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)
He devours his slice quickly, then grabs another. We don’t talk much as we eat—both of us too engrossed in the flavors and the relief of a good meal. By the time we’re finishing, the earlier tension seeps back in. I can feel it in the set of his shoulders, in the quick glances he casts toward his phone. Whatever Dean told him is still in the back of his mind, nagging at him.
But I decide to let it slide, at least for tonight. It’s been days since we truly relaxed—days we’ve spent in this cocoon of routine, training our bodies not to panic at every twig snap. The threat is always there, looming like a thundercloud on the horizon. I’d rather enjoy whatever solace we can find tonight, and press him for answers tomorrow.
After we clear the dishes, Boone rakes a hand through his short hair, exhaling a long breath. “That was… I needed that. Good food, good company.”
I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, warmth flooding my chest. “Me too,” I admit. “It almost feels… normal.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Yeah, it does.”
He nods toward the living area. “Wanna just… chill for a bit? Maybe watch the fire?” The cabin came with an old stone fireplace, and even though it’s not particularly cold tonight, there’s something comforting about the crackle of flames.
I nod, grateful for the suggestion. “Sounds perfect.”
Within minutes, we’re on the couch, the soft glow of the fire flickering across the walls. Boone has one arm draped along the back of the couch, and I’m leaning into his side, my head resting near his shoulder. The wood pops and hisses, sending sparks dancing briefly in the air before they vanish.
For a while, we just talk—about the days we’ve spent here, the hikes around the lake, the silly card games we’ve invented to pass the time. He teases me about how I always manage to lose in poker (he’s definitely got a better poker face than I do), and I remind him that I made up for it by teaching him how to cook a killer pasta dish.
Eventually, the conversation takes a softer turn. He asks about my childhood, and I tell him about how I used to rollerblade around my neighborhood, imagining I was an explorer charting unknown territory. He laughs, saying he could picture me as a little kid with boundless energy.
I watch the firelight dance in his eyes, and I realize just how comfortable I’ve become in his presence. The worry that used to claw at my gut is still there, but it’s diminished by the confidence I have in him. He’s not just my bodyguard or some hired muscle; he’s Boone. A man who’s shown me compassion, strength, and gentleness all at once.
He shifts slightly, his free hand finding mine. The contact sends a pleasant jolt through my body. It’s such a simple thing—his fingers lacing with mine—but it sparks the memory of our kisses, of how he held me under the stars. My pulse quickens, and I look up to find him watching me intently.
“What?” I ask softly.
“Nothing,” he says, though the deep timbre of his voice gives him away. He slides his hand along my jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “Just thinking about how I’m going to miss this.”
“Miss what?” My voice catches, breath hitching in my throat.
He swallows, and I see the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “Miss us…like this. If, you know, we get pulled back into the real world soon.”
My heart clenches. I pull my legs under me and shift closer, resting my palm against his chest. His heartbeat thumps strong beneath my fingertips. “Maybe we don’t have to miss it,” I offer quietly, half-terrified of his answer. “Maybe we can keep it.”
He draws a shaky breath, leaning in so our foreheads nearly touch. “Aubree,” he murmurs, voice low and intimate. “I want that. But I just don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.”
I lick my lips, reaching up to thread my fingers through his hair. “I’m not asking for promises,” I say gently, “just… let’s see what happens. Maybe we’ll surprise ourselves.”
For a moment, he just stares at me, his expression warring between wanting to protect me and wanting me. Then, with a soft groan, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is slow at first, exploratory, like we’re reminding ourselves how to move in sync. But it doesn’t stay gentle for long.
Warmth floods my limbs as he deepens the kiss, parting my lips with a quiet urgency. I make a small sound of approval, sliding my hands up his arms, feeling the corded muscle beneath his shirt. He angles me backward, carefully guiding me to recline against the cushions. The firelight flickers across his face, gilding the sharp planes of his jaw.