Chapter 8LARK #6
“Maybe,” he says finally. “I’d have to find the right person first. But if I did…” He trails off, shrugging one shoulder. “Wouldn’t be so bad.”
I take another sip of my beer, feeling the cool glass press against my lips. “Good luck finding someone to put up with your shit.”
Boone barks out a laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “Hey.”
He grins. “You used to be worse than me.”
“That’s a damn lie.”
“Uh-huh.” He leans against the railing, that teasing glint in his eyes. “Who was it that convinced me to sneak into the rodeo after hours just so we could take a midnight ride around the arena?”
I bite back a smile. “That was Wren’s idea.”
Boone scoffs. “Oh, so now you’re blaming Wren?”
We go back and forth for a moment, the conversation slipping into something familiar, something easy. I forgot how easy it was with Boone. How it had always been like this, how he was my best friend before he was ever anything else.
He tilts his head toward me. “You remember Old Faithful?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
The old house on the south end of the property. Faded blue paint, a wraparound porch that was falling apart at the seams.
Boone scratches the back of his head. “I’m fixing it up.”
I turn to him, eyes wide. “Seriously?”
He nods.
I let out a low whistle. “Well, fuck. How’s that going?”
“Haven’t started yet.” He smirks. “But I will soon.”
I shake my head, smiling. “That’s quite the project.”
“Yeah.” His voice is thoughtful. “Gonna be a long one, too.” He shifts, glancing over at me. “But I think it’ll be good. Having a place of my own outside the main house.”
There’s something quiet in the way he says it, something settled.
He pauses. “I can fix up a room for Hudson too. If he ever wants to stay over.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. I nod, swallowing. “I think he’d like that.”
Boone leans forward, resting his forearms against the railing. “He’s a good kid. You’ve done a hell of a job with him, Lark.”
The words hit harder than I expect. I stare down at my beer, tracing the condensation with my thumb.
Boone exhales. “I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you. Twelve years, doing it all on your own. The things you probably had to give up.”
Tears well up before I can stop them, blurring the edges of my vision. It hits me all at once—being back here, Boone next to me, his family pulling Hudson in like he’s always been theirs. It’s a lot. Too much, maybe. It all heavy in my chest.
Boone tilts his head, watching me. “Oh shit, are you crying?”
The first tear spills before I can blink it away, and I shake my head quickly. “No.”
He laughs softly, not believing me for a second. “It’s okay to cry, you know.”
I take a shaky breath. “It’s just…nice to hear someone say that sometimes.
” I swipe the back of my hand across my cheek.
“I don’t have a lot of people close to me anymore who say things like that.
Not Alice, not my dad. Sometimes, it feels like I’m failing.
Like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough. ”
Boone turns to face me fully, brows drawing together. “Lark—”
“I mean it. Every decision feels like the wrong one. Work too much, I feel like a bad mom. Work less, I feel like I’m failing the Bluebell. If Hudson struggles with something, I wonder if it’s my fault, if I should be doing more. It’s…exhausting.”
“The fact that you even care that much? That you’re worrying about whether or not you’re doing enough?” He leans in, his voice low and steady. “That already makes you a good parent. The best.”
I shake my head, pressing my lips together.
“And for the record,” he says, “you’re not failing. Not by a long shot. ”
I wipe my face with the back of my hand. Boone shifts beside me, lifting his arm slightly—an offering.
I hesitate, just for a second. Then I move closer, and he pulls me in.
His chest is solid, the warmth of him wrapping around me. I feel the muscle beneath his shirt, the soft scrape of his scruff as he puts his chin on the top of my head. He smells like cedar and spearmint gum and something warm, like summer fields after the rain.
I close my eyes, exhaling into him.
It’s been so long since someone held me like this. Since I let someone.
Boone’s voice is quiet against my hair. “No matter what you choose to do, you’re gonna be okay, Lark. Because that’s who you are.”
I tilt my head up, narrowing my eyes. “You know that works both ways, right?”
Boone squints at me. “What does?”
“All of this,” I say, waving a vague hand between us. “The ‘figuring shit out’ part. You’ll be okay too.”
Boone lets out a low chuckle. “Wow. That’s real inspiring. You ever think about a career in motivational speaking?”
“Oh, all the time,” I deadpan. “I’m thinking of starting with a TED Talk. ‘How to Manage Your Life by Mostly Winging It and Hoping for the Best.’”
Boone grins. “I’d watch that.”
I hold up my beer between us. “To co-parenting and figuring our shit out.”
He takes the bottle from me and holds it up in his own toast. “To Hudson not needing therapy in twenty years because of us.”
I snort, grabbing it to take a sip. “Too late for that.”
Boone laughs, and before I know what’s happening, he tugs me into his side again, his arm sliding around my waist.
And I let him.