Page 83 of Lost Then Found
He chuckles, but then his smile fades just a little. “Seriously, though. What’s wrong?”
I sigh, rolling the bottle between my palms, staring down at the label like the answer might be there. “It’s the Bluebell,” I admit. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should sell or not. And now Miller’s found something in the paperwork, and I don’t even know what it is yet, but she says it’s interesting, which, coming from Miller, means it could be anything from a loophole to an actual crime.”
Boone lets out a low whistle. “You think Tate’s trying to pull something?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.”
He stays quiet, waiting.
I sigh again. “I just…I don’t know what Alice would think of me if I did sell.” My throat tightens. “That place meant everything to her.”
Boone watches me for a long moment. Then he reaches out, plucking the beer from my hand like he’s done a million times before, bringing it to his lips.
I blink, stunned.
That was our thing. Back when we were young—way too young to be drinking beer—we’d steal sips from each other’s bottles like it was some kind of secret, passing it back and forth on the tailgate of his truck, the scent of summer thick in the air around us.
He swallows, then hands it back like it’s nothing.
Like it’s not everything.
“What do you want?” he asks. “Forget about what Alice would want, forget about what’s easier or harder or smarter. What doyouwant, Lark?”
I stare at the beer in my hands, the words coming out before I can stop them. “I want to travel with Hudson.”
Boone shifts, angling toward me.
“I want him to have the chance to see more of the world than just Montana,” I continue. “We’ve already started planning a cross-country trip. He marked all the places he wants to go on a map.” I let out a softlaugh. “I want to take him to a Dodgers game. I want to see the beach. And New York City. We’re gonna walk through Central Park, eat pizza the size of our heads, maybe even take one of those stupid horse-drawn carriage rides.”
Boone smiles. “Sounds like a hell of a trip.”
I nod, pressing the lip of the beer bottle to my bottom lip but not taking a sip. “I just…I want to wake up in the morning and not have to go to work. The Bluebell has been good to me, but I don’t know if I want to be tied to it forever. I want time with Hudson while he still wants to spend it with me.”
His expression softens. “Then maybe it’s time to let go.”
I swallow, my grip tightening on the bottle.
Maybe it is.
But letting go of something that’s been your whole life for so long? That’s easier said than done.
“Maybe,” I say finally. “But I don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands. I have to see what Miller has to say first.”
Boone nods. “Makes sense.”
The quiet settles between us, comfortable but heavy, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. Our elbows brush against each other on the railing, the casual kind of touch that shouldn’t mean anything but somehow does.
I steal a glance at him, at the way his forearms rest against the wood, veins threading beneath bronzed skin. His jaw is sharper now, more defined, like time carved out every hesitation he used to have and left nothing but certainty in its place.
He was alreadythatboy when we were younger—the one girls whispered about, the one who turned heads without trying, the one everyone looked at just a second too long.
But now?
Now he’s all of that and more.
Older. Settled in a way that makes my stomach tighten. There’s an ease to him, a quiet confidence, like he’s figured himself out in the years since I last knew him. And for some reason, that thought twists in mychest—because I don’t know this version of him.
And maybe I want to.
