Page 46 of Merry Mended Hearts

I don’t know what haunts him. Sometimes he’s courteous, but it seems like he’s trying so hard to keep everyone around him at arm’s length. I’m not even sure what I’m hoping for with him because, in all truth, wanting more with him at all makes no sense.

He’s awoken something in my heart that I didn’t know I could feel. I think that’s what makes his standoffish behavior so confusing. It must only be one-sided. I must be the only one feeling this way, because he clearly has no interest in me.

I’ve never believed in fate or magic, though I write about both, but a man like Boone makes me believe both concepts are not only plausible, but possible. We’ve shared only a few words, and not always nice ones at that.

I think I just want this…whatever it is between us…to mean something.

But I know rejection all too well. Boone Harper is just a rejection waiting to happen.

Once my soul finished purging itself through my pen, I sank back against the chair. I couldn’t explain these feelings. I couldn’t justify them.

But somehow, the admission just feltright.

“It’s for my book,” I told myself.

I was here at Harper’s Inn for a reason. Boone was the research I needed to create a dreamy love interest readers would swoon over—and also a despicable villain they’d both love and hate at once.

Nothing more.

My phone chirped. I glanced at the clock, and my pulse hiccupped in response. I slammed my notebook closed and stuffed it into my bright blue, slouchy, crocheted bag along with a few pens, a snack, and my phone.

I collected my gloves, stuffed my beanie over my long, wavy brown hair, and headed outside.

It was time to go dashing through the snow. I’d go on this sleigh ride, and then I’d go home and forget about Boone Harper when it was all over.

* * *

I plodded through the snow,following the same path I’d taken to the barn before, only this time my hands were free of the cumbersome box.

My chest wasn’t free, however. I was filled with anticipation that drummed through me with every step. I couldn’t tell if it was the prospect of being so all-alone with Boone or the sleigh ride.

Or both. Definitely both.

Dusk was approaching. The sky had turned a listless shade of palest blue, the kind of blue getting ready to pack it in for the night and settle into something deeper and more restful. I couldn’t believe how early the sun set here.

My breath seeped from my mouth like smoke in a way I was coming to love. How adventurous was this, to see my own breath?

The lights I’d noticed strung along the fence and lining the edges of the barn’s roof were now lit, as were the candy canes marking the sides of the wooden posts. With the barn illuminated as it was, it stood like a cheerful beacon on the mountainside.

I couldn’t wait to see it in total darkness.

I tucked my chin into the top of my zipped-up coat and allowed my gaze to roam. I’d never forget Harper’s Inn, and the way just standing here, alone, beneath the sweeping sky and surrounded by trees and everything winter made me feel special. Like I was blessed to be here and experience this for myself.

No number of pictures—as beautiful as they were—could capture thefeelingof standing beneath a sky like this, of imitating the crisp, fresh smell of the cold air and the way it filled my lungs.

The sound of jingling bells pulled my attention toward the barn. Boone walked alongside the speckled gray horse who lifted its hooves elegantly over the white ground. Harnessed to the single, white sleigh I’d noticed in the barn before, the horse pulled the sleigh at a slow pace.

I quickened my own, climbing up the rise to meet Boone.

A thick hat covered his head and ears, and tufts of hair spoked from the brim of his hat across his forehead. His eyes had a glint of light that wasn’t usually there, and he smiled—smiled!—at me.

“Hello, Grace,” he said, tipping his head in my direction. The horse beside him stopped, as did the jingle bells on its harness. “How was your afternoon?”

I wasn’t sure how to handle this friendly version of him. My mouth hung open, and I had to remind myself to close it.

“Fine,” I said abruptly, gripping the strap of my bag.

He spoke softly to the mare, patting his gloved hand along her neck, and circled around to the side of the sleigh. Sure enough, the sleigh was a single model, without even a driver’s seat.

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