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“Good, Frank. Just needed some bread and milk.”
The man nodded.
“Is that Boone? Did he bring my one true love?” A woman bustled out, a frizz of gray curls around her makeup-free face.
“I thought I was your one and only true love,” Frank grumbled.
“Sure, sure.” May patted Frank’s arm absently as she skirted the counter. Her face lit up. “There he is. Atlas. As handsome as ever.”
Boone’s dog bounded over to shamelessly lap up the pats and affection. Boone rolled his eyes and went to grab the things he needed. He set them on the counter as Frank rang them up.
“Boone, I baked some bran muffins today.” May held up a plate. “Want one?”
He didn’t need Frank’s quick head shake—out of view of his wife—as a warning. Boone had already learned that May was a terrible cook. Her baked goods might look okay, but they tasted horrible.
“No, thanks, May. I’m fine.”
“You can’t be watching your figure.” Her gaze scanned Boone’s body. “You haven’t got a lick of fat on you.”
He might’ve left the military, but he still did a few freelance jobs. It meant he had to keep in shape. He ran, worked out, and chopped a lot of wood. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the demons didn’t let him sleep, swinging an axe was the only thing that helped.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” She grabbed a muffin. “Atlas, I bet you’d like a treat.”
Oh, Boone’s dog loved treats, but he wasn’t dumb. He’d learned his lesson as well.
Atlas quickly padded in behind Boone.
Coward. Boone rubbed the top of the dog’s head. “Ah, I fed him a little while ago.” He handed his credit card to Frank.
May huffed out a breath. “No one will humor an old woman.”
Frank grunted. “Everyone wants to keep their teeth and stomach lining intact.”
“Francis Harris.”
Frank circled the counter and slid an arm around his wife. “You have other skills. I didn’t marry you for your cooking.”
May’s wrinkled face softened.
“Which is lucky for you,” Frank continued. “Or you’d be an old spinster.”
May elbowed her husband.
“I’ll see you two later.” Boone grabbed the paper bag and headed out of the store.
He didn’t know many couples like Frank and May, committed for so long. They clearly loved each other, flaws and all. He knew relationships worked for some people, but he figured there had to be a whole hell of a lot of luck involved.
He reached his truck. Relationships weren’t for him. Opening up, trusting, sharing. No, he preferred being alone.
There’d be no one to see the jagged mess of his soul. To wake up with his nightmares. To look at him with confusion and pity.
Learn to like being alone, son. It’s the best advice I can give you.
His uncle’s voice echoed in his head. The old, cantankerous bastard had raised him after Boone’s parents had been killed when he was twelve. Uncle Ben had never married. He’d been a loner, through and through.
Boone whistled for Atlas, who was sniffing around the truck’s tires. The dog leaped inside.
