Savage Hunt by Jane knight

Chapter Eighteen: Look of love

I was getting too far ahead of myself, much like Ryan had earlier.

I hadn’t missed his slip up when we were talking. How he had almost told me that he loved me. He couldn’t love me yet, he didn’t know me. Yet, when I thought about him and the others, I felt something that I knew it was too soon to feel. Too fast to feel, but I could feel that warmth in my chest when I thought about them.

A familiar feeling, even though I had never been in love before. I had no doubts that was what I was feeling when I thought about them. Of what hearing Ryan almost say that he loved me had made me feel.

I made my way down the hallway that led to the rooms, passing Scott and mom’s room. Their door was open and I couldn’t help but smile at the crystals and herbs that mom had left on the dresser from the last time they had come down. There were touches in the room of both my parents, a book that Scott was reading about cars, and my mom’s candles. On the dresser was a framed photo of the two of them from their wedding day.

Mom was wearing a white sundress with small lavender colored flowers in her long curling brown hair. Scott was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a white button-up shirt. Both of them had bare feet, their toes in the sand. They were grinning at each other; the wind whipping around them. That was a good day. I hadn’t been in the photo because I had been the one taking this picture.

and I knew that it was mom’s favorite. It was my favorite photo of the two of them,

that Scott looked at mom that day told me everything that I had needed to know about how he felt about her. They had given me something to want in the future. I had been only a teenager

center of their universe. Like I had hung all of

had that now, even if we were still figuring things out. Making my way into the room, I pulled the window shut before latching the lock into place. Reaching out, I ran my fingers over the pink and white

behind me before making my way down the long hallway towards

painted a soft eggshell white that the three of us had painted it when I was a teenager. Framed photos lined the walls of trips we had all taken together and the few times that Charity had been able to come up to the lake house with us. The bed was

visited the house. It was the new series that he had released, a contemporary romance that I was eager

much more alive than they had

bag and my purse onto the bed. A cool breeze blew into the room from the balcony windows, reminding me that I