Page 250 of Lost Then Found
She turns to face me. “I know.”
“Who wouldn’t?” she adds, eyes back on the house. “So what, you two makin’ it official?”
I look at her. “What do you mean?”
She gives me a look. “Moving in. Playing house. All this.”
I nod. “Yeah. I want to ask her to marry me.”
She stares at me for a second like she’s making sure I mean it. Then her whole face lights up. “Boone!”
“Not yet,” I say before she gets too far ahead. “I still need to get a ring.”
That doesn’t slow her down. She’s already beaming. “Do you know what she likes?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
She tilts her head, amused. “Seriously?”
“Miller’s got ideas. She offered to come with me to pick one out.”
Mom raises her eyebrows. “Good. That girl’s got taste.”
“She said if Lark’s gonna wear it forever, it better not be heinous.”
Mom laughs. “That sounds exactly like her.”
After a beat, she glances over at me. “Where’s Lark, anyway?”
“Diner,” I say, tapping my thumb against the thermos. “She opened this morning.”
Mom clicks her tongue. “That girl works like she’s the last one holding up the roof.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Might not be far off.”
It’s been a couple weeks since she went toe to toe with Tate. She didit. My girl.
She hasn’t let Dawn go yet, but she will.
It’s not hesitation—it’s something closer to grief, I think. Dawn’s been there for years. A fixture, part of the wallpaper in Lark’s life.
Mom’s quiet for a second. Then she says, soft and sure, “For what it’s worth, I love that girl.”
I glance over at her, but she’s still staring straight ahead.
“She’s got a heart like yours,” she goes on. “Big and stubborn. She gives everything she has to the people she loves, even when they don’t deserve it. I’ve considered her part of this family for a long time now, since she was a little girl. You marrying her would just make it official.”
My throat tightens.
“She’s good for you, Boone,” she says, finally looking at me. “But more than that—you’re good for each other. That’s what matters.”
I reach out and pull her into a side hug, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, the thermos still in my other hand. She leans in without hesitation, tucks her head gently against my shoulder like she used to when I was a kid and already taller than her.
I try like hell to blink the burn from my eyes. “Don’t make me cry this early in the morning.”
She gives a little laugh, muffled against my chest. “You always were sentimental.”
“You just told me the woman I love is already your daughter,” I say, pulling back to look at her. “What the hell did you expect me to do with that?”
