Chapter 21
Vivi was starting to suspect that writing dating bios for other people was just emotional torture wrapped in flirty adjectives.
Her laptop hummed on the kitchen table, cursor blinking like it was judging her life choices—mainly the one where she'd moved to the middle of nowhere and accidentally developed feelings for a man who used the word "crick" without irony.
She tried to focus on Brad, thirty-four, investment analyst, who claimed he was "adventurous" instead of "chronically overconfident" and was the human equivalent of a navy-blue suit.
But her brain had other plans like flickering back to yesterday and to Boone—wet and bare, and looking her dead in the eye like some kind of cowboy fever dream.
It was the kind of moment no amount of martinis or expensive therapy could ever erase.
She dropped her head into her hands and groaned—god help her. She wasn't built for this. She was built for overpriced rent and subway delays, not barn dust and flannel or whatever the hell Boone was doing to her nervous system.
Vivi stared at her phone like it had suddenly turned into a live grenade—and pulled up Glow for moral support.
"Hey, Glow," she said into her phone. "Can you—"
Delete.
"Hey Glow, I need advice about—"
Delete.
"Glow. So… um…"
And…delete.
Nothing sounded sane or normal. And nothing could possibly capture the sheer disaster of accidentally walking in on Boone with his dick in his hands and her panties wrapped around him like a vice.
How do you even start to explain that away?
"Glow, what is today's Glow Up exercise?" she finally asked.
"Today's exercise is: Shake It Off. Dance like no one's watching while having your shake-it-off moment."
Vivi considered asking if there was another option, then decided this was her moment to let go and burn off some steam. Without further hesitation she pulled up the song on her phone, shoved her chair back, and went full Taylor Swift mode— twirling and dancing like the floor was on fire.
Her arms waved in the air, her hips swished, and her voice hit every note like she was headlining Madison Square Garden while having her Shake it Off moment.
Boone was naked yesterday. Completely, ridiculously, painfully naked. So what? I am a grown-ass woman. I remain unshaken.
She jabbed a finger at the ceiling, imagining she could punch all her brain's dirty thoughts straight out of existence.
For dramatic effect, she climbed onto the table, striking a triumphant pose like some unhinged cabaret star.
She spun, did a little dance move, and nearly toppled a stack of paint chips.
She was mid-hair flip when the door swung open.
"Okay, now I'm wondering if the Taylor Swift thing comes with a warning label," he said, laughing.
Vivi froze, then snorted—half laughing, half trying to hide her blush. "It does not, but clearly it should."
Boone pushed through the doorway and moseyed over, and there was nothing casual about the deliberate way he moved—like a man who'd already made a decision and was taking his time getting there. His hands wrapped around her hips, nearly spanning her entire waist.
"Alright, pop star," he said, voice low. "Time to get down before someone calls the fire department."
Vivi's heart did a full somersault as he guided her down, letting her body slide slowly against his like the world had condensed into the space between them. Something chemical and hormonal ignited in her chest, her stomach, and her knees—all at once.
He didn't let go right away. His hands stayed at her waist, thumbs tracing an idle, devastating arc against her hip bones, and his gaze dropped to her face with the kind of quiet focus that made her feel studied, like he was piecing her together one detail at a time.
It also made her feel seen, like really seen for exactly who she was—crazy parts and all.
"You've been avoiding me," he said.
"I didn't know what to say. Or how to act," she admitted, fumbling with the words like a complete mess.
Boone's mouth curved—not a full smile but something more contained than that. "You're a disaster," he murmured, voice low and unhurried. "And I kind of love it."
He leaned just a little closer, enough that she could feel the heat of the summer’s day radiating off him.
He wore his usual work clothes—faded jeans slung low on his hips, a well-worn , cotton tee that clung to every sharp line of his chest. Sunlight slanting through the window hit him just right, catching the angles of his jaw and the careless fall of his hair.
He had that calm, dangerous energy that made her stomach tighten, her pulse spike, and her brain short-circuit.
She felt exposed and alive all at once—a dizzying cocktail of frustration, longing, and something deliciously reckless.
