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She exhaled deeply, visibly relaxing. “Yes, I think so.”
“Good.” He slid the gloves off her hands, then guided her to the stool where he’d been sitting. “Sit.”
Looking mildly confused, she did as he commanded.
He moved to her fridge, glad to find eggs inside. He also found a green pepper and some mushrooms in the crisper, along with cheddar cheese. “Where’s the frying pan?” he asked, glancing back at her.
She stared at him with brows drawn over her tired eyes.
“The pan?” he repeated.
“In the stove’s drawer.”
He found it quickly, then set to making two omelets, his eyes slowly waking up while he worked. He’d been exactly where she currently was, where the mind ran wild with guilt, pain, and everything in between. He renovated his house—that was his therapy. Cleaning must be Peyton’s.
Right as the omelets finished cooking, Peyton asked, “What are we doing exactly?”
“My dad always said when the head got heavy to eat an omelet.” Boone turned off the stove, moving the pan off the heat. “Plates? Forks?”
She pointed to the right of him. “There. And there.”
He followed her gaze and took out two forks and grabbed plates and slid an omelet on each one. He handed her a plate before moving around the island to sit down next to her. “Growing up, my dad always said that sometimes no matter what you do, you won’t be able to figure something out. So, the best thing to do is eat. Fill the belly up with something warm and healthy, then go from there.” He offered her a fork and pointed to her plate with his fork. “Eat up.”
Waiting like his father had the time Boone came home after he got into a fight with Scott over dating Chelsea, he paused for her to start. Then he ate his omelet, even though his stomach wasn’t even awake yet.
Halfway finished, she asked, “I take it this is to stop your brain from overworking and putting your attention elsewhere to clear your mind?”
“I didn’t know it back when my dad first started the omelet tradition,” Boone said. “But later I realized why he did it.” He turned to her, stared into her emotional tired eyes. “It’s because you can’t change what’s happened. You could stress and fret and worry or—”
She smiled. “You could eat an omelet.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Exactly. The thing you were thinking about will still be there. By the time you’ve eaten the omelet, you’ll have stopped thinking about it so hard and see that everything is going to be f
ine. You’re still here. You’re still breathing. And no matter what happens, life carries on and works itself out.”
Her shoulders finally lowered with her long exhale. She ate the next couple bites in silence, then eventually said, “You know what?”
“What?” he asked with a full mouth.
“I think your father is a very smart man.”
Boone glanced sideways and winked at her. “He knows it too.”
Chapter 4
When Boone woke the next morning, he reached for the warm woman he’d satisfied a few times more during the night, when a clipped voice said, “Touch my ass and die.”
Boone didn’t die. What did die was his morning wood.
He slowly opened an eye, not surprised to find Kinsley sitting on the edge of Peyton’s bed. What did surprise him was the bedroom he lay in. They’d fallen back into bed some time during the dark night and Boone hadn’t really gotten a look at the room, too focused on Peyton’s lithe body beneath him. What he found now was a small space full of antique furniture; even the metal bed frame looked vintage, though the queen-size mattress was pure comfort. He also didn’t find a single thing showing that Peyton lived a life before this one. Not a picture of friends or family or even an old pet.
“Ahem.”
Boone glanced back at Kinsley and sighed at her glare, shutting his eyes again. “You’re not who I wanted to see this morning,” he grumbled.
Kinsley rose, bouncing the mattress beneath him. “Whatever happened to ‘I’ll go over and check in on her’?”
Boone rolled onto his back, dropping his arm across his tired eyes, making sure the blanket covered his waist with the other hand. “Whatever happened to ‘This is none of your business’?”
