When a 14-day dating challenge erupts between skeptical Blossom and her secretly smitten best friend Hunter in the waning days of 1999, their easy friendship is plunged into a maelstrom of teenage angst, unrequited affection, and the terrifying poss...
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~ ~ ~ 1999
She pumped her legs harder, the worn tires of her bike protesting against the wet pavement. Rain was a harsh, unforgiving curtain, but Blossom barely registered it. She was too focused on reaching the grocery store before Hunter left, before the weight of her revelation became too much to bear alone. The sky was a theatrical display of thunder and bruised-purple clouds, mirroring the turmoil she had kept hidden for so long. But unlike the mournful canvas above, Blossom felt anything but sad. She was, in fact, overflowing with a joy that threatened to burst from her chest.
It had been a slow, almost imperceptible build, an inevitable crescendo of feelings she hadn't dared to name until now. She loved Hunter Roxton. And not the friend kind of love, not the brotherly kind. This was a love that made her heart beat too fast, a love that tinted her world with a softer light, a love that had been quietly growing since they were kids, hanging out at the local park. Today, she was going to tell him. Today, she was going to finally put all her cards on the table.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she wheeled her bike into the grocery store's parking lot, the rain intensifying just as she dismounted. She was late. He'd probably left. Still, hope surged up, a stubborn little fire refusing to be extinguished. Leaving her bike propped haphazardly against the wall, she burst through the automatic doors, her usually neat ponytail now a sodden mess, her mascara smudged, and her face flushed from exertion. "Hunter!" she called, her voice echoing through the aisles, a frantic plea. She undoubtedly looked like a crazy person and her gasps for air were probably loud enough to make other shoppers stop and stare. She paid them no mind. She was looking for him.
She searched every corner of the store, her eyes darting between the cereal aisle and the frozen foods, her heart sinking with each passing moment. Nothing. No sign of Hunter's muscular frame, his perpetually messy brown hair, or the mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. Panic started to claw its way up her throat. He hadn't driven past her coming home–she was sure of that. Where else could he be?
The cashier, a bored-looking woman with bright pink lipstick, waved her over. "Looking for Hunter Roxton?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.
"Yes!" Blossom said, her voice a desperate whisper.
"He left about fifteen minutes ago," the cashier replied, her eyes flicking back to the magazine she was reading.
Fifteen minutes? The drive to his house took far less so she definitely would have seen him pass by. Blossom thanked the woman and bolted back outside, the rain slapping against her face like tiny, cold hands. He wasn't home. That meant he was elsewhere. She scanned her surroundings, her mind racing, trying to decipher where he would be. There were three possibilities: the video store, a place they frequented on slow Friday nights and where Hunter insisted that action movies were "the greatest form of art"; the diner, Kitties, the local joint where they'd shared their first awkward date over burgers and fries; and the bowling alley, a place Hunter often talked about, reminiscing about childhood weekends spent there with his family.
