Page 44 of The Lies We Told Ourselves

Booker stumbled a step and then spun around, walking backward further into the house. “I’d better get you fueled up and ready for a workout then.”

Oh damn, today was going to be so much more fun than I’d woken up thinking it would be.

Why did sandwiches always taste so much better when someone else made them?

I tore another bite out of the club sandwich Booker had made and groaned in delight.

“What did you put in this?” I asked around a mouthful.

Booker sniggered. “Have you not eaten today or something?”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to look annoyed by the implication. “You’ve got a bit of mayo here,” Booker joked, swiping at the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

Well, that didn’t quite work as planned.

“I can’t help it. This is fantastic. You have a bright future as a sandwich artist.” I waved the last of my sandwich at him to prove my point before ungracefully shoving it into my mouth.

“I’ll write it on my resume in case the whole ranch thing fails,” Booker answered wryly, picking up his own sandwich and taking a bite that looked almost delicate compared to mine.

Then he did the one thing that could possibly make me fall in love with him. He lifted his plate and offered me the other half of his sandwich.

“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” I whispered, staring at my prize and licking my lips.

“That’s the saddest thing I ever heard.”

“Eh, it is what it is.” I shrugged, nodding over at the file that sat on the corner of the table. “So did you look inside?”

Booker looked at the file and then sneered as if the thing had insulted him. “Nope.”

“Are you…going to look at it?” I asked carefully.

“I suppose.” Booker leaned back in his chair and continued to glare at the file.

I’d honestly seen nothing like it. It looked like something you saw old-school PI movies using. Who had actual paper files anymore? Well, obviously, Booker’s dad, but for a guy who was apparently worth millions, he really needed to embrace the digital age.

“Do you want me to do it?” I asked.

When Booker picked it up and gave it to me, I was genuinely surprised. I hadn’t actually thought he’d want me to. I was banking on it prompting him to flip it open and look himself.

Now that it was in my hand, I didn’t really want to open it either.

“See,” he said smugly. “It’s not that easy, is it?”

Luckily for Booker, my stubbornness kicked in, and I laid the file between us, flipping it open, and reading the first page as if I was trying to prove a point. But once I looked, it was like I couldn’t look away.

Booker stood from the table, gathering our dishes and heading to the sink. I knew he needed space from the information we had, and I pulled the file in front of me as I sunk into the details.

“Can I use your laptop again?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the file as I flicked through the pages.

I heard him leave the room and then return before Booker set the laptop down next to me.

Glancing up at him, I found him watching me curiously. “It’s not that bad,” I said softly. “Do you want me to stop?”

He thought for a moment, his eyes moving to the two pages that were currently laid out in front of me.

“No.” Then Booker braced one hand on the back of my chair and the other on the table as he leaned over me and finally looked at the information his father had given him. “Does it say where he is?”

“It says where he was.” I flipped the pages back to the beginning, which contained a summary. “He moves around a lot. It looks like he spends a year at most in one place before he travels around for a couple of weeks and then settles into one location for an extended period. Probably because he got a job there. You said your grandfather left you all money. I’m assuming he gave Gage a share, too.”

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