Guarding What’s Mine (Men of Maddox Security #3)

Chapter 28

Aubree

It’s been a little over a week since I’ve been back in Nashville, and the rhythmic hum of Slice Slice Baby has come roaring back to life. At least, that’s how it seems on the surface. The ovens are running hot all day, the high school crowd is spilling in after last period, and the laughter of friends sharing slices fills the shop just like it always did.

But there’s a Boone-shaped hole in my life, and it’s bigger than I ever expected.

This morning starts like any other. Stuart and I roll out dough in the back kitchen, the clatter of pans and the thunk of the dough press keeping me grounded. He kneads with strong, practiced hands—an old soul in a eighteen-year-old’s body. I watch him with a little smile, remembering how unsure he was when I first hired him. Now, he’s practically my right-hand man.

“You doing okay today?” he asks, sliding a fresh ball of dough across the floured counter toward me. The flour puffs up in a little cloud, making me sneeze.

“I’m fine,” I say, sniffling. But Stuart raises an eyebrow in that telltale way. “Okay, so maybe I’m not fine, but I’m surviving,” I admit, exhaling as I start to shape the dough into a circle. “Business is good, we haven’t gotten any new threats, and people are pouring back in. So yeah, just… figuring out this new normal.”

He nods, pressing his hands against the dough. “Is it… you know, Boone?”

The mention of his name makes my chest clench. “You’re too perceptive for your own good,” I mutter, carefully spinning the circle of dough. When I look up, I see sympathy in Stuart’s gaze, and I offer a small smile. “I just miss him, you know? We talk every night, but it’s not the same.”

Stuart nods. “Long-distance sucks, huh?”

“Yeah,” I admit, pressing a thumb into the center of the dough to even it out. “But he has his life in Saint Pierce, and I have mine here.”

The door to the back kitchen swings open then, and my mom steps in, smelling faintly of that expensive perfume she’s always worn. She’s got a stack of newly printed menus in one hand—featuring our latest specialty pie, the “Safe Haven,” which is basically a love letter to the comfort food that got me through the worst weeks of my life.

“Honey,” she greets me, setting the menus on a nearby shelf. “I talked to one of the local paper’s food columnists. They might want to do a feature on Slice Slice Baby. You feeling up for that?”

“Really?” I say, my spirits lifting just a bit. “That’s amazing, Mom.”

She smiles warmly, her eyes flicking to Stuart. “Hello, Stuart. Good to see you.”

He nods, brushing flour from his hands. “Hey, Ms. Ryan.” He excuses himself, heading out to the front counter, presumably to let us talk in private.

My mom turns to me, her brow furrowing with concern. “How are you doing?”

The question makes me set down the dough. “I’m okay.” I swallow, forcing myself to speak the truth. “I miss Boone. A lot.”

She nods, stepping closer and placing a hand on my arm. “Have you two talked recently?”

“Every night,” I say with a half-laugh, hearing how pathetic I must sound. “We call, sometimes just for a few minutes, sometimes an hour or more. But it’s so… different. Not seeing him every day, or waking up to his face, or even hearing him humming while he checks the locks ten times in a row.”

Her expression softens. “You’ll figure it out. He cared about you—anyone could see that.”

I let out a shaky breath, glancing down at the flour dusting my fingertips. “I know. He says he’s trying to arrange work in Nashville, some reason to come out this way. But that could take time.”

“Sweetheart,” my mother says gently, “you deserve to be happy. If Boone makes you happy, then… make a plan. A visit, at least. You’re not stuck in Nashville, you know. You can take a weekend and go to Saint Pierce to see him.”

I look up at her, startled by the suggestion. “I guess that’s possible,” I say, cheeks warming at the thought of surprising Boone, showing up at his place in Saint Pierce with a pizza in hand and a big grin. “I just… it’s busy here. We’re trying to recover from everything, and—”

She pats my arm. “Honey, life is always going to be busy. And so is his. You have to carve out time for the things that matter.”

I sigh, turning back to the dough. Carefully, I ladle sauce onto the crust, spreading it in smooth, practiced circles. “I’ll think about it,” I promise. “It’s only been a week since I got back, you know. We’re still trying to fix the back door and restock the supplies, and the high school crowd has been insane. It’s just… I get so tired at the end of the day.”

