Page 22 of Secret Southern Promises

There. Simple. To the point. No big deal. Just helping out an old friend.

Not even a minute went by before my phone buzzed. Boone’s reply lit up the screen.

Sounds like a date. Need my address?

A flutter of nerves danced in my stomach. Date? This wasn’t a date. This was just me showing him how to cook a chicken breast. I didn’t need his address—I already knew it, thanks to Lindsay—but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I didn’t want to look like I had been thinking too much about where he lived, even though I definitely had.

Send it to me,I texted back.

A second later, another message appeared.117 Meadow Drive.

I stared at the message for a moment, feeling a little queasy.

Okay.I typed back, trying to keep it casual.

I dropped my phone on the bedside table and let my head fall back against the pillow.

Good Lord. What had I just done?

I stared at the ceiling, mentally replaying everything that had happened since Boone walked back into my life. I’d spent years trying not to think about him, telling myself I’d moved on and that we were over. But then he showed up, all charming smiles and familiar warmth, and suddenly, all the walls I’d built started to crumble.

And now I was going to his house. Alone. At night. To teach him how to cook.

This wasn’t going to end well, was it?

I closed my eyes, hoping I would just disappear into the void and calm my racing thoughts. But my brain had other ideas. It kept looping back to Boone, to that look in his eyes when he’d asked me to come over. The way his voice softened when he talked to me, like we were still those teenagers sneaking out late at night to meet by the river.

I groaned and grabbed my phone again. Maybe I should cancel. Come up with some excuse and back out. But then what? I couldn’t keep avoiding him forever. Boone was back, and itwasn’t like we lived in some big city where we could avoid running into each other. Magnolia Grove was a small town, and avoiding Boone wasn’t realistic.

I scrolled through our text thread and re-read his message.Sounds like a date.

I knew he didn’t mean anything by it—right? Boone was just being Boone, charming and playful. That’s who he was. He didn’t see this the same way I did.

At least, I didn’t think he did.

“Ugh, get a grip, Dolly,” I muttered to myself and tossed my phone on the nightstand.

I was overthinking this. It wasn’t a date. It was just me helping an old friend. A man who didn’t know how to cook anything beyond a fried egg sandwich. A man who used to mean everything to me. A man who, if I wasn’t careful, could still turn my world upside down if I let him.

But I wouldn’t let him. Not again.

Right?

I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow. This was not how I’d pictured my Friday night going. All I wanted was a quiet weekend, a movie night with Nash, and maybe a little downtime from the store. Instead, I had just made plans to walk straight into Boone West’s kitchen and probably make a fool of myself in the process.

Why did I agree to this?

But deep down, I knew why. I always knew why when it came to Boone. I wasn’t ready to admit it yet—not even to myself—but something in me still wanted to be near him, to see him, to be a part of his life again, even if I told myself it was just about helping him with something as simple as cooking.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The problem was, the more time I spent with Boone, the more likely it would be my secret would come out.

The one I had been guarding for fifteen years.

Boone West was Nash’s dad, and the longer time marched on without either of them knowing, the more I knew it was going to hurt everyone in the end.

Dammit.

I lay there, and Boone’s words echoed in my head:Sounds like a date.

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