Ever tried typing on a keyboard without looking and nailed it like a boss?

That’s called muscle memory.

Your fingers work for you without having to think much. Think of it as a lazy way to get your job done.

Watching Hunter Maverick stand at our doorstep felt just like that.

His name rolled off my tongue effortlessly. Like I’ve mentioned many times over.

No struggle. No effort. Just Boom. Hunter.

Natt snapped her head at me so hard I feared she sprained her neck.

"Liam Delacroix?" Hunter looked ready to pass out… or hire a lawyer.

It’s hard to tell when there’s a millionaire panting at your door.

Did he run all the way here?

Natt, on the other hand, looked like she’d definitely pass out from shock.

She stared hard at Hunter. Given a few minutes, and she would've fried him with her eyeballs.

I wasn't looking forward to that.

“You two know each other?"

"Our fathers were business associates." Hunter cleared his throat. "We've only met twice."

"Twice?" Natt blinked.

"Uhh... yeah. Once at a funeral. Once at a fundraiser."

He was right.

The funeral was his mother's.

The fundraiser was an art auction when we were eighteen.

I remembered him sitting in a coat and tie, leaning against his seat with his arms crossed. He barely looked interested in the paintings.

The auctioneer's voice echoed across the hall. His sister kept raising her paddle.

We barely spoke at all.

My stomach dropped.

That was roughly six years ago.

Why did I remember his voice laugh so clearly, like it was yesterday?

The way he called our names. The way his voice lingered teasingly when he said Natt.

Not Natalie.

Natt.

"Forgive my ignorance…” he smiled politely, “but do you happen to be… Natalie Vaughn?"

"How do you—"

"I found this in my coat pocket this morning."

He pulled out a folded, soaked piece of paper from his pocket.

2𝒜 𝓈𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓉

𝒩𝒶𝓉𝒶𝓁𝒾𝑒 𝒱𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓃

𝐹𝐼𝒩𝒟 𝑀

The last part was smudged. As if the note was snatched mid-sentence.

"That’s… my handwriting." Natt ran a thumb across the damp chit.

She looked up. Weeks of searching finally cleared from her eyes.

"It's you..."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

“No. I mean, it’s you." Natt blurted, "The diary says Hunter Cross… Why are you Maverick?"

"I… what?" The poor guy was really trying his best to catch up.

Water pooled around his boots. He looked like a wet cat.

"How about you come inside?" I finally accepted his silent plea. "You look like you really need a blanket.”

"Are you sure?” He rubbed his arms. "Your friend looks like she'd murder me with her eyes."

Now she definitely looked like she’s murder him with her eyes.

A part of me wanted that to happen just to read the headlines.

**24 Year Old Millionaire Dead at Doorstep**

Cause of Death: Intense Eye Contact

Pfft.

Yeah right.

"She’s legally banned to do that." I stepped aside. "Consider yourself safe— for now."

“Apologies." He shook his head, "I didn’t mean to cause you trouble."