Page 96 of Merry Mended Hearts

“So?”

His face hardened. His jaw went tight. “So that makes me think what I’m feeling for you isn’t real at all.”

His words were a thunderclap. Minutes before, he’d told me how wantable I was—and now, he was taking it back?

“How can this not be real? I’ve never felt anything so strong for anyone before.”

“Exactly.”

He sniffed and lifted his hands only to lower them again. The distance I’d sensed building between us reached its peak, the sides growing steeper and being covered by loose gravel, so my every step began to slide. I had no footing in this conversation anymore.

He risked ruining Harper’s Inn’s landscape by traveling via snowmobile just to rush here, to see me again and return my notebook. He’d admitted how I made him feel, and now, he was denying it?

Boone backed away another step, closer to the door. His retreat severed the connection we’d been building since he made his gallant arrival.

“The pass should be cleared tomorrow,” he said, a hard edge in his voice. “You should be able to catch your flight.”

Tears stung my eyes. “Boone, don’t do this.”

“None of this was real. It never was, not from the minute we heard that blasted radio play. I’m sorry. Goodbye, Grace.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and then strode from the room. I followed him out to the inn’s entrance. The bell over the door jingled as he thrust it open, and I allowed the frigid air to overtake me as I watched him storm down the front steps, kick his snowmobile to life, and drive it back through the trees.

And I stood there, feeling certain I’d never see Boone Harper again.

GRACE

I barely madeit to my room before the tears came. My breathing was choppy and shallow, my face a mashed wreck. At least the majority of the guests had gone to the bonfire. I would have been mortified if any of them witnessed my pathetic dash.

The instant I closed the door behind me, I sank onto the bed. Heartache, confusion, and emotional whiplash werenotthe purposes of this trip.

What was I wallowing for? I should be glad Boone had broken things off for good. That would make things so much easier. I could go home, go on more of Mom’s blind dates, and stare at a computer screen all day for the rest of my life in the most boring job anyone could devise.

I groaned and sank back against the pillow, taking the second one to hold it over my face. The thought of going back to that lonely cubicle grew heavier with every passing moment.

I didn’t want to go back to that life.

Though I’d only been in Montana for a handful of days, that time was enough to let me know I wanted something different. Not just a relationship with a lady-killer like Boone. I wanted to live somewhere I could breathe—really breathe. Where I could make my own decisions without Mom second-guessing everything I did. Where I didn’t have to deal with customers shouting at me only to go home to an empty apartment.

Boone and Harper’s Inn had presented another side of life I’d never considered before. I didn’t usually spend much time outside, but here? This was a side where being out in nature was as necessary as breathing—even when it was cold—where it was okay to slow down and enjoy the world around me.

If I was going to be staring at a computer screen for my job, I wanted it to be while writing one of the many books crashing around in my brain and demanding release. I wanted a different life.

“Crying about it won’t do any good,” I grumbled, fighting the trembling in my lower lip and wiping the tears from my cheeks. “Ugh, now, I sound like my mother.”

As if sensing as much over wavelengths and the miles between us, my phone chirped from where I’d tossed it onto the bed. I sniffed and scanned for the caller. Mom’s name appeared.

For a fleeting moment, I’d hoped it was Boone, but that was ridiculous. He didn’t have my number. Nor had he asked me for it.

“Stupid,” I told myself.

How could I have let myself get so attached to him when he clearly didn’t want anything to do with me? He’d only come to return my notebook to me.

Sure—and ruin the entire surrounding landscape in irreversible ways with snowmobile tracks because he told me he couldn’t let me go.

The memory had a physical effect on my heart, making it squeeze a little too tightly in my chest and drop a few extra beats while it was at it. I wiped my cheeks, staring at the flowered chair in the corner.

I didn’t get it. How could he think the time we’d shared together meant nothing? What scared him so badly?

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