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I felt so sneaky,so discreet. Boone took my hand and led me toward the dining room. To the left was the spa section of the inn that I had yet to visit. To the right was the corridor Boone had stormed down when he’d taken the radio from the front room the day we’d heard it play.
The “old” part of the house, Junie had called it.
“Everything was remodeled but this section,” he said. “We don’t generally bring anyone else back here, but I figured since Junie already did, I could make an exception.”
I giggled.
“This was my parents’ room.” He pointed to the door on the right. “Junie’s is there. She’s had the same room her whole life. And her mom’s is here.” He pointed to the next one. “And then this…”
He dug a set of keys form his pocket. They jangled in his hand, and he selected a slim key, inserting it into the lock. “As you know, this was my room.”
He opened the door and waited for me to enter before clicking on the lamp situated on the dresser by the door.
My heart lodged itself in my throat. Even though I’d been here before, I saw everything with new eyes. This was what I’d hoped to find back at his cottage. Evidences of his personality, his interests—ofwhoBoone Harper was.
A calendar from 2005 hung on the wall featuring pictures of horses. Prize ribbons created a montage of color above the narrow bed. The cowboy hats that had hung from pegs on the wall above the closet door were still there, as was the poster labeledRoadkill Café,which listed all kinds of gruesome offerings with goofy names for people to choose from like a fake menu.
The room was tidy and clean. I had a better idea of who Boone had been than I would have it he’d just told me that he’d rodeoed or loved horses and weird humor.
“It looks like sixteen-year-old you will be back any minute,” I said.
He pulled at his neck and leaned against the dresser. “Yeah, that was my mom. She wanted me to have a place of my own if I ever needed it.”
“Then why didn’t you move back here when you came back?”
He stared at his hands. “They needed someone to keep an eye on the old cottage. Local kids kept breaking into it and trashing things inside. And I wanted solitude.” He gave me a sad smile.
My heart pricked at his words. “I get that.”
I took a few steps farther into the room, holding out an arm before resting it at my side. The other still held my leatherbound notebook.
“All right, we’re inside,” I said. “And I’m dying to know: Did you read my stuff?”
It felt like my nerves were jackhammering my body.
“I…saw a page or two.”
Oh, boy. My eyes closed as I waited for the floor to open and swallow me whole. That was never meant to happen. No one was ever meant to see those words but me.
The personal ones. The Boone-obsessed ones.
“Is it true?” His whispered voice tiptoed to me.
I opened my eyes. His voice wasn’t the only thing that had come closer. He had, too.
Boone was only a reach away, and his proximity lit the very air between us with an electric charge that made it hard to breathe.
“Is what true?”
After another step, he tapped a finger to the notebook currently clutched against my chest. Tap. Tap. Even though he didn’t even touch me, each impact sank straight into me.
“Are these really your feelings? Or am I only going to become a character in your book?”
Was he bothered by that prospect? Or was the low timbre of his voice a result of something else?
I didn’t know what to say. From the minute I’d met him, he’d gotten under my skin, and I couldn’t help trying to craft a character after someone so interesting. So un-ignorable.
This was one of those points of no return. The train chugging rapidly, faster and faster on the track regardless of the fact that the bridge hadn’t yet been completed.
