Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 13 - Thursday: Wisps and Lunch Dates

Willow

Thursday morning I'm surprised when Hunter loads our baggage into my mother's rather old station wagon in preparation for our trip to school. 

We seem to be falling into a habit of using a different vehicle each day. Hunter is definitely not concerned about his image at all. If Aunt Beth's sparkle mobile and baby music had the potential to beat it up, surely my mother's wreck of a car would destroy his reputation completely. The car reeks of desperation and a critical shortage of funds. Like the Davenport's van, it could sorely use a lavish artwork sprayed over it to hide its pain and suffering. Hunter doesn't seem to care about the state of the car.

"My dad is working regular hours today; your mom is carpooling with him. She said we can use her car."

I remember them discussing something like that last night during dinner, but I wasn't really listening at the time. While we were preparing supper, Aunt Beth mentioned that she was showing a couple of houses and an office block today and that she hoped that Frankie would behave nicely. She wanted to at least seem a little bit sophisticated and professional while carrying a stuffed dinosaur in one hand and a toddler in the other.

They have plans to start sending him to part-time daycare soon. It will solve that particular problem, but Aunt Beth is having a hard time accepting the idea. She keeps on putting it off.

Uncle Ryan and Hunter replaced the gate's broken part last night and it now slides open effortlessly at the press of a button. The car, however, does not operate that smoothly. It stalls when Hunter stops at the entrance of their driveway to check for oncoming traffic. He turns the key again and revs the engine a couple of times until it finally kicks in with a cloud of black smoke as a spectacular special effect. It's a trait my mom and I had to endure during our entire road trip from Mount Sovereign to Briar Cove. Hunter laughs as if he finds the display extremely entertaining. I want to bury my head in the cubbyhole.

"I have rugby practice after school today," he tells me when we're finally on our way. "Ash said he'll drop you off on his way to the gym. He has MMA training every weekday, except Mondays. He can give you a ride home most days if I'm not able to."

I chew on my bottom lip. That is just splendid! Now I'm going to become a ball and chain for Asher as well. "I... I could stay at school and wait for you and do my homework..."

"Are you afraid of Ash?" Hunter asks and to my surprise, he doesn't seem to be teasing me at all. He glances at me with a look of sincere concern. Apparently, he really wants to know.

"N... no..." Am I? Probably not. Hunter wouldn't let me catch a ride with Asher if I had anything to fear from him. It seems that I'm really starting to trust Hunter. No, I'm not afraid of Asher with his haunted eyes and his quiet demeanour. "No, I'm not," I say more decisively.

"Good, because you needn't be. He's a reeeeeeeeeeeally good guy, Missy. Seriously. The best. Every over-protective father would want to throw their daughters at him. I swear. And he's really careful riding his bike, especially when he has a passenger."

I smile, imagining men flinging their daughters through the air to land in Asher's hands. How many would he be able to catch before he'd have to drop a few? I shake my head.

"I'm sure he's great... He seems nice." I don't know what to say, so I decide not to say anything further. I can just sort it out later. Hunter is giving me strange side-long looks and my discomfort is mounting again. He must think that I'm the most socially awkward, high-maintenance girl in the world.

Perhaps I am.

Last night when he called me to the beach, I'd left my dolls on my bed. They were arranged in the tableaus I'd created for the various scenes I needed for the short story I was writing for my doll fashion blog. The first chance I got to finally put them away was after dinner. I noticed that something was different but couldn't quite put my finger on it at first.