5. Caroline
Chapter Five
CAROLINE
I'm a little embarrassed about my meltdown over my car. Fortunately, Boone doesn't seem to mind.
After a few minutes, Boone emerges from the house again. He's got a shirt and jacket on now, as well as shoes. And even though his hair is still a bit damp, he looks ready to go.
He locks the front door with the spare key I gave him and then turns to smile at me from the porch.
I flush and turn my attention back to the boxes in my car, trying desperately to ignore the desire twisting up inside me.
It's only been a few days since he started staying with me, but everything feels so...right.
Every morning, he greets me with a soft kiss and a plate of perfectly cooked breakfast. He drives me to work, his strong hand on mine as we navigate the morning traffic. And every evening, we cook dinner together, laughter and easy conversation filling my previously quiet kitchen.
For the first time in a long time, my house feels like a home.
It's not just the physical presence of Boone that's brought this change, it's the care he showers on me, the way he looks at me like I'm the only woman in the world. It feels like we could be a real family. And even though that thought is scary, it's also really exciting.
I love our routine, and I find myself hoping, more than anything, that it's a routine we can keep.
Boone's truck is enormous, much bigger than my Buick. While we can fit both cars in the front driveway, his easily takes up two-thirds of it, dwarfing my car completely.
As I finish adjusting the boxes in the back of the truck, I walk around it to find him leaning in across the passenger's seat. That's when I realize that he's adjusting a blanket he's laid out across it, smoothing out every wrinkle and picking away every bit of lint.
He catches me watching him, but he doesn't say anything about the blanket.
"Hop in when you're ready, baby," he says instead before heading back to shut the trunk.
I climb up into his truck and sit down on the blanket. It's incredibly soft. Did he put this here just for me?
He climbs into the driver's seat beside me, and soon after, we're off. He asks me for directions to the nursing home, and I point him to where he needs to go.
Once on the main road, we sit in silence for a while in the long stretch between turns.
I watch my town pass us by. Flashes of places and people I've known my whole life. Cooper Hills is as familiar to me as my own body is.
I peek over at Boone, wondering what he thinks about my hometown. He keeps his eyes firmly on the road as he drives, not even letting himself glance at the businesses and homes we're passing.
"So," I say hesitantly, "how do you like Cooper Hills?"
He blinks and takes his eyes off the road for a moment to look out the window. "It's nice," he says. "It's different than back in Texas. But I think that's what I like most about it."
"How is it different?" I ask.
Boone shrugs. "I'm from Barton Beach, which is a small town by Texas standards. But it's still busy. And there's always something going on. But out here, it's peaceful. Quiet. It's nice."
"You're right. Things probably are different on the mountain," I tease with a little snort. "It's amazing my brothers can run a relaxing retreat at all with their amount of energy. But obviously, they're great at it. So, what do I know?"
"You know a lot, Caroline. You've been a great hostess."
As I watch him, I notice something change about Boone's expression. He's not a very vocal man, and he's definitely not the most visually expressive person I've ever met. But still, something about him has shifted.
And when he turns his head to look briefly into my eyes, I think I figure out what the change is. He's gotten more… pensive about something. Admiring it.
If I had to guess, that something is me.
I feel a blush creeping up my neck again, but I do my best to hold it back until he turns away.
"Thank you," I say before biting my lip and looking back out the window. He's rattled me again. Even when he looks at me, I feel all shaken up inside. "I guess it runs in the family. Maybe I should have gone into the resort business with them. I certainly could make more money that way."
"But that's not what you want," he says matter-of-factly.
Blinking in confusion, I turn to peer at him again. "What do you mean?"
"I meant that it's not your passion," he says. "Over the past few days, I've seen what you like doing. You like to get close to your customers. Your style is more… intimate."
"I guess you're right about that," I say, curious how he figured all this out about me.
Was he really watching me that closely at the café?
"I do like working directly with people. Getting to know them. I guess that's one of the reasons I've stayed at the cafe for so long. Longer than I probably should have."
"When did you start working there?"
