Page 242 of Lost Then Found
Sawyer shrugs one shoulder and lifts an eyebrow. “Guess the Harts aren’t all bad.”
Boone lets out a low laugh. “Careful, you’re gonna ruin your reputation with all that sentimental shit.”
Sawyer chuckles, already turning toward the steps. “See you around.”
We watch his taillights cut through the dark, the sleek body of his car disappearing down the gravel drive. Once he’s gone, Boone sighs and turns toward me.
“That was a lot,” he says, voice quieter now, like the night has finally caught up to us. “How are you holding up?”
I blink toward the horizon, where the last sliver of sunlight has finally disappeared, and try to make sense of the knot sitting behind my ribs. “Honestly?” I say, twisting the edge of my sleeve around my fingers. “I feel like I just got handed a loaded weapon and told to play nice with it.”
Boone brushes a loose strand of hair away from my cheek, his touchcareful, like he knows the exact weight of the moment. “You don’t have to play nice. Not with him.”
“I know,” I say. “But I want to be smart. I want to win.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s cataloging every shift in my expression. Then he leans in, presses his mouth to mine, slow at first—steady and sure, like a promise—but then it deepens, and his hand moves to my waist, fingers pressing through the fabric. The kiss drags me away from all of it—the gravity of this clusterfuck, the chess game I’m about to play. It’s hot and comforting all at once, and it pulls the breath right out of me.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, breath warm and a little smug. “We’ve got a few minutes before dinner.”
I arch a brow. “What, you wanna bang it out upstairs while your mom sets the table?”
He grins, that crooked, wicked kind that makes my knees feel a little less trustworthy. “Why not? Ridge pulled that move for years.”
“Ew.” I laugh, scrunching up my nose. “I really didn’t need that visual, thanks.”
He laughs again, then slips his arms around my thighs and lifts me up like it’s nothing. I let out a startled squeal as he carries me up the driveway.
“Where exactly are we going?” I ask, my arms winding around his neck as I try not to smile too wide.
He heads toward his truck without missing a beat. “To Lucille. It’ll be just like high school.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you insane? Someone could walk by. Anyone could see us.”
His grin just widens. “Then you better saddle up and ride like you mean it, sweetheart.”
Chapter 27
LARK
The office still smells like paper and too many decades of strong coffee. I’m technically not working today, but I’ve got a sixth sense about men like Wendell Tate. He’ll come in today. He always does. Probably just to remind me that he can.
I’m sitting on the edge of the desk, trying to act like I’m not waiting for him, like I’m here for other reasons. Miller stands across from me with her arms crossed, leaning one shoulder against the filing cabinet. She’s in high-waisted trousers and a tucked-in black blouse—clean lines, no fuss, the kind of outfit that says she means business without having to try. Her heels are low but sharp, her hair pinned back in a sleek twist, not a strand out of place.
“I hope you’re planning on channeling your inner bitch today,” she says, watching me like I’m about to enter a boxing ring. “Because if you don’t, I will. And I look very good yelling at men in this outfit.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You wore that just in case?”
“I wore this because I’m always prepared for a takedown. But yes, also just in case.”
I roll my shoulders back, exhale through my nose. “You think he’s gonna show?”
She shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. “He will. Men like him always do.They love power play.”
My nerves coil tighter, but I try not to show it. “I just need to keep my cool.”
Miller pushes off the cabinet and takes a step closer. “No, you need to own the room. You need to look him in his fucking beady little eyes and show him he doesn’t scare you. You’ve got teeth now, baby. Use them.”
I try to smile, but it’s not quite there yet. “You give one hell of a pep talk, Mills.”
