broke my heart. But now, I wanted to thank the universe for bringing him back into my life.

Maybe a part of me knew what our ending would be. The road to get there wasn't easy but the ending was perfect.

In that time of falling in love and heartbreak, we both grew for the better. And now we had the chance to keep growing, but this time, to do it together.

His hands went to my face, cupping my cheeks as he worriedly asked, "Is everything okay?"

I nodded, feeling the pad of his thumb brush away a fallen tear. "Everything is perfect."

"This is really happening, right? I'm not dreaming."

"This is really happening," I said.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Eighteen was always a funny number to me.

It was the number of years old I was when I first met him.

The number of months that passed from him breaking my heart to us seeing each other in that bar.

The number of weeks from the wedding until now.

The number of days that passed since we last spoke on the phone.

The number of minutes it took to walk from the gallery back to my apartment.

And the number of seconds that passed before he said,

"Hello again, Angel."

THE END

in case anyone forgot, "hello again, angel" is the first thing hunter said to dylan in chapter 2 :) full circle moment!

& YES... this is the end.  thank you so much for reading and for supporting my story. i love you all to the moon & back! 

if anyone wants a chapter of their future, i'd love to know exactly what you want to see. i have a few ideas but not sure if it's worth writing out so please let me know :) I'll only do it if you guys want it x