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I might have felt like shit on the inside, but at least no one would be able to tell by looking at me.
I spent the next two hours happily ripping apart seams of old clothes, cutting them into patterns, and rearranging them on my bed. I was so lost in the process that I didn’t even hear the knock at my door or realize anyone was there until Boone stood in front of me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked without preamble.
I knelt on the floor, cutting fringe into the leather vest I’d picked up. I sat back on my heels and looked up at him. I plastered on my best smile. “Why do you think something’s wrong? Everything’s fine.”
He crossed his arms, not buying it. “You missed dinner.”
I glanced at the window, belatedly realizing it was dark out. “I lost track of time.”
He shook his head. “It’s meatloaf night. And as much as you like to bitch about all the meat Norma serves, you’ve been looking forward to her meatloaf for days. Also, you’re here instead of up at the house.”
“I had a project I wanted to work on,” I said dismissively.
He crouched until he was at eye level. He reached out a hand and cupped my cheek, tilting my face toward him. “Did you know that when you’re nervous, you do this thing where you throw your shoulders back and lift your chin?”
“A proper lady never shirks on excellent posture,” I noted with a wink.
He nodded. “Uh-huh. And when you’re upset, you deflect everything with a joke.”
Touché.
His thumb drew across the skin under my eye. “And given your elaborate skin care regimen, the only way the skin around your eyes would be red and puffy is if you’d been crying.”
I glanced down at my hands.
“Talk to me,” he said gently.
I still felt raw after speaking with my father. My inclination was to keep it all to myself, not burden him with my emotional turmoil. Everyone liked the life of the party; no one liked the maudlin emo guy.
“Please.” Boone was so earnest, his expression open and caring.
I let out a breath. “My dad called.”
A shadow crossed his face. “And?”
“He had a job for me.” I explained what my father wanted.
His jaw muscle flexed. “Do you want to go? Do you need time off?”
Of course his first thought would be to try to find a way to accommodate me. But I didn’t want special treatment just because we were together.
“I told him I couldn’t do it. I have a job. I have obligations here. To the ranch. To you and the others. If I left, who’d help Mercy tomorrow? Who’d finish getting the app set up? That wouldn’t be fair.”
“We’d miss you, but we could make it work.”
I shook my head. “Thank you, but it’s not that I want to go. It’s just… I thought he would be proud of me. I’m doing everything he wants—being responsible, holding down a job, proving myself—and it’s still not enough. I thought he would respect my commitment to my obligations…” My voice caught.
“Oh, baby.” Boone pulled me against him, wrapping his arms so tight around me that I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. He kissed the top of my head. “You’re enough. You’re so much more than enough. If your father can’t see what a wonderful son and human being you are, then fuck him. He doesn’t deserve you.”
I let out a watery chuckle. “You have to say that. You’re my—” I swallowed the word, realizing too late what I was about to say.
Boone tensed underneath me. “I’m your what?”
19
BOONE
I held my breath, waiting for Richard to respond. My mind spun with possible ways to end that statement:
You’re my boss.
You’re my boyfriend.
You’re my lover.
You’re mine.
I wasn’t even sure what I was hoping for.
Richard’s expression shifted. Whereas moments before, he’d been open and vulnerable, something closed off, and a part of him retreated. He batted his eyelashes exaggeratedly and said in his breathiest voice, “You’re my hero.”
Then he broke into a truly awful rendition of Bette Midler’s “Wind Beneath My Wings.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was exactly the response one would expect from Richard—over-the-top, dramatic, and full of flair.
I knew he was deflecting, just like I’d known he was upset, but this time, I didn’t call him out on it. Any other answer he’d given would have turned into a discussion, and I wasn’t sure I’d like the direction that discussion took. The logical conclusion was that what we were doing wasn’t smart and would only end in pain for the both of us. Logical or not though, I wasn’t ready for this to end yet.
It seemed like perhaps Richard had realized all this, too, and had drawn the same conclusion.
He continued with the song, flinging his arms around like wings as he stood and spun around the room. The intimate moment between us was over. At least the emotionally intimate moment.
