The Criminal

Ch. 7: Do you want my muffin?

He's fucking late.

Hunter is my last client for the day and is currently fifteen minutes late to our scheduled session. I thought we were past this. Monday felt like a monumental step with regards to our working relationship. I saw a new side to him. Finally, he allowed his vulnerability to shine through and now, he's a fucking no-show! The arsehole hasn't even had the decency to call ahead.

"Nicole?" Hayley enters my office, a cherry muffin in hand. "Hunter Scott called."

I'm immediately intrigued.

"He can't make it in today. Food poisoning."

Bullshit!

"I brought you a muffin from the kitchen," she shares, placing the baked good on my desk. "Peter splurged."

"What's the occasion?" I ask.

"Not sure? He probably got laid."

"HAYLEY!"

I can't help but laugh.

"What? Why else do you think he brought cherry muffins?"

I snort through my need to giggle, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. "If that's the case, I hope to god he never brings in chocolate muffins."

Hayley doubles over with laughter, tears streaming. She has the loudest laugh, and I can't help but get lost in the sound.

"What are you two giggling at?" asks Peter, appearing at my door.

He bites into his cherry muffin, and I swear I almost choke on thin air.

"I was telling Nicole the joke I told you earlier."

"The one about the boat?" he questions.

"Yeah."

"It's a good one," he shares, gifting me his smile. "Did Hunter cancel?"

I nod.

"I'm sure he's telling the truth," he says, remaining optimistic.

Peter always sees the best in everyone. I sometimes feel bad about keeping my eating disorder from him. For using him as an excuse not to be honest when in actual fact, my shame is the real thing stopping me.

"I'm sure you're right," I say, reaching for a client file. "I'll use this spare time to catch up on admin."

"You'll do no such thing," he says, firing his muffin case into my bin. "Finish early today."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," he insists. "You too, Hayley. You ladies more than earn it."

He saunters out of my office with an unusual spring to his step and the biggest grin on his face. Hayley and I share a smile, certainly in no position to deny the man. I grab my jacket and cherry muffin and am halfway out the door when a sudden idea presents itself to me. Hunter doesn't have food poisoning and if he thinks I'm going to buy into his excuses, he can think again. I offer Hayley a quick goodbye and endure my usual commute but instead of jumping off at Cordial Street, I carry on until I'm in the heart of Oxford's bar district. The Grape Vine opens early on Thursdays, offering reprieve for students and workers, alike. I'm willing to bet Hunter is working the early shift and I—as his concerned therapist—am inclined to pay him a little visit.

A professional visit, of course.

I walk towards the bar's entrance, still holding my muffin like it's rare treasure. I have nowhere to put it and I'm not turning back now. Hunter was a no-show and I want to know why.