"Twenty-five years ago. I was seventeen." I pause for a moment as I'm reminded of what a big chunk of my life that is. "It's my first and only job."
"And you got your car eighteen years ago."
I peer at him across the car. For the first time today, he gives me a cheeky smirk.
"How could you possibly know that?" I ask.
Boone shrugs. "I know a few things about your Buick. Years ago, I used to volunteer for a local mechanic's shop between deployments. One of the regular customers had a car just like it. We kept telling him to just get rid of it, but he never did. It was his wife's before she passed away."
I bite my lip. "My car has a… similar story."
Boone reaches across the center console and laces his fingers through mine. "I know it does, baby."
We're quiet again as we wait for the light to change. But despite the awkwardness, I'm actually surprised by how warm I feel inside.
"I've always loved crafting," I say, trying to ignite the conversation again. "But that's not a full-time gig. Even if I sometimes wish it was."
"Would you ever want to do it full-time?" He asks.
I look back out the window, trying to come up with a good answer. For some reason, his opinion means a lot to me.
Since I started getting more into crafting, I've daydreamed a lot about opening my own shop. Taking commissions. Making it my one and only job.
But as a chronic creature of habit, imagining making a big change like that brings back that old familiar sense of worry.
As we pass by the old movie theater, there's a momentary gap between the buildings. And through the gap, I can see for miles.
Snow has settled over the town, clinging to every rooftop and public bench like a glaze on a donut. Gutters and front doors are decorated with garlands of fake pine, and some places even have little holiday trees or Santa Claus displays by their front doors.
It's just like looking at a Christmas card with the mountain in the distance.
Why would I ever want anything to change?
Even if I wanted to make these big changes, it's much easier said than done.
"I don't know if I can," I admit to Boone. "I've thought about focusing more on the crafts, but it always just sounded silly."
"It's not silly," Boone says. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he's entirely serious.
He's not just saying it to be nice. He believes every word he's saying.
"Callum told me what you did for the lodge," he continues. "He showed me pictures of it. It's beautiful."
"That's very sweet of you, Boone." A wide smile tugs at my blushing cheeks. "I put a lot of work into the lodge."
"It's not just the lodge, Caroline. Your dining room and living room are amazing, too. Not to mention what I saw in those boxes in the back. You're an artist."
There's no way I'm holding back my blush this time. It rages, burning my face like a powerful fever. "Well… thank you, Boone."
When I decorate something, even on that big of a scale, I feel a kind of peace within myself that I never feel anywhere else. It's like eating your favorite food that you haven't had in years.
Or drinking water for the first time after a long, brutally hot day.
I love it.
I glance at Boone again. That chiseled face, those wonderful eyes, and the chest I now know is hidden just beneath that jacket. That fantastic, warm, strong chest.
He makes me feel the same way. My first taste of my favorite food in years. A refreshing drink of water.
But just like my crafts store, I can't pursue him. I've been hurt by change before. And I don't want to love something just to lose it again.
By the time we pull up outside the nursing home, the snow has started to fall again.
Boone helps me gather the boxes out of the truck, handing the lightest one to me and keeping the heavier two for himself. And then we run them into the building to avoid getting too much snow on them.
As we step into the lobby, the receptionist looks up from her desk to greet us. She must be a very recent new hire because I don't recognize her. She's young, most likely in her early twenties, with glossy red hair and long fake eyelashes.
"Hello," she says. And even though she's wearing a smile, there's still a hint of nerves behind her eyes. She's definitely new to the job. "Are you here to visit someone?"
"We're here to drop off some gifts for the residents. I'm friends with Maggie, the facility coordinator. She didn't tell you I would be coming by?"
"No, she didn't tell me about you," she says, frowning. Behind her eyes, I can see her wheels turning. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can let you in unless you're related to one of the residents here. Are you?"
"N-no, but—"
The receptionist shakes her head, her red hair swishing from side to side. "Then I'm sorry, but it's our policy. I can't let you—"
But before the new receptionist can turn us down, a man's voice hollers jovially through the room.
