Page 29 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

"Yep, apparently my opinion was optional."

"That's not a man. That's a cautionary tale."

"So here I am, in the middle of nowhere, trying to figure out who I am when I'm not just someone's plus-one. Trying to see what I actually bring to the table, and he goes ahead and boxes up parts of my life that weren’t his to decide."

"Darling," Rea said, voice velvet with steel underneath. "You're not a server. You are the table. Mahogany. Custom-built. Imported. And he is lucky if he gets a chair—folding, at best."

Vivi laughed so hard she nearly knocked over her mug. "Oh my God, Lady Rea."

"Don’t ever let a man make you feel like your worth depends on his itinerary. Men like that think they're the main course—until they meet a woman who knows she's the whole damn dining room."

"You know, I'm starting to believe you."

"Good," Rea said. "Now show me these paint colors again. If you're going to rebuild your life, at least do it in something more flattering than beige."

"What about dusty blue?"

Rea examined it with a critical eye. "Acceptable. But to pull off that color you’ll need to add a chandelier. A woman should always have good lighting—especially when she's reinventing herself."

"Today's Glow Up exercise," Glow said. "Imagine your ideal connection. Close your eyes and picture someone who makes you feel alive and understood, and safe all at once. Who is it? Go."

Vivi stared at the screen like the app had just handed her a loaded gun. A face came to mind, and she snapped her eyes open—then nearly sent her phone flying across the coffee shop, which would have been tragic for the phone and catastrophic for her dignity.

Because there it was, sitting in her chest like a live wire:

Boone.

Not just Boone—the rugged, irritatingly competent, calf-rescuing, somehow-made-her-heart-flip-while-he-lifted-her-on-the-counter Boone. She could still feel the way their hands had brushed when he’d patched her up and the way he'd actually listened when she babbled about always trying to please everyone.

The way he'd looked at her in the bathroom—sweet baby Jesus! Just thinking about the heat in his eyes made her hormones sigh.

And somewhere between laughing at how ridiculous they both were and realizing how intensely they clicked, she'd felt something—something insane that she probably shouldn't admit even to her own reflection.

She squeezed her eyes shut until she was seeing little white orbs and began reciting the hottest men alive.

Zac Efron.

Chris Hemsworth.

The other Hemsworth.

Timothée Chalamet.

Ryan Gosling.

But it was another man who came to mind like a shot ringing into the night.

Irritating, aggravating, infuriating, exasperating, mind-mangling, annoying-as-hell Boone Callahan.

The memory of his protective presence, the warmth of his hands, the intensity in his eyes—the way he made her feel seen—hit her like a physical jolt. An annoying jolt that had her head spinning.

But there was something about the way they'd both confessed—almost accidentally—that they'd spent half their lives bending to everyone else's will. The way the stoic cowboy had made her laugh. The way he'd laughed right back at her. The way something had clicked so hard it left her stomach twisting and her brain refusing to let go. And yes, guilt for Lewis tried to elbow its way in, but the pull Boone had on her was undeniably addictive. It was the exact kind of complication she didn't need.

And she didn't even like him. Imagine if she did. How dangerous would that be?

Vivi stirred her coffee absently, staring at the swirling cream and thinking about Lewis—safe, comfortable, predictable Lewis. The kind of man who made mornings smooth and dinners quiet and weekends uneventful. And yet—somehow—it all felt hollow.

Comfort didn't make her heart race. Comfort didn't make her feel alive the way Boone did when he leaned in close, when his hands steadied her without being asked, when his eyes actually saw her instead of the polished persona she'd been performing for everyone else.