Page 129 of Lost Then Found
Boone doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d like it to be.”
I purse my lips together, looking anywhere but at his annoyinglyhandsome face. A long time ago, I let myself believe that Boone Wilding was going to be the person I leaned on for the rest of my life. The one who’d be there, no matter what.
Then he left, and I learned how to do it alone.
I shift in my chair, tugging at a loose thread on the cuff of my sweatshirt, twisting it around my finger like maybe if I pull hard enough, I’ll find the right thing to say. Instead, I shrug. “It’s fine. I like doing things on my own.”
He just watches me, steady and patient. Then, softer this time, “You shouldn’t have to.”
My chest tightens. I swallow, still pulling at that damn thread, keeping my gaze locked on it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
Boone doesn’t push. Just turns back to the stove, flipping the bacon, stirring something in the pan. A few minutes pass in silence, except for the quiet clatter of utensils, the low sizzle of butter hitting heat.
Then, he sets a plate in front of me.
Crispy bacon, golden roasted potatoes, eggs scrambled with cheese and caramelized onions. Thick slices of buttered sourdough toast.
It smells out of this world.
I stare down at it. I can’t remember the last time someone made me dinner.
As much as I don’t want to admit it…it’s nice.
More than nice.
Boone slides into the chair across from me, but he doesn’t say anything. He just waits.
I pick up my fork, hesitating for half a second too long before taking a bite of the eggs. The second it hits my tongue, a low, involuntary moan slips out.
Boone’s eyes darken.
I freeze, fork halfway out of mouth. “Shut up.”
His lips twitch. “Didn’t say a word.”
I take another bite, this one slower, letting myself actually enjoy it. Then I shake my head, smirking. “This is actually kind of nice.”
Boone raises a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I chew thoughtfully, swallow. “I should have my baby daddy come make me dinner more often.”
Boone barks out a laugh, head tilting back slightly. “Jesus, Lark.”
I grin. “That’s what I’m calling you from now on.”
He winks, cocky as ever. “Or, you could just call me Daddy.”
I nearly choke on my toast.
“You’re the worst,” I say, reaching for a piece of bacon.
He shrugs with a half-smile. “Not like you haven’t called me that before.”
My hand flies out before I even think about it, launching the piece of bacon straight at his head. Boone dodges, laughing, and I roll my eyes, fighting the smallest, most annoying smile.
Suddenly he pushes back from the table and makes his way over to my crammed bookshelf.
I tense, suddenly hyper aware of just how personal it feels to have someone flipping through the books you read. It’s not like he’s rifling through my underwear drawer, but still—it feels intimate.
