Page 237 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Yes. I’m fine. Really.”
“You’re so beautiful,” he says. “I love being this close to you. Just us. Just like this.”
I lick my lips. “Me too.”
A quiet silence falls between us. His fingers trace the side of my head. Then, as if realizing how close he still is, he starts to shift away.
He sits beside me with a faint smile. “I didn’t mean for this to turn into whatever this is.” He offers his hand and pulls me to a sitting position.
I brush some grass off my shirt. “Next time, mean it.” I meet his eyes. “Because that kind of tension deserves a solid follow-through.”
His lips slowly curl upward, and he nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
I look down at the wet stain on my shirt. “Minus the golden shower.”
He chuckles. “I’ll make it up to you. I’m sure I can find you a clean shirt.” The way he looks at me now isn’t quite like before.
There’s a new layer to it. Both of us are aware of how the playful energy has shifted into something more subtle, more real.
I smile. “I’ll hold you to that, too.”
Dogs barking and whimpering greet us as we enter the shelter, alongside a volunteer who eyes the dog pee on our shirts with a touch of sympathy, but more humor.
“I thought I was gonna be the one getting soaked today.” She tries to stay professional, but the smirk gives her away. “They love new people, but sometimes they get a little too excited.”
“Yeah.” Hart half grins at me. “She really took us by surprise.”
“She tookyouby surprise,” I whisper.
“Come on back.” The worker holds open the door to a small supply room. “We’ve got some clean shirts in the front if you want me to grab them. All donations go to the shelter.”
Hart nods without a second thought. “We’ll take two.”
I follow Hart inside, and the back room smells like wet dog and soap. It’s a small, utilitarian space with white tile floors, a sink, and a mirror above it. Shelves line one wall, holding an assortment of cleaning supplies and neatly folded towels.
The worker smiles, standing in the doorway. “Godiva and Hershey are adorable, but they really know how to leave their mark.”
“That they do.”
“They need a good amount of space to run around. You mentioned you own a ranch?”
Hart and I share a look. We had a dream ranch started at the end of our book, but we never finished it. Never had the time.
“Lots of land,” Hart answers.
Her smile widens, liking the answer. “I’ll be back with those shirts.”
She leaves us, and the room feels smaller with only the two of us.
“Last time we were together like this, I was bleeding out.” His fingers work the buttons of his flannel shirt, and my mind is struggling to concentrate on anything else.
“Hardly a scratch.” My voice is low, and I swear it cracks.
He chuckles, shrugging off the black and white shirt slowly and easily, making it impossible to look away. “You say that like you didn’t shoot me.”
My eyes flick up to his, not accusing, just remembering.
“Shoot is a strong word. It was a dart.”
