Page 196 of Lost Then Found
Maybe love is a man who notices when I haven’t eaten and sets a plate in front of me without saying a word. Who turns the heater up too high because he knows I run cold. Who never moves my things when I leave them scattered—just steps around them like he’s always known how to make room for me.
Maybe it’s not big or loud or movie-scene perfect.
Maybe love is soft. Quiet. Lived-in.
Maybe it’s all those little things, strung together in the silence between words.
Not flashy. Not forced.
Just real.
Loving Boone has never felt like fireworks. It feels like the steady glowof a porch light left on for you. Like someone saying, without words,I’ve got you. You’re safe now. Lay it down, love. You can rest now.
Boone watches me.
Doesn’t rush to fill the silence, doesn’t look away. Just holds my gaze, steady and quiet, like he knows exactly what it cost me to say those words out loud. Like he sees that I didn’t just say them—I gave them. Unwrapped something I’d been keeping tucked away and handed it over without asking for anything in return.
He leans in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that’s softer this time. Quieter.
Then his voice, low against my mouth—
“I love you too. Always have.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumb sweeping gently along my jaw. “I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
The laugh slips out before I can stop it. Soft. Surprised. It catches somewhere between my chest and my throat—like it’s too much and not enough all at once.
Then he kisses me again, deeper this time. His hand cups the side of my face, fingers curling into my skin like he’s trying to pull me into him. Like if he holds on tight enough, maybe we won’t lose this.
There’s something about the way he touches me—like he knows my body in a way no one else ever has. Not just the shape of me, but the rhythm. The weight. The parts I try to keep hidden.
Eventually, I pull back. Just far enough to breathe, my forehead resting against his.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For telling me about Jack.”
He nods once, slow. Measured. Like he means it. “Of course.”
“He sounds like he was a good man,” I say. “A brave one.”
Boone’s jaw shifts. Subtle. Barely there. But I feel his hand tighten at my hip.
“He was all of that,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “And more.”
I trace a circle on his chest, right above his heartbeat. “Maybe… when you’re ready, you could tell your family about him.”
His eyes flick to mine. There’s something unreadable there, like he’s not sure if that’s a door he wants to open all the way yet.
So I keep going.
“Talking about them—it doesn’t mean letting them go,” I say. “It’s how we carry them. Keep them with us. Keep them real.”
He watches me for a beat. Then a breath huffs out of him, low and quiet, almost a smile. “When did you get so wise?”
I grin, leaning back just slightly. “I read a fortune cookie once. Life-changing.”
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest as he pulls me closer again. I nuzzle into him, fingers still resting lightly over his heart.
“Do you miss your dad?” I ask, my voice soft, like saying it too loud might scare the moment off.
