His First Love - Liz Isaacson Page 0,2

family earlier than Dad had. He’d just turned fifty-five, and he had a five-year-old. Elise was much younger than Dad, but they’d stopped with three kids, because Dad didn’t want to be eighty when they graduated from high school.

The sermon ended, and Hunter started helping Deacon and Tucker to pack up their notebooks, books, and pens. “Come on, guys,” he said. “You can ride with me if you don’t dawdle.”

“Can I, Dad?” Tucker asked, spinning to their father. “Hunt says we can ride with him.”

“Are you going back to the farm?” Dad asked, handing Jane something she’d dropped. “I thought you might stay for the luncheon.”

Hunter shook his head, unable to come up with a reason why he’d do that. Why did Dad think he would?

Deacon slipped his hand into Hunter’s. “I’m ready, Hunt. No dawdling.”

“Good boy,” Hunter said, smiling down at a carbon copy of himself. In that moment, he realized that Deacon could be his son. If he’d met someone and fallen in love and they’d had a baby when he was just twenty years old….

Hunter looked up and away from the thought. “I’ll take the boys,” he said. “Maybe I’ll stop by the store and get ice cream on the way out.”

“We have plenty of ice cream,” Elise said with a smile as she leaned around Dad. Hunter loved her too, because she’d first loved him when he was an awkward and unsure teenager. She’d loved his father through everything imaginable, and that made her a saint in Hunter’s eyes.

“Grandma made a cake last night,” Dad said. “Trust me, we have everything you could want.”

Hunter paused as others moved up the aisle in front of him. “Is it for me, Dad?”

“Of course,” Dad said with a healthy grin. “Grandma and Grandpa can’t wait to see you again.”

Hunter hadn’t stayed at the farm last night, because he hadn’t quite been in town yet. He’d driven in that morning, just in time for church. Everything he owned was either in the back of his truck or on its way from Massachusetts.

“I don’t need a big welcome home party,” he said, his mood darkening. He didn’t really like having the spotlight on him, and he gave his father a glare.

“It’s Grandma,” Dad said. “What am I supposed to tell her? That she can’t make a cake for her favorite grandson?”

Hunter softened then. “Where are they?” He eased into the flow of people moving toward the doors at the back, his hand still gripping Deacon’s.

Dad moved into the aisle with him, and they stood at the exact same height, shoulder to shoulder. “They don’t get to church much anymore,” he said. “Not since Grandpa’s fall.”

Hunter nodded, his teeth automatically clenching together. He hadn’t been here for that; he hadn’t had availability to come visit. Regret laced through him as he moved slowly toward the door.

In the foyer, the crowd dispersed a little, and Hunter had more breathing room. “I’m over this way,” he said to Deacon, tugging on the boy’s hand to get him to go left. “You comin’, Tucker?”

“Yeah.” Tucker hurried over to Hunter while Dad and Elise and Jane went right. He dropped his bag, and Hunter paused to wait for him to pick it up.

“I still think we should get ice cream,” he said to Deacon. “Do you think Grandma got butter pecan?”

“She got vanilla,” Deacon said, looking up at him. “And cookies and cream, and that gross bubble gum kind that Jane loves.”

“Hmm.” Hunter looked up, thinking they definitely needed more ice cream, and everything around him fell away.

Molly stood fifteen feet in front of him, next to her mother. She still had that gorgeous smile framing white teeth. Her reddish-brownish-blonde hair had always struck Hunter right behind the heart, as had her bright green eyes.

Hers met his dark ones, and he saw the moment she recognized him. Those eyes widened, and she lifted one hand to cover her mouth, which had opened slightly.

Her mother said something to her, but Molly didn’t react. Hunter knew exactly what was going on, because everything around him was muted too. Just gone, because there was Molly, and she was all he’d ever wanted or needed.

Hunter realized in that moment that he’d never gotten over her. He may have kissed other girls, but he’d only ever wanted to kiss her.

She blinked, leaned toward her mother, and said something to her.

Her mother’s eyes flew to Hunter, and he managed to lift one hand in a half-hearted wave.

“Hunt,” Deacon said, and all kinds