Page 42 of Merry Mended Hearts

“Like it or not, it’s Christmas, and people are depending on us.” She jabbed a finger at me. “Oh, and there’s also a loose cabinet in the kitchen that I need you to fix when you get back.”

“Of course, there is,” I muttered. “You mean Mason can’t fix it?”

Her eyes thinned to slits. “Don’t be mean. You were never mean, Boone.”

A small amount of shame struck me. The comment was low—I was just tired of being the only one expected to fix anything around here.

We should hire a maintenance guy, but the inn didn’t bring in that much revenue. Or so Junie claimed.

“Not everyone’s talents lie in repairs,” Junie went on. “You grew up doing that kind of thing around here with your dad, so you know exactly what to do. Besides, Mason is busy prepping the pastries for Christmas morning, and that’s a real art.”

I snorted.

If Junie were a cartoon, flames would have taken the place of her irises. She looked as if she was ready to stab me. But this was sweet, spunky Junie. I always got under her skin, and then she always got over it.

“You know, you’d think all this extra work would help you get over yourself,” she said.

“Get over myself?”

“You’re so stuck in the past, Boone. You can’t even see what people are doing around you.”

I rubbed away some of the cold that collected in the scruff on my jaw. “Not again. We’re not doing this again.”

Junie had tried this argument a few too many times over the years. She gave me flak for being grumpy. For sequestering myself. For not going to parties or on dates. For hiding away in my cottage.

What did she care what I did with my life?

“Oh, that’s right,” she went on. “You’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself. Well, news flash, dear cousin of mine, you aren’t the only person in existence! The radio knows it, and I know it. Time for you to get a clue.”

She stormed off and left me standing in the open barn door before I could craft any kind of reply. I stood there, staring at the white terrain beneath the sky’s piercing blue, and watched her stalk away.

That seemed to happen a lot lately, especially when I was interacting with women. Troy and his dad never got angry with me. The guys were chill and easygoing, but for some reason, my interactions with women were like sandpaper against skin.

Shaking my head, I turned back to finish what I’d come here to do. I shoveled the pitchfork hard into the pile of straw and distributed it along the newly cleaned corrals in the barn, inhaling the scent of the chaff.

I was fuming by the time I finished, and not just over the amount of extra work she’d thrust at me. Junie had no right to go and make assumptions about my state of mental health or my need for relationships.

Was I closed off? Yes. By choice. By preference.

That didn’t mean I wasselfish.I thought that Junie, of all people, would understand that.

Junie was one of the few people who knew just how crushing losing my wife had been. She’d been there the night I’d finally cried and let my emotions dominate. I’d kept them in for so long that they were turning to stone in my chest. It rattled with every step I took. Every night spent alone in my cottage, I shoved those feelings deeper inside myself to the darkest parts I rarely let surface.

I was forever grateful to her for being a safe space for me to process all of that once it finally resurfaced.

The problem was that Junie thought the radio was some kind of matchmaker. She’d never been married; she was probably willing to accept that explanation and had probably had it confirmed by her mom during one of their nightly phone calls.

But I couldn’t allow another woman into my life. I’d already learned too late what happened when you cared so much. Why give my heart away to someone else who had the power to break it all over again?

No, thank you.

Behind me, a horse chuffed, and the sound of someone walking met my ears. When I turned to see who it was, I wished I hadn’t.

Grace Eastland dusted her gloved hands and treaded warily through the barn as though it was her first time setting foot inside of one. Maybe it was.

Her dark hair hung in waves beneath a white beanie that matched her gloves, and a timid smile added light to the caution in her eyes.

I gritted my teeth, not liking the way her lovely face made my heart pick up speed and split through the cracks in the wall I’d carefully placed to guard myself from ever giving it away again.

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