Sadie beams at me.
“Your room’s down the hall,” Boone says.
I follow him, trying not to feel overly aware of how much space he seems to take up just by existing. Sadie rushes ahead, pointing at things like:
“That’s the squeaky floorboard, it goesreeeek.”
“And that nail looks like a unicorn horn if you squint.”
“And that’s where Daddy dropped a jar of salsa and said a bad word!”
“Sadie,” Boone warns again, more tired this time.
We stop at a door, and he gestures inside. “Here.”
I step into the room, and everything inside me settles.
It’s simple, but nice—the kind of nice that surprises you. There’s a quilt someone actually made, not bought. Soft blue walls. A freshly made bed. A dresser. A lamp. A window that looks out over endless green and sky.
It’s a place someone could stay long enough to heal without realizing they were healing.
“I… thank you.”
Boone nods once. “You can settle in tonight. We’ll go over your schedule tomorrow. Start around six.”
Six.
Hell. But at least it will be my kitchen.
“Sounds good,” I tell him.
He studies me for a moment, as if he’s making sure I won’t panic if he leaves the room. Once he’s satisfied, he taps his knuckles twice on the doorframe, probably an unconscious habit, and steps back.
“You need anything, let me know.”
Sadie waves like we’re old friends. “See you later, Miss Delaney!”
I wave back. “See ya, sweetheart.”
Then they’re gone.
And I’m alone.
Really alone.
I close the door and let out a slow breath, listening to the wind outside, the low of cattle, even birds.
It’s quiet here. Not city quiet—real quiet.
No honking taxis.
No slamming kitchen doors.
No Marcus yelling.
No whispering coworkers.
No reporters waiting behind dumpsters for a soundbite.
