Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“All secure,” he says, his voice rough like it’s been carved from stone.
I nod, trying to hide my unease. “Good. Thanks for... well, everything.”
He shrugs, not the kind of guy who accepts praise too easily. “It’s my job.” He crosses the room, his steps heavy and deliberate, like everything he does has a purpose. His presence is larger than the room itself, and the tension in my chest tightens a little more just being near him.
“Hungry?” Boone’s voice breaks the silence, his eyes scanning the space before landing on me. His tone is casual, but there’s something behind it—something that tells me he’s trying to make things feel normal. Or maybe he’s trying to give me a distraction. Either way, I appreciate it.
“I guess... a little,” I say, shrugging. “You got something quick?”
Boone gives me a small grin, the first one I’ve seen since I met him, and it’s almost enough to make me forget about everything else for a second. “I’ll figure something out. You just sit tight.”
I sit down on the couch, trying to get comfortable in the quiet. Trying to understand why this is all happening to me. I wish I could call my mother. However, Boone took my phone for ‘safety purposes.’
Why is this happening to me? The shop was my place, my pride, my hard work. And now I’m stuck in a cabin with a bodyguard, waiting for whoever is out there to make their next move.
I look up to find Boone standing in the kitchen, pulling out some cans from the pantry, looking like he could survive on just whatever was in this cabin for weeks. He moves with purpose, unbothered by the idea of making a meal out of whatever he can scrounge up. However, I see fresh bread on the counter, so I’m sure he’s stocked this place up before we arrived.
He glances at me, catching my eye. “You sure you’re all right?” His voice is softer now, but it still carries that undercurrent of seriousness. I wonder if he’s asking because he feels obligated or because he actually cares, and I don’t know which answer scares me more.
“I’m fine,” I lie, offering him a small smile. “Just... not really sure what’s going on. But I’m fine.”
Boone doesn’t respond, just nods like he’s heard this before and moves on to the next task. The sound of the can opener cutting through the air is oddly comforting. I lean back, letting myself close my eyes for just a second. But the second turns into minutes, and the minutes stretch on, dragging me into the exhaustion I’ve been avoiding all day.
“Food’s almost ready,” Boone calls over his shoulder.
“Thanks,” I reply, my voice heavy with fatigue. My eyes flutter open, and I catch a glimpse of Boone working in the kitchen, his back turned to me. There’s a kind of quiet assurance in the way he moves. Like he’s not worried about much.
And maybe I should take a note from that.
I rise from the couch, stretching my sore muscles. "How did you get into security work?" I ask, wanting something—anything—to break the tension.
He glances at me, his lips twitching just slightly. "I grew up in a rough neighborhood. Figured it was better to protect people than get hurt trying to protect myself."
I nod slowly, trying to picture it. "That sounds... intense."
"It was. But it’s what I know. Then I joined the Marines, and learned how to really protect people. So, it’s what I’m good at."
I watch him for a moment, his eyes focused on the stove as he stirs something in a pan. There’s a vulnerability there, hidden beneath his tough exterior, and it catches me off guard.
“So, what about you?” He turns slightly. “How’d you end up running a pizza place in the middle of nowhere?”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “It’s not nowhere, it’s Tennessee. And, well, my mom had the idea. I just made it happen.”
“Your mom,” he repeats thoughtfully. “She must be proud of you.”
I smile, though it feels a little forced. “She’s proud... and worried. And a little overbearing.”
Boone chuckles under his breath, the sound surprising me. I didn’t think he’d be the type to laugh. “Sounds like she cares a lot.”
“She does,” I agree, feeling the warmth of the moment for a brief second. “She just doesn’t get how important this shop is to me. It’s more than a business... it’s my life.”
His brown eyes soften as he looks at me, and then he turns back to the stove. “I get it. Everyone’s gotta have something they’re willing to fight for.”
It’s quiet again, but this time, it feels... easier. Maybe it’s because we’re both talking, really talking, and not just doing our jobs. I almost want to ask him if he has something worth fighting for, but I keep my mouth snapped shut.