Chapter 5
Boone
Dinner is simple—canned soup, crackers, and whatever else I could scrounge together from the pantry. It’s not much, but I’m not about to win any culinary awards. Aubree picks at her food, eating just enough to keep from being rude, but I can tell she’s not exactly hungry. She’s got too much on her mind, and I get it. I’ve been doing this long enough to recognize the signs of someone pretending they’re fine when they’re really not.
She’s pretty, though. That’s the first thing I notice. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think it when I first saw her. But sitting across from her now, watching her auburn hair fall around her face in soft waves, the way her eyes flicker with everything she’s thinking—well, I can’t help but take it in. She’s got this natural beauty about her, the kind that doesn’t scream for attention, but demands it all the same.
Her eyes are dark, maybe brown, but there’s something else in them too. Something guarded. Maybe it’s because of everything she’s been through today. Or maybe it’s just who she is. Her lips are full, soft, and the way she bites the edge of them when she’s nervous is enough to make me forget that I’m supposed to be her protector and not... whatever else.
But I can’t afford to think like that.
I force myself to focus on the task at hand. She’s my responsibility right now. Nothing more.
“So, what’s the plan tomorrow?” she asks, leaning back slightly in her chair, her voice soft but inquisitive.
I think about the security measures I’ll need to put in place, making sure she’s safe, but I don’t go into the details with her. I don’t want to worry her any more than she already is. “We’ll keep things low-key for now. Stay here. I’ll make sure the perimeter’s tight, and we’ll go from there.”
She nods, then looks down at her bowl, like she’s processing what that might mean for her future. She probably never thought her life would go from pizza shop owner to running from threats and hiding in a cabin with a bodyguard. It’s a hell of a transition, and I wish I could tell her it’s going to be over soon. But I don’t know that.
After dinner, I clear the dishes and place them in the sink, watching her quietly as she picks at the last few pieces of food. She’s exhausted, I can see that much.
I pause for a second, then decide to keep it simple. “I’ll show you to your room. It’s right down the hall.”
She looks up at me, a hint of relief in her eyes. “Thanks.”
I lead her down the short hallway, opening the door to a modest guest room. A single bed, a small dresser, a few landscaping photos on the wall. Nothing fancy, but it’s comfortable.
“The bathroom’s right across the hall,” I say, pointing to the door at the end of the hallway. “If you need anything, just yell. I’m right down the hall.”
She smiles weakly, her shoulders sagging. “Thanks, Boone.” Her voice is quieter now, like she’s trying to reassure herself as much as me.
I give her a small nod, then back out of the room. “I’ll leave you to it. Get some rest.”
I close the door behind me, my footsteps echoing softly down the hallway as I return to my own room. I need sleep too, and it’s been a long day.
I get ready for bed, my mind racing. It’s hard to ignore the way she looked at me earlier, that quiet vulnerability in her eyes. It’s hard to ignore the way I felt when I saw her sitting there at dinner, looking so damn beautiful despite the chaos around her. But I push all that aside, reminding myself that my job isn’t to get involved. It’s to protect her.
I lie down on the bed, my eyes closing as I try to drift off, but the quiet of the cabin is louder than I expect. My thoughts circle around, replaying every moment from the past few hours. I tell myself I’m just doing my job. Nothing more.
But somewhere in the middle of the night, I’m pulled from sleep by the softest sound—a creak of the floorboards, a faint rustling. I sit up quickly, instincts kicking in, but then I hear it. Her voice, low and almost hesitant.
“Boone?”
I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest. The door to my room slowly creaks open, and there she is. Aubree. Standing there, her expression torn, unsure. She’s dressed in a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, her hair falling in messy waves around her shoulders.
“I... I’m sorry,” she whispers, biting her lip. “I just... I don’t know why, but I couldn’t sleep. I feel safer here. With you.”
She looks vulnerable—smaller, more fragile than she did earlier in the evening. The soft glow of moonlight coming through the window catches the curve of her cheek, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
I don’t know what to say at first. There’s a part of me that wants to tell her everything will be okay, but I’m not sure that’s the truth. I’m not sure about anything right now.
“Come here,” I finally say, my voice softer than I intend. “It’s all right.”
She steps into the room, hesitating only for a second before sitting on the edge of my bed, her hands clutching the hem of her T-shirt. I move over, making space for her, trying to keep it casual. But even I know that nothing about this is casual. Nothing about this is easy.
She’s just scared. That’s all this is.
I’m just here to protect her.
She shifts a little, inching closer, until she’s lying next to me, her head resting on the pillow. I can feel her warmth next to me, her breathing steady and even. I try not to think about how she smells—how soft her skin looks in the dim light.
For a moment, everything’s still. I can hear the wind rustling outside, the distant sounds of the night. And for the first time in hours, I finally feel like I can breathe.
She shifts again, pulling the covers up around her, her hand brushing against mine.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, the words barely audible, and I nod in the dark, my heart still racing. “I feel better.”
I don’t know how to respond. So I don’t. Instead, I stay as still as I can, trying to ignore the fact that she’s lying next to me, trusting me in a way that feels... wrong. But at the same time, it feels right.
The air is thick with tension, and I can feel her warmth seeping into me. I’m here to do my job, and that’s all. But for now, I’ll let her sleep. Let her feel safe, at least for one night.
Tomorrow is another day.