Hunter sat at his desk, staring at the untouched cup of coffee in front of him. The morning sun streamed through the windows of his office, casting long shadows across the room. He had arrived at the office earlier than usual because he had been unable to sleep and had been there for hours, pretending to work, but his mind was elsewhere.
Delilah.
Where was she? Was she okay? He had spent the night thinking about her, wondering if she had gone home or if she was still upset. His grandmother's warning echoed in his head, telling him to give Delilah space, to let her handle her own feelings. But how could he? How could he sit here, pretending everything was fine, when he had no idea how she was doing?
He exhaled sharply and picked up his phone. His fingers hesitated over her number before he set the phone down again. If she wanted to talk to him, she would have reached out. But she hadn't. And that hurt more than he wanted to admit.
