The drive is short—too short, which immediately has my nerves sparking. Boone hasn’t said a word since we left the main house, his hand just resting over mine, his thumb stroking slow arcs against my skin.
Then the truck slows and stops.
“What the hell?” I mutter, squirming under the blindfold. “Did we hit traffic on the ranch or something?”
He chuckles before his door opens. I hear his boots hit the gravel, then the soft slam of the driver’s side closing. A second later, my door swings open and he’s there, guiding me out like I’m not a walking hazard in heels.
“Careful,” he murmurs, hands wrapping around my waist. “You’re good. Step down.”
I do as he says, leaning into him. “If this is the world’s weirdest scavenger hunt or something, I’m gonna be really disappointed if there’s not chocolate at the end. Or wine. Really good wine.”
He laughs under his breath. “Trust me. You’re not gonna want chocolate. Maybe wine, though.”
He takes both of my hands again, guiding me gently. My heels clack against gravel for a few steps, then something else—wood, maybe?
There’s a shift in the air. I smell something—something fresh and green and floral.
“We’re almost there,” Boone says. His voice is soft now. Almost reverent.
A few more steps.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Unless this is some sort of sick homicide situation, I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
He lets out a laugh. “Jesus, woman.”
Then his hands are at the back of my head, carefully untying thebandanna. It loosens, falls away, and the second my eyes adjust, I forget how to breathe.
We’re inside…a house?
Not just any house.
A house that looks like something out of a dream I’d forgotten I had—arched windows letting in soft sunset light, wide plank floors the color of honey, covered in daisies. It’s an open layout with exposed beams overhead and soft fixtures glowing against the walls. The kitchen is massive, with a long island of creamy marble and deep cabinets. The backsplash is tiled in something intricate and beautiful. There are wide double doors that lead out to what looks like a covered porch. The air smells like pinewood and fresh paint. My heels echo softly as I turn in place, stunned silent.
I spin to face him. “What…where are we?”
Boone’s standing a few feet back, hands in his pockets, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We’re in Old Faithful.”
I blink. Once. Twice. “No. We’re not.”
His smile grows. “Yeah. We are.”
I whip around again, looking at the open layout, the floors, the windows. The air feels warmer here. Lived-in, but untouched. It’s impossibly beautiful. Soft and clean and modern, but cozy too. Like it was designed by someone who knew exactly what I’d want, even before I could name it.
“This can’t be Old Faithful. That place was barely hanging on to life.”
He shrugs, walking toward me. “Was. Now it’s not.”
My brain can’t keep up. It won’t stop spinning.
“You said you were using this for storage.”
He laughs. “Oops. Guess I’m not.”
“You built this?” I say, my throat tightening.
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me. His eyes soft, that smile still on his lips.