His voice dropped, brushing against her ear. "You don't have to hide from me."
"I'm not hiding," she said, though her voice wobbled. "I'm trying to act normal, which clearly isn't working."
"Normal?" His mouth twitched. "You're standing on a table singing Taylor Swift. I think we're past normal."
Her hands flew up, brushing her hair back like that would fix anything.
"Fine. Maybe I'm distracted. Maybe I—" She stopped herself, acutely aware of how close he was and the insane chemical reaction still roaring through her body.
She was also aware of how tender her breasts were and how her nipples were pressed against the thin lace of her bra.
Boone's gaze lowered—briefly. When his eyes came back up, they were darker than before.
"Good," he murmured. "Because I've been distracted by you too." His thumbs moved again, slow and seductive against her stomach. "Why didn't you tell me you broke up with Lewis?"
"When was I supposed to tell you? When you were yelling at me about the bunkhouse, or when you had your dick in your hand?"
One brow lifted slowly and a smirk pulled at his mouth like he was genuinely deciding if she'd just said that out loud.
"Wow. That's one way to phrase it." He let the tension hang between them like smoke. "Basically, you've been avoiding me because I'm a nightmare wrapped in leather chaps and hay?"
"Exactly," she said, voice pitched somewhere between laughter and exasperation. "You are a nightmare."
Vivi's chest heaved, every nerve in her body screaming at her to give in, to lean into the desire radiating off him and let the world fall away. His hands at her hips, his voice low and unhurried—it all made her mind go fuzzy. But she took a slow, forced breath and pushed back against the pull.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "We can't do this. I just got out of a three-year relationship. I'm not ready to jump into another one and risk someone getting hurt. I won't be the reason anyone gets hurt, least of all me."
Something in Boone's expression shifted.
The teasing in his eyes gave way to something quieter, something that made her chest ache in a different way.
He let her go—not entirely, just enough to let her breathe—but the tension didn't leave the room.
Neither did the sense that this conversation wasn't finished.
Boone dropped his hands and took a deliberate step back. Vivi immediately felt the space between them like a temperature drop. He moved to the table and looked down at the stacks of papers spread across it. "What's all of this?"
"Work," she said brightly, grateful for the subject change.
"Looks like you're building a rocket ship out of feelings and fluff." He picked up a sticky note, squinting at it. "So this is what modern matchmaking looks like? Bios and bullet points?"
"It's called client prep, Cowboy."
"You're basically polishing up a used car and hoping no one checks under the hood."
Vivi laughed. She'd known this was coming the first time he'd seen her laptop and squinted at it like it was a UFO.
She took a seat. "They're dating bios. People hire me to help them describe themselves in a way that doesn't sound like a job interview or a cry for help."
He crossed his arms. "So, lying but you make it romantic."
She looked up to glare properly and immediately regretted it because there he was—that smug, amused expression doing thoroughly ill-advised things to her stomach.
"It's not lying. It's emphasizing strengths. People undersell themselves all the time. They don't say what makes them great because they think it sounds like bragging."
"So you brag for them?"
"I tell the truth louder," she shot back.
He chuckled—that low, easy sound that somehow managed to feel like foreplay.
"To me dating seems simple enough," he said, those green eyes the exact shade of a tropical ocean—god how she loved the tropics. "You just meet someone, see if it feels right, and go from there."
"Sure," she said, tapping the laptop closed. "Because not everyone has your schedule—sunup to sundown, plenty of time to just meet someone."
Boone's gaze softened. "You help people fall in love, Vivi?"
"I help them find the courage to try."
The teasing glint in his eyes shifted into something more careful. "Try me."
"What?"
"Interview me." He pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat, resting his elbows on the table like he'd already decided how this was going to go. "Let's see how this works."
Oh no. That tone. That infuriatingly confident I-dare-you tone.
Vivi tried to play it cool, but her pulse was doing gymnastics. "You'd never hire me."
He leaned forward, just enough to close the distance without crossing it. "Guess you'll never know unless you ask."
"Okay," she said, writing his name onto a blank document like it wasn't already etched into her brain.