Page 34 of The Lost Book of First Loves

“Bryce and Lindsey have a couple of horses I ride whenever I’m home. I’m comfortable on both of them. I’m sure they would be fine with me taking one.”

Anticipation and excitement curled through her. “It will be great to spend time together. Real time, not only the quick video chat here and there. I’ve missed hanging out with you,” she said.

He opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it again.

“Same here,” he finally said, though she had the distinct impression he had been about to say something else.

Chapter 13

Juniper

She had no idea what to do with free time.

What a strange realization.

June gazed down at the stack of books she had randomly pulled from the shelves of Carson Wells’s writing cabin. They were an esoteric lot, everything from the history of Wicca to a philosophy book to an in-depth look at water use in Western Australia.

All seemed interesting when she had spied them among Carson’s library. She had wondered with each book her fingers had trailed over on the shelves why he had purchased this particular title. For book research, for general interest or on a whim?

She had paged through several of them and couldn’t seem to settle on one that held her interest long enough to dig any deeper.

The past few days had been that way. She had taken a leisurely walk to the horse pasture and back. She had answered a few emails. She had tried, and failed, to take a nap. She had attempted to stream a movie she had heard good things about but hadn’t made it past the first fifteen minutes before she had lost interest.

She had even broken down and called the office, only to be told by both Jason and Margaret in the same apologetic tone that they were under strict instructions from Adam not to take any calls, texts or emails from her for at least the next three weeks.

Three weeks. What was she supposed to do during that time? The idea of that much leisure time left her vaguely panicky.

Her entire adult life, June had been grinding and pushing and planning. Longer, even. Back to the days when she had been a grief-stricken teenager in a situation beyond her control, June had focused on making plans.

From high school onward, she had done her best to study hard so she could earn top marks in school and had filled every available moment she wasn’t studying with part-time jobs or volunteer work.

When you fail to plan, you plan to fail.It had been one of her mother’s favorite phrases. Yes, it was a cliché. But Elizabeth Connelly had lived by those words and had carefully mapped out their future.

As a working mother raising June on her own, what other choice did she have?

She supposed her mother had laid out the pattern June had ended up following. Elizabeth had taken few moments of relaxation for herself, except at night when she would curl up in her favorite chair and escape into books.

Her mother had always worked two jobs to support them. She had taught high school English during the day and had a second job as a freelance proofreader for various local businesses that filled many of her evening hours.

She had saved all the benefits she had received as a military widow in an account for June.

They never had much money to spare, but they always had enough for books.

Her mother would have loved this writing retreat, with its walls of books and its comfortable chairs and its cozy vibe, especially knowing it had been the place where Carson Wells had created many of his most iconic works.

What would Elizabeth say about June staying here? She couldn’t even imagine.

Her mother had been gone nearly twenty years and she still found herself wanting to call or text her something every single day.

June set down the books. She wasn’t in the mood to read, though she still didn’t know what she did want to do.

She was tempted to take the path between here and Beck Hunter’s place to see if he had finished the table he had been making.

Watching him the other day had been a strangely visceral experience. She still didn’t understand why it had impacted her so much.

No. She wasn’t ready to see the man again. Not until she had a chance to build up more immunity to him and remind herself why she didn’t like him.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t still take another walk. The Painted Sky ranch had several scenic walking trails. From what Alison had told her, Carson would sometimes walk for hours along the same paths when he was trying to figure out a particular plot point or character arc, his own sort of meditation circle.

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