Page 85 of Merry Mended Hearts

She’d written my name.

My curiosity won out.

“What the heck?” I gave in, sliding the notebook close.

Grace had made it clear she didn’t want me reading this, but I couldn’t stop now.

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.

My knees weakened, threatening to buckle beneath me.

“She said she wrote fantasy. Not reality.”

In that case, what did this mean? Why was she writing aboutme?

When had she written this? I flipped through, but no date was listed. She’d written a handful of pages beyond this about a character named Shay Swift with pointed ears that pricked at the sounds of branches rustling. She had pretty descriptions about snow and tress and the elf’s burly, muscular physique that made me raise my brows. I was impressed at her talent despite its tendency to gush.

But I flipped back to that excerpt about me. And yeah, I devoured every word.

Over and over, I read her descriptions of me. Of how I made her feel. The words were like sugar to my bloodstream. They made me crave more. Only, I didn’t want to read them on a page—I wanted to hear her say them.

Did she really feel this way about me?

Deliberately, I closed her book and stepped away from the table. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be this into her. I…

“What’s happening?” I muttered, raking both of my hands through my hair and staring at the book’s leather binding.

So much of this didn’t make sense, yet I didn’t accept that. What were the chances that this book flipped open tothispage? I’d passed the table after getting Hazelnut secured in the barn when I first returned, and it hadn’t been there then. Not when I’d eaten, either.

How had it gotten here?

“The radio,” I grumbled with realization.

I wasn’t exactly sure how the magic worked. All I knew was that in the past, the music had managed to turn people’s lives upside down just to get them together. It sounded ludicrous, but what other explanation was there?

I shook my head and laughed—a cold, merciless sound.

“I’m such a fool,” I said, sinking onto the chair nearest to the table. Then I raised my voice so that Santa—or whoever was apparently watching me and coordinating these events—could hear. “Did she even write this?”

Grace had written of magic and being overtaken by me. She’d been there in the inn’s lobby that day when strains had crackled from the radio’s antique speakers. What else was this but getting swept up in the music’s mischief?

“My point exactly,” I said, answering myself.

This wasn’t real.

Disappointment sank into my stomach like a rock, sending ripples throughout the rest of my body. I was being stupid. Allowing myself to get caught up in her words.

“Whether it’s real or not, she’ll need it before she goes home.”

My gaze drifted to her notebook again, and I heaved a sigh. Rising to my feet once more, I checked that the lights were off in the cottage, retrieved my coat and gloves, and then stuffed my feet into my thick boots.

I could take the time to harness Hazelnut, but it wouldn’t be safe to ride her all the way back again once I returned this. The snowmobile had a light, however, and even though Junie hated for me to drive it, desperate times and all that. So I ducked back to my room to retrieve my helmet and get the keys from my drawer.

This anticipation coursing through me was absurd. I was just returning the notebook to her. Nothing more.

There could never be anything more. So then why did I want it so badly?

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