"Don't keep the nice lady waiting," he says. "Caroline's our little Christmas angel. In my mind, she's everyone's family."
Turning around, I see Maggie walking into the room, a broad smile on her round face as she pushes a man in a wheelchair.
It's Bobby, Penny's father.
Returning their smiles, I set my box of things down on the floor and dash over to hug them both.
I've known Maggie for as long as I've been bringing crafts down to the nursing home. As the facility coordinator, it's her job to keep all the residents in fine health and good spirits. And because of her natural kindness, that has been as easy for her as breathing.
I see Bobby more often. He's gone to all of my brothers' weddings, and at least once a month, I help Penny bring a new pile of books to the home for him to read.
Bobby hasn't had the easiest life. He's not as old as the other residents in the nursing home—a young and dashing seventy-two, while everyone else is easily in their eighties and nineties. But years of chronic illness have left him confined to a wheelchair, and instead of living with Penny, he made the decision three years ago to move into the home to give her some space.
"This is Caroline Walker-Wells," Maggie says patiently to the new receptionist. "She's a good friend. She's always allowed in."
The receptionist glances at Boone. "What about him?"
"He's with Caroline," Bobby says simply, waving his hand as if he's smacking her question away. "What does it matter?"
I blush at the implication of what he's just said. Did he just imply that Boone and I are a couple? But I don't correct him. If I do, the receptionist won't let Boone into the building.
So, I ignore the small fib (and the delicious tingle it gives me to picture a man like Boone being with me). I pick up my box again and let Bobby and Maggie lead us further into the facility.
The residents all wander in once word spreads about our arrival. As Maggie brings over some wooden stools for me and Boone to sit on, I tell Bobby about Sophia and Colt's pregnancy announcement the other night.
"That's fantastic," he says, grinning. "Hopefully, my pretty Penny won't be too far behind in giving Ford a brother or sister." The thought of more grandchildren makes him so giddy that his hands start to shake.
"Don't overwork yourself, Bob," Maggie says sweetly, laying a blanket over his lap and tucking him in. "Save up your energy for the class."
While the gifts are doled out to everyone, Maggie tells me all about what's happened since I last visited. Together, we celebrate the big birthdays and the new residents that have entered the home, and we quietly mourn the passing of others.
All the while, Boone sits on his stool with a gaggle of old ladies around him, sizing him up and giggling over everything he does. Every time I allow myself a peek at him, I struggle to hold back my laugh.
"It's just wonderful to have a strong young man around here again," one of the old women says to another. I remember from my last visit that her name is Eileen.
Bobby huffs playfully at this. "What are you talking about? I'm right here."
He flexes one of his thin arms, and the old women cackle again.
Turning back to Boone, Eileen asks, "Are you any good with electronics? My TV has been acting up, and no one can seem to figure it out."
"Sure," Boone says. "I can take a look at it."
I have to put my hand over my mouth to hold my own laughter in.
Suddenly, I feel a tapping on my arm. I turn to find Maggie wiggling her eyebrows at me.
"What?" I ask.
Leaning in close, she lowers her voice. "You seem to like him a lot," she says. "Who is this friend of yours again?"
My cheeks burn. This amount of blushing can't be good for me.
"Boone Pierce," I whisper back. "He's friends with Callum. He's just staying at my house for a few days."
"Well, Doris and Eileen aren't letting him go anywhere soon," she says, peering at the two older women as they squeeze Boone's flexed biceps. "Maybe you'd like to stay a little longer? We're about to run a cookie decorating class for the seniors."
"And me," Bobby corrects.
Maggie chuckles. "Of course, Bobby. Everyone is welcome. Would you and Boone like to join us?"
I open my mouth to politely decline. But before I can form a single word, I hear Boone say, "Sure, that sounds like a lot of fun."
Turning to look at him again, I watch all the old women swoon and giggle.
I didn't even know he'd been listening.
His eyes meet mine, and he gives me a playful smirk.
My heart warms again at the sight of him. And it's that expression that makes me say, "Alright. Sure. Let's do it."