“Depends on the situation.”
“So, will you fold or show me your cards?”
“I’m going to hold them close to my chest a little longer.”
“Ugh, you’re no fun.” I playfully smacked his arm and sauntered toward the cooler he’d brought, admittedly with an extra sway in my hips, hoping he’d packaged it accordingly. “Thank God,” I muttered to myself, pulling out two long necks.
When I turned around, Boden gripped the back of his neck as he walked out of the kitchen and toward the crate we’d put Sheba in during demolition for her protection. I watched, completely enamored, as he freed and nuzzled her under his chin. Both were very animated in their overt affection for each other, and I couldn’t help but think,lucky pup!
Boden turned and looked over his shoulder, and suddenly, I wondered if I had just said that out loud, and given the way he was eyeing me, I had.
“Let’s head out to the backyard,”he suggested.
As soon as he placed Sheba down on the grass, she was nipping at my ankles for some loving I was all too happy to provide before she was distracted by a squirrel, and I was all but forgotten.
Boden dragged the wooden footstool away from the sole Adirondack chair and watched as Sheba had a serious case of the zoomies around the surprisingly well-maintained fenced yard.
“It’s so peaceful here.” I sighed, minus my little fluffball friend. “Not just this place, or ours . . . it’s this town, the way of life.”
“It’s not for everyone.”
“It’s refreshing.”
“I take it you’re from a big city?”
“Something like that.”
“After the time we’ve spent together, you’re still hesitant to give me any crumbs?”
“I’d like to say it’s not intentional—”
“You’re going to wound me, aren’t you?” He held his hand over his heart.
“All that matters is the here and now. My past is just that, the past.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded.
“And this place, it’s just what I needed.” My admission startled me as I gave him a crumb.
“You mentioned before you hoped to heal. Do you feel like you’ve made some progress since being here?”
“Baby steps, but yes. What about you? Have you ever left this town?”
“No longer than a week or two.”
“Ever wanted to?”
“The idea has crossed my mind.”
“What stopped you?”
He leaned forward with his beer dangling between his thighs and looked down at the lush green grass. If I’d blinked, I would have missed the shudder that shot through his posture.
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer. I shouldn’t have—”
“I made a promise to myself the day my parents died.”
He didn’t say anything else.
