Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Delaney
Almost three weeks at Sunridge.
Long enough that the rhythms of the house feel familiar, meal times, Sadie’s school schedule, which floorboards squeak outside Boone’s room, but not long enough that my nervous system believes any of it is permanent.
Not long enough to forget Caleb’s face in the kitchen when I told him that he looked at me like he cared.
Not long enough to stop wanting to Google Marcus Hale.
So naturally, the first thing I do this afternoon is Google Marcus Hale.
Again.
And of course, there he is.
Front page of some glossy food magazine, all styled stubble and smug smirk, arms folded in that fake relaxed pose I know the PR team made him practice. Headline:
The Comeback King: Marcus Hale on Success, Scandal I have to turn sideways to slip past him, my arm brushing his chest for the briefest second.
Heat sparks along my skin, ridiculous and instant.
Focus.
He reaches up to the top shelf. When he stretches, his Henley pulls taut over his back, the fabric outlining the long lines of muscles across his shoulders, down his spine, the way his jeans sit low on his hips.
Absolutely not. Brain, we are not doing this.
He grabs something and lowers his arm.
A lunchbox.
Purple plastic, scuffed up, covered in faded stickers. Unicorns and stars and a crooked rainbow.
He glances at me, almost sheepish. “Sadie’s.”
My chest squeezes. Of course it is.
He pops the lid. Inside, instead of sandwiches and juice boxes, there’s a mess of paper. Receipts folded into tiny squares. Crumpled ticket stubs. A hospital bracelet. A napkin with a childish drawing in marker. Three stick people and a horse, labeled in wobbly letters: DAD, ME, CALEB, MOOSE.
Boone looks down at it like he’s looking into a wrecked part of his own chest. He reaches in, picks up a receipt, turns it over between his fingers.
“I say it’s practical,” he tells me slowly. “That I keep these for records, in case the accountant needs them. That this is just… overflow.”
He huffs out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but not quite. “It’s not.”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
He gestures with the lid.
“First time I took her to the fair without my dad. That one’s from the day she started kindergarten.
That hospital bracelet’s from when she fell off the jungle gym, and I thought I was going to have a heart attack.
” His thumb rubs over a movie stub. “This one’s the first movie she sat through without asking me if the characters were okay every five seconds. ”
His voice goes rough on the last word, and I feel it like sandpaper over my nerves.
“I tell myself it’s just practical. But really… I just don’t want to lose the proof that we made it through the hard days. That some of them were good. That I didn’t screw it all up.”
I stare at him, my throat burning.
It’s so… vulnerable.
I’ve never seen Boone like this. Not stoic ranch owner. Not exhausted single dad. Not gruff boss. Just… man.
A man who’s terrified of losing the tiny pieces of a life he built out of nothing.
A man who collects evidence that he’s not failing the person he loves most.
My heart twists so hard it almost hurts.
“I get sentimental things,” he continues quietly, eyes still on the lunchbox. “Even if I pretend I don’t.”
He closes the lid gently and sets it back on the shelf, fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.