the city she’d grown up in to live. She’d merely been drawn to the Bouw Estate.
It had green fields that exploded with wildflowers; rolling hills beyond the fields; a river that surrounded the estate. The old manor and barn on the property had been renovated into what were now her home and her bakery, respectively. Every time she stood outside on the patio, at the top of the mountain that led out of Cape Town, staring down onto the city, Autumn thought that the Bouw Estate might not have been intentional, but it had been necessary.
‘You didn’t come here at...’ She paused, frowning when she realised she hadn’t seen the time. ‘What time is it?’
‘A little after eleven.’
So she’d had all of an hour’s worth of sleep.
‘You didn’t come here at eleven at night to talk about this view.’
His eyes slid over to her, the brown of them a well of emotion, before his head dipped in a curt nod. ‘You’re right.’
‘When am I not?’ she muttered. She gestured to the outdoor table she’d lovingly selected when she’d furnished her house. ‘Shall we?’
He nodded, pulled a chair out and stepped back. With a sigh, she sat down, thanking him when he pushed it back in. She waited as he sat down opposite her. A long silence followed. She used it to study him. To watch the emotions play over his face.
When his eyes met hers, she caught her breath, and wished she had something to drink to distract herself from how vulnerable all of this made her feel.
‘I don’t know how to say this,’ he admitted eventually.
She let air into her lungs slowly. ‘Just...get it out.’
He angled his head, as if accepting her suggestion, but didn’t speak.
‘Hunter.’ She paused. ‘Are you in trouble?’
He opened his mouth, and Autumn could almost see his lips forming no, but then he closed it again. Rubbed a hand over his face; took a deep breath.
‘I am.’
She straightened. ‘Yeah? You’re in trouble?’
His eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t quite define. It disturbed her. She’d dated him for two years; they’d been friends for one more. She should be able to tell what he was feeling.
‘Yes.’
After a brief moment of hesitation, she laid a hand on the one he’d rested on the table. ‘What’s going on?’
He took a breath, then exhaled sharply, his gaze lowering.
‘I’m a father.’
‘What?’
‘I’m a father.’
She tilted her head, tried to process. But she couldn’t. Her headache had dulled to something bearable, but it felt as if her mind had fallen out of her ear with that head tilt.
‘I’m sorry, I thought you said—’ She moved her head again. ‘Did you say—?’
She broke off, told herself the question was ridiculous. He didn’t say he was a father. He didn’t say it twice. No. No. This was Hunter she was talking to. The man who’d gone quieter and quieter whenever she’d talked about their future together. The man who’d started pulling away from her long before they’d ended things because he’d realised he didn’t want children.
There was no way that man, this man, was a father.
She let out a small laugh. ‘You know...’ she lifted her hand, though she didn’t have any reason for doing it ‘... I thought I heard you say you’re a father. Which is ludicrous, right?’
‘It is,’ he agreed quietly.
Relief burst in her chest as if it were a diva arriving at a party.
‘Oh. Well, then, what is it? Because—’
‘But it’s true, Autumn.’
The diva was assassinated. The party turned into a funeral.
‘Huh?’ she said, inelegantly. ‘What? No. You’re not a father. You’re... You’re you.’
He inclined his head in both acknowledgement and acceptance, then folded his arms. ‘I know. I responded in the same way,’ he told her after a moment. ‘I didn’t believe it when she told me at first either.’
‘She?’ Autumn repeated through numb lips.
She tried to swallow, but the simple task seemed awfully hard. It was as if her throat had forgotten its entire purpose was to swallow. As if it, too, were stunned by what Hunter was telling her.
‘She,’ he confirmed with a tight nod. Though he had every right to be amused by the stupid question, Hunter spoke seriously. ‘A woman I met a...a year ago.’
‘A year ago.’
She was still so numb.
‘After our... After.’
The words sounded distant, as if she were listening to him through a wall or through glass or perhaps under water. She blinked, trying to figure a way out, then lifted her hand to her hair, tucking it behind her ears in case it was obscuring the sound. But when he started speaking again, it was the same.
‘I...was trying to deal with our break-up,’ he said deliberately. ‘It was hard, for both of us.’
But I didn’t sleep with anyone else.
Her mouth almost said the words. Somehow, by nothing short of a miracle, it didn’t.
‘I wasn’t dealing with it very well.’
Was she dreaming? Maybe she was having a nightmare.
‘I went to the bar close to my house.’
She brought her hand to her legs under the table. Discreetly, she pinched her thigh, hard, but Hunter kept talking. She was awake.
‘It was the night after we decided to end things. I started drinking. I didn’t stop.’ He paused. ‘It was a drunken mistake. I... I made a mistake.’
Autumn sat back, her eyes sweeping over the frame of her house. She’d rebuilt it by herself, this house. It had been stately, impressive when she’d bought the estate. It had been falling apart, too, and she’d rebuilt it. The red brick outside, the balcony above them, all of that had been her.
When she’d struggled with her life, with trying so hard for people to see her, to love her, she came out here and looked at it. At what she’d built. It never failed to make her feel proud. Steadier.
Tonight, it couldn’t anchor her.
She felt as if she were floating away.
