wondered if there was a way to get him to wear it for a little while and then let me put it back on. Probably not. There really wasn’t a way to say hey Gibs, can you wear this for a few hours so I can put it on and enjoy your scent that wasn’t weird.
While Gibson worked—I could hear the muffled sound of power tools coming from his shop—I checked my messages. I had a text from Oliver, wanting to know how things were going. What was I supposed to tell him? I’d slept at Gibson Bodine’s house last night because he’d been my friend before I ran away and changed my identity?
Obviously I couldn’t tell him the whole story, but I decided to call and check in.
“There you are,” he said when he answered. “I was starting to worry.”
“Why, because you sent me out to talk to a random singer who’s… what did you call him? Hostile?”
“Pretty much. Do you have good news for me?”
“Well, I have some good news. He hasn’t signed with another label.”
“Great. But why do I get the feeling you have bad news, too?”
I twined a strand of hair around my finger. “The bad news is, he doesn’t want to sign with us, either. He doesn’t want to sign with anyone.”
“Damn. Really? You couldn’t talk him into it?”
I sighed. No, because I got distracted by the fact that he thought I was dead and then we sang together like old times. “Not so far.”
“That’s my girl. Wear him down.”
“Don’t expect any miracles, Oliver. He’s talented, but he has a lot going on in his life right now.”
“I have faith in you.”
I laughed. “Thanks, I think.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do. Talk to you later.”
I put my phone down, feeling a little shaky. Why had that left me so unsettled? I was still struggling to reconcile what was happening. Talking to Oliver felt so normal—so Maya. But I was sitting in a log cabin outside Bootleg Springs, with Gibson Bodine working in his shop outside.
Henna’s soothing voice ran through my mind. Meditate and let it go, sunflower. That was exactly what I needed to do. Center my energy. Be present in the moment.
I found a blanket, folded it neatly, and set it on the floor in front of the couch. Sitting cross-legged, I closed my eyes and breathed.
At first, my mind spun like a whirlwind, thoughts flitting in and out of my consciousness. I kept breathing. Centering. Gradually, the chaos diminished. I felt a familiar sense of peace and calm.
The box still made its presence known. Without trying to push it away, I acknowledged it. It wasn’t a problem for right now. Not this minute. For now, I was in a holding pattern.
Gibson hadn’t explicitly invited me to stay today. He’d just acted as if I would. And as I sat there, breathing deeply, my mind calm, I realized I