6. Boone
6
BOONE
I spend the next day roaming the woods, waiting for Rosalie to finish up at the candy store. Usually, I feel at peace in the forest, but not today. All I can think about is my beautiful, fake girlfriend. She has completely taken over my life, my thoughts—every waking moment is spent thinking about her, and I don’t want to dwell on what that might mean.
Yesterday was tough. I’ve never lied to my grandpa before, and roping Rosalie into my deception felt pretty shitty. But she was perfect. When I wrapped my arm around her, she softened against me, and I swear I can still feel the warmth of her body against mine, even as I trek through the frozen woodland on this snowy February afternoon.
Goddammit, this is already getting complicated.
I was na?ve to think this would be simple, but there’s no backing out now. I need that inheritance. Not just for myself, but for Rosalie. Hell, it’s crazy, but sometimes I feel like I care more about her dreams than my own. I want to save her candy store just as much as I want to expand my business, and if lying to Pops is what it takes, then that’s what I’ll do.
It’s a long day without Rosalie, but she finally arrives in the evening with a bulging suitcase and a bright smile. I hurry to greet her, carrying her stuff into the cabin as she follows behind, thanking me in that sweet little voice.
“There’s a chicken pot pie in the oven,” I tell her once I’ve stowed her luggage in the guestroom, “and a strawberry cheesecake for dessert.”
“Sounds awesome.” She grins at me, her pretty face lighting up. “I hope you like candy because I brought a lot. Chocolate, too. I never go anywhere without a big supply of both.”
“Smart woman.”
I set the table, stealing glances at Rosalie as she sits down. She looks more gorgeous than ever today—her pink hair is tied back in a messy bun, and her curves look sexy as hell in blue jeans and an oversized cream sweater.
Fuck, why did I have to choose the most beautiful woman in the world to be my fake girlfriend?
I serve dinner, and Rosalie hums with appreciation as we tuck into our pie.
“This is awesome. Did you make it from scratch?”
I nod. “Grandma’s recipe. She sure knew how to cook.”
“It’s delicious.”
As we eat, I pour myself a whiskey and ask Rosalie about her day at the candy store, listening with interest as she recounts everything that happened. Hell, I could listen to her read out a damn shopping list, and I’d be hooked. She asks about my day in the forest, and I talk about the trees I felled, the firewood I chopped. There’s not much to tell, but she hangs onto every word like she’s fascinated.
“Did you always know you wanted to be a lumberjack?” she asks.
“Pretty much. Everyone thought I’d go into real estate and make a killing like my grandparents, but I knew it wasn’t for me. I wanted to do something outside, in the open air.”
Rosalie smiles. “It must be very freeing to spend all your time in the woods. I can’t imagine you doing anything else.”
“What about you?” I ask, taking a sip of whiskey. “Did you always want to own a candy store?”
Rosalie is quiet for a few moments, like she’s debating what to tell me. Her eyes darken, a shadow passing across her face, and I set my tumbler down, watching her.
“The candy store wasn’t my dream,” she says eventually. “It was my mom’s. We opened it together when we moved to Hope Peak.”
A million questions whirl through my mind, but I don’t want to push Rosalie too far. She looks like she’s seconds from breaking down, and I reach out to grab her hand, rubbing my thumb against her soft skin.
“My mom…” Rosalie says, her voice catching. “She passed away in a car accident, just a couple of months after we opened the store.”
“Fuck.” I squeeze her hand, my stomach twisting. “I’m sorry, Rosalie. That’s awful.”
She nods, pressing her lips together. “I’ve had four years to process it, but it’s still hard. That’s why I’m so desperate to save Peak Sweets. It was Mom’s dream, and over time, it became my dream too.” She gives me a watery smile. “It might seem stupid to be so passionate about candy—but it brings so much joy. It’s a bright spot for people. Heck, I know chocolate has gotten me through some really tough times.”
“It’s not stupid at all. You’ve found your passion, and that’s awesome.” I feel a rush of admiration for her as I add, “You’ve done a great job of keeping the place going all by yourself. Can’t have been easy.”
Rosalie chuckles despite the tears in her eyes. “It’s been a learning curve, that’s for sure. But lately I feel like I’ve finally got things figured out. That’s why I’ll do anything to save it. Even…”
“Even fake dating a grumpy lumberjack?” I finish for her.
She grins at me. “Yep. Even that.”
There’s a lull in the conversation as I bring out the strawberry cheesecake, but I can’t help watching Rosalie, thinking over everything she just said. Hearing her story has sparked something inside me—the same protectiveness I felt when I saw her crying the day we met. I want to take care of her, keep her safe, and I’m relieved that she’s here in my cabin where I can look after her. I want her to stay with me for as long as possible.
It’s not a feeling I’m used to.
