Chapter 20LARK #4
“He built me a tree swing once,” I say, eyes unfocused, like I’m watching it all replay. “Didn’t ask me if I wanted one. Just hung it from the biggest oak in the yard one day, like he’d decided I needed a place to fly.”
I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “And when things felt heavy—when I missed my mom or school felt like too much—he’d tell me to ‘go fly a little.’ Like that was enough to fix everything. And for a while, it was.”
I smile, even as my chest pulls tight.
“He built me blanket forts, too. Ridiculous ones. Pillows stacked like towers, chairs dragged from every room in the house. We’d camp out for hours, eating Oreos dipped in peanut butter, watching old movies like we were explorers on some great mission or something.”
When I glance up, Boone’s watching me.
His smile is quiet, soft at the corners, like he’s not just hearing the story—he’s feeling it.
“They’re probably up there now,” I say, blinking slowly to keep the tears at bay. “Him and Alice. Lane, too. Raising hell. Making pancakes at midnight. Painting the sky just for fun.”
Boone laughs under his breath, then laces his fingers through mine. “Hell yeah, they are.”
His fingers tighten around mine, then loosen again like he’s thinking, weighing something before he speaks. His thumb brushes along the back of my hand and I can feel the shift in him before the words come .
“It’s still weird,” he says quietly, his gaze somewhere over my shoulder, like he’s not really talking to me so much as letting the words out. “Running the ranch without him.”
I stay quiet, letting him have the space.
“I didn’t get it before,” he continues, his voice lower now, almost like a confession.
“What it took to run this place. It’s not just riding fences and checking the herd—it’s balancing payroll, fixing busted equipment, making calls when shit goes sideways and everyone’s looking at you for answers.
” He exhales slowly, the sound stretching between us.
“I used to think he was just…tough on me. Thought he was trying to push me. But now I see it. The pressure of making sure it all stays standing.”
He shifts slightly, his arm curling around me a little tighter, like the words brought something up in him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with.
“Between the two of us,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a breath as he glances down at me, “we’ve lost a lot of good people.”
I nod, the truth of it settling in the air, warm and heavy. “We have.” Then I tilt my head, meeting his eyes. “But it’s kind of a privilege, don’t you think? To get to know and love people who are so easy to miss when they’re gone.”
Boone presses a kiss to the top of my head, his lips lingering for a beat, warm against my hair. “Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice rough at the edges in a way that feels real. “It is.”
I shift then, sitting up just enough to look at him, my hand still resting on his chest. His eyes meet mine, curious.
“So…what does this mean for us now?” I ask, motioning around the room—the bed, the plates, the way we’re tangled up in each other like it’s always been this way.
Boone’s brow lifts just slightly. “What does what mean?”
“This,” I say, gesturing between us, my hand sweeping the air before landing on his arm. “You and me. Us. Are we…like, are we boyfriend and girlfriend now? Or what?”
His lips part like he’s going to respond, but then a laugh pushes out of him instead like I’ve caught him completely off guard.
I laugh too, because I know how it sounds. “What? There’s a twelve-year-old involved! He’s gonna ask, and I’d like to have a solid answer.”
Boone leans in, his eyes soft but glinting with something else, something playful and sure. “Yeah, you’re my girlfriend,” he says, like it’s the easiest truth in the world. “You’ve always been my girl, Lark.”
The words land somewhere deep in me and I grin. “Well, look at you. Officially upgraded from baby daddy status.”
Boone’s mouth tips up, eyes on mine as he leans in. “Good. Been wanting to be more than just your baby daddy for a long time.”
I lean in and kiss him, letting it linger just long enough to feel his breath hitch beneath me. His hands slip down to my waist and in one easy motion, he pulls me into his lap, my legs straddling his hips, the blanket getting lost somewhere in the shuffle.
And for once, it all feels easy.
Like maybe we’re not fixing the past.
Just building something new on top of it.
His hands rest at my lower back, strong and sure, fingertips dipping beneath the hem of the borrowed shirt I’m still wearing. His thumbs move in slow, absent circles, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like touching me is just a habit now, one his body isn’t willing to break.
I shift on top of him, adjusting my hips without thinking—and I feel him, thick and hard beneath the worn cotton of his sweatpants. The quiet sound he makes is pure sin, something raw and low that vibrates right through me. My stomach tightens. Every inch of me goes tight and aching and aware.
His eyes meet mine, dark and unguarded.
“I love you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s never not been true.
I don’t have to think. Not even for a second.
“I love you too,” I whisper, brushing my fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, tracing the edge of his stubble like I’ve said it a hundred times, even if this is the first time I’ve said it out loud in twelve years .
He leans up to kiss me but I pull back at the last second, biting back a smile as I press my hand to his chest.
“Dinner first,” I say, lips curving.
He groans like I’ve just broken something inside him, dropping his head back against the headboard with the most dramatic sigh I’ve ever heard. “Cruel.”
I laugh as I roll off of him and grab the laptop from the nightstand. “You’ll live.”
“Barely.”
I pull up the movie I’d already queued, tilting the screen so he can see. “This feel familiar?”
He glances over, then lets a laugh that’s half affection, half disbelief. “You picked this?”
“Tradition is tradition,” I say, clicking play before he can argue. “And besides, it means I get to pretend I’m not distracted by the fact that you’re very naked under those pants.”
He turns his head toward me, his brow raised. “You’re the one who said dinner first.”
I lift a shoulder. “I’m a complicated woman.”
He slides his hands higher under the shirt, fingertips brushing bare skin, and I shiver.
“You’re lucky I’m a patient man,” he says, voice rough now, but quiet, like he knows we have all night.
He tugs the blanket up around us, one arm staying wrapped around my waist. His other hand finds mine, threading our fingers together under the covers like it’s just what we do now.
It’s strange—the way time folds in on itself like this.
The way some things change so completely, you barely recognize them, and others…stay. Like the weight of his hand around mine. The sound of his laugh when it’s real. The feeling I get right now, here with him—so familiar it almost hurts.
We’re older now. Different. Bruised in places we never used to be.
But there’s a movie playing we’ve seen a hundred times before, and his shoulder is warm against mine, and for a second—just one—it feels like we never left this. Like all the years we lost somehow brought us right back here.
Back to each other.