Page 221 of Lost Then Found
Does Boone even want more kids? What if he doesn’t? What if I just said something huge and weird andinsaneand—
Boone shifts beneath me, pulling me out of my spiral. I look at him, half-panicked, but he’s staring at me with a grin so wide it practically cuts across his face. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, lips pulled into something that’s pure joy, not shock or horror or discomfort.
That’s…good?
Boone says under his breath, easy and soft. “I hope they look like you.”
The words are simple. Offhand, even. But they catch me off guard in the best way. “You…you want more kids?”
It comes out small. Unsteady.
His fingers trail from my thigh to my jaw, tilting my face toward his. His thumb brushes along the edge of it—careful, sure.
His eyes lock on mine. “If it’s with you? Then yeah. I do.”
And then he kisses me. His hand tangles in my hair like he’s afraid I’ll pull away, but I don’t. I lean into him because I can’t not. Because kissing him feels like all the past versions of me—the tired, guarded, not-quite-enough ones—are finally taking a breath and letting go.
By the time he pulls back, we’re both breathing like we forgot how. His forehead rests against mine.
“I want them to have your eyes,” he murmurs. “Always loved your eyes.”
His hand slides up, fingers playing with a strand of hair, tugging it the way he used to when we were kids—playful but gentle. Always gentle. “And your hair. Remember when it used to go all white-blonde in the summer?”
I let a laugh. “Yeah. I looked like a sun-bleached scarecrow.”
“A cute one,” he says, with a crooked grin that does things to me I don’t have the energy to fight off.
Then his fingers brush over the bridge of my nose, soft and light. “And these,” he says. “Your freckles. I hope they get those too.”
I tilt my head, one brow lifting. “Alright, how many kids are we talking here?”
Without missing a beat, he shrugs, straight-faced. “Twelve.”
A laugh bursts out of me, loud and sharp. “Twelve?What are we, building a small army? I hope you’re ready for minivans and no sleep for the next two decades.”
Boone grins, unbothered. “Minivans are practical. Lots of cup holders.”
“Yeah, well, I hope you like stepping on Legos and listening to the same cartoon theme song until your brain leaks out of your ears.”
He tilts his head like he’s weighing it. “Could be worse. At least I’d have you. And twelve little yous.”
I snort. “Please. If we had twelve kids, there’d be zero me left. I’d be a shell of a woman, whispering nursery rhymes and surviving on string cheese.”
Boone smirks. “You’d still be hot, though.”
I shove his shoulder, grinning. “You’re psycho.”
He catches my hand before I can pull away, lacing his fingers through mine. “Yeah, but I’m yours.”
Boone leans in, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, mouth barely abreath from mine.
But before he can close the gap, the screen door slams open with a crack and Elvis barrels through like he’s been shot out of a cannon. Forty pounds of wiry fur and unstoppable energy slam into us, paws on Boone’s chest, tail whipping like a helicopter blade, tongue already attacking any skin he can reach.
“Dammit,Elvis—” Boone chokes out, twisting to avoid a tongue to the mouth. “Where thehellare you when the cows get loose?”
Elvis lets out a bark like he’s proud of himself, his tail wagging harder.
Boone squints at him. “You got a sixth sense for ruining things, huh?”