Usually, I keep people at arm’s length, never inviting anybody into my life except my closest family. Hell, even with them, I still need space. But it’s different with Rosalie. Instead of counting down the minutes until I can be alone again, I’m dreading the moment she leaves. Once Grandpa is convinced, I’ll get my inheritance and pay for Rosalie’s building. Then we’ll go our separate ways. A fake break-up to end our fake relationship for good.
I should be looking forward to getting my life back to normal, but I’m not.
Fuck, I need to get these crazy feelings under control.
All this sentimental crap is stupid. Illogical. It’s not who I am.
“Can I ask you something?” Rosalie says, pulling me back to reality.
“Sure.”
“It’s about something you said before.” She cocks her head at me. “You said you don’t believe in love or happy endings, but you never explained why. I’m still having a hard time understanding it.”
I finish my bite of cheesecake and set down my fork, meeting her gaze. “I’ll tell you, but you’re going to think I’m a miserable grump. Hell, you probably already do. But the truth is, I’ve seen too many relationships end in heartbreak to believe in love.”
Rosalie frowns. “I thought you said you’d never been in a relationship?”
“I haven’t. But I’ve seen enough of them to get the idea. Believe it or not, I come from a big family. Moved out here to be closer to my grandparents, but there are lots of us Mercers back in Idaho—cousins, siblings, aunts and uncles, you name it. I’ve been to a lot of weddings in my time, let me tell you.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Want to guess how many of them have lasted?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She contemplates me. “Maybe half?”
“Two marriages. Out of God knows how many. And those two couples aren’t even that happy. Wouldn’t be surprised if there were another couple of divorces on the horizon.” I take another sip of whiskey, shaking my head. “It always ends in heartbreak.”
Rosalie is quiet for a few moments, nibbling at her bottom lip. “What about your grandparents? It sounds like they were the real deal.”
“Yeah, they were.” I swallow hard. “Their marriage ended in a different kind of heartbreak when Grandma died. Like I said, it always ends in heartbreak one way or another.”
“I guess,” Rosalie says reluctantly. “But I bet if you asked your grandpa, he’d say the heartbreak was worth it for all the years he got to spend with her.”
I can’t argue with that. My grandparents were crazy about each other their whole lives, and I’m sure Pops wouldn’t change a thing about their marriage.
“They were the exception,” I say. “Not the rule.”
“Still, you have to admit true love exists.” Rosalie tilts her chin, looking triumphant. “Your grandparents are the proof.”
“I guess in very rare cases, true love might exist. Emphasis on the word might.”
“Better than nothing,” Rosalie says brightly. “I’ll make a believer out of you yet. At this rate, you’ll be a hopeless romantic by Valentine’s Day.”
I can’t resist smiling at the satisfaction on her face. She’s so damn cute. There’s a smudge of strawberry sauce on her cheek, and I reach out to brush it away, my fingers burning when I touch her soft skin. Our eyes meet, my heart thumping as I say, “You had a little something…”
She nods, blinking at me. “Thanks.”
My gaze flickers to her lips, pink and plump, and I feel my cock twitch beneath my jeans.
Fuck, I want to kiss her so badly.
It’s so easy to feel like this is real—like Rosalie is really my girlfriend, here to spend the night at my cabin. Hell, taking this curvy beauty to bed with me is all I want right now. I want to kiss her, taste her, feel those thick curves. It’s torture to be this close without touching her, and my desires are getting harder to ignore with every passing second.
It’s not real, you idiot.
None of this is real.
She doesn’t want you; she just wants to save her store.
That’s all this is. Get a fucking grip.
I force myself to clear the plates, breaking eye contact with Rosalie and disappearing into the kitchen, where I take a few deep breaths and splash some cold water on my face. Once I’m calmer, I head back into the living room, trying not to look at Rosalie. After a few minutes of strained silence, she suggests we put on a movie, and I do as she asks, keeping to my half of the couch.
The movie is a rom-com, and I don’t take in a single thing that happens. I spend the whole time thinking about the beautiful girl sitting next to me, forcing myself not to stare at her, keeping my leg from brushing against hers. I need to remind myself of what’s real. We only need to pretend when Grandpa is here to see us. In the meantime, I need to remember what we really are: not a couple, just two strangers pretending to date for their own reasons.
When the movie finally ends, I show Rosalie to the guest bedroom.
“This is perfect,” she says as she looks around the cozy room, with its fresh sheets and warm fireplace. “Thanks, Boone.”
“Don’t mention it.”
We say our goodnights and I shut myself in my room. Once I’m in bed, I run a hand over my face with a groan, thinking about Rosalie—her soft curves, the pretty lines of her face, her big brown eyes. Knowing she’s so close to me sets my skin on fire, my cock aching with need as I stare at the ceiling, waiting for sleep. It won’t come. My mind is racing, running over every moment of my evening with Rosalie. Every smile, every laugh. And as I picture her face lighting up, her eyes sparkling, I can’t help wishing I could believe in happy endings after all.