Page 78 of The Games We Play
Boone pulled out a chair from the small kitchen table and dropped into it like he owned the place. I followed and flopped into the seat across from him, my legs stretching out under the table.
“So how’s it going? The whole taking over the ranch thing?” I asked.
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. “Good. I’m liking it. It’s a lot, but it feels right.”
Boone had officially taken the reins from his dad, giving his parents the freedom to finally enjoy some rest. His mom stepped away from teaching, and they’d been off doing the retirement dream thing—this weekend, it was a road trip in their new RV to some lakeside campground a few states over, right on time for Mother’s Day.
A brief ache stirred in my chest, sharp and familiar, but it faded as quickly as it came. It always did.
“I’m glad it’s working out,” I said, meaning it.
Boone leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to talk about last night.” His smirk deepened. “What happened with Penny?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Not much.”
Boone rolled his eyes like I was giving him nothing, which, in all fairness, I kind of was. “Seriously? She stayed behind. I thought for sure I’d be driving all three of them home, playing chauffeur.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I asked her to stay on a whim, and she said yes.”
It wasn’t some grand plan. It was instinct. A last-second choice I wasn’t sure she’d go for, but she had. Those stolen hours with her, just the two of us, had been everything. Quiet. Easy. Familiar.
“It’s gotta make you feel good, yeah?” Boone asked as his head tilted just enough to read me.
A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, and I shrugged, trying not to let too much show. “I guess it did.”
“What’s next on your list of ways to win her back?” Boone asked.
I let out a heavy breath. I was always looking, searching for some spark of inspiration. And today, finally, it struck.
“I’m planning to make a few drinks at the bar,” I said, watching his reaction. “Name them after her. Subtle stuff, things only she’d pick up on. Kind of like a secret code.”
Boone arched a brow, curious now.
“I wanna pull ingredients from memories we’ve made, her favorite liquors, the flavors she’d always gravitate toward. Then give them names only she’d understand. It’s not some big public declaration, but it’s personal. It shows her I remember.”
It felt like the perfect in-between with just enough to say,I still see you,without screaming it to the whole damn town.
If I thought she’d be okay with it, I’d climb on top of the bar and shout to the world how gone I am for her. But that might be… premature.
Boone gave a small nod, pressing his lips into a line like he approved, though something in his eyes flickered with caution.
Still, the question buzzed in my brain like static. Would this be enough? Would she see what I was trying to do?
If I let doubt keep steering the ship, I’d never move forward. I had to trust my gut and keep going.
“Penny’s not the kind to hold a grudge,” Boone said after a beat. “If you put in the effort, I can’t see her not giving you another shot.”
“Oh, I am putting in the effort,” I said with a huff of a laugh, and he smiled.
“I know you are.” There was a pause before he added, “Still can’t believe you were married.”
I rolled my eyes and leaned back, hands behind my head, spine cracking with the stretch. “This whole marriage thing? Needs to be behind me already. I’m so fucking tired of it being the center of every goddamn conversation.”
“Can you blame us?” Boone leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. “I find out my best friend’s been secretly married? And the woman you’re trying to get back with finds out, too?”
Groaning, I grabbed the white cigarette box, fished one out, and lit it. Inhaling deep.
“I get why it’s being talked about. Doesn’t mean it’s not frustrating as hell.”