Mom nods, stepping over to help me sprinkle cheese onto the sauce. “You are doing so well, though. Don’t sell yourself short. The customers love your new Safe Haven pizza, and everyone’s been eager to support the shop after what happened.” She hesitates, then lowers her voice. “How are you holding up with everything else? Charles still…?”

“Still in custody,” I reply, blinking hard to ward off any hint of tears. “The police say they have enough to keep him there for a while. There’s no bail. And if he does manage to wiggle out, we have a restraining order. Plus, all of Maddox Security is on alert. If he tries anything, they’ll know.”

She nods, relief evident in her eyes. “Good. I can’t believe I ever… ever trusted that man. But at least we’re done with him.” She sets down the cheese, straightening up. “And you, my love, can finally get back to making your life what you want it to be.”

I finish assembling the pizza with a flourish—pepperoni, mushrooms, and a sprinkle of fresh basil. “This is the life I want,” I murmur, sliding the pizza onto a sheet pan. “Mostly. I just… I wish Boone was here, too.”

My mom squeezes my shoulder. “Have faith, honey. Sometimes the best things in life are worth a little distance and a little waiting.”

I swallow, nodding. “Yeah,” I say softly, lifting the tray and heading toward the oven. I slide it in, and the heat blasts my face. The comforting smell of rising dough fills the room. For a moment, I close my eyes, letting the familiarity of it ground me.

A little while later, I stand at the front counter, greeting the regulars who file in for their early dinner slices. The buzz of conversation spills through the glass door as high school students shuffle in, already trying to figure out where to sit. My heart lifts at the sight—this is the kind of normal I’ve craved for so long.

Stuart mans the register, flashing me a grin whenever we share a glance. He’s settled back into his old rhythm, joking with customers about the new specialty pizzas and teasing them if they don’t like olives (like he does with every single olive-hater, bless him).

The day zips by, full of orders and laughter and the occasional kitchen mishap. Once or twice, I catch a glimpse of my phone on the counter and wonder if Boone will text me something sweet, like he usually does around this time of day. But it stays silent.

By the time evening rolls around, I’m exhausted, but in that good, productive way. Stuart waves goodbye, promising to come in early tomorrow. Mom offers to stay and close with me, but I insist I can handle it, so she heads home.

I linger at the front, turning off a few lights and locking the door. The neon “open” sign goes dark with a soft click. The quiet hum of the fridge motors in the background as I gather up any stray trash and check the tables.

When I finish, I collapse into one of the booths, phone in hand. Sure enough, there’s a missed call and a voicemail from Boone. My heart leaps, and I press the phone to my ear, barely noticing how my pulse pounds.

“Hey,” his deep voice rumbles through the speaker. “I guess you’re busy at the shop. I, uh, just wanted to say hi. Miss you. I might have a free weekend soon—wondering if we could figure out a time to see each other. Call me back, okay?”

I press the phone to my chest, a wave of affection and longing flooding me. I punch in his number, but it goes straight to voicemail, so I leave a breathless message of my own: “Hey, Boone, sorry I missed you. Been a crazy day. I miss you, too. Call me tonight when you can—I’ll be home, probably taking a bath or something equally boring. Or if I can’t wait, I’ll call you first. I love—I mean, talk soon.”

My cheeks burn at how close I came to blurting out the L-word. We haven’t said it, not yet. It might be too soon. But my heart knows it’s there, a simmering truth I can’t deny.

Exhaling, I lock up the shop and step outside into the cool night air. The streetlights cast a warm glow over the familiar sidewalk. My gaze drifts to the sign above the shop door—Slice Slice Baby—and a pang of gratitude washes over me. I’m here, I’m safe, and life is slowly returning to normal.

But part of my normal, it seems, is missing. The part that I found hidden away in a remote cabin with a man who taught me how to feel protected and cherished at the same time. And even though it hurts, even though the distance is daunting, I cling to the hope that he and I will figure it out.

I cross my arms against the gentle breeze, heading to my car. I think about the future—maybe a weekend trip to Saint Pierce, or him finding work here, or somehow forging a life that lets us close that gap. Because missing Boone like this feels raw and aching, and I can’t imagine letting it stay that way forever.

As I unlock the car and slip into the driver’s seat, I let myself smile. Even if the days are hectic and the nights are lonely, I know where my heart is leading me. And that’s back to Boone, one way or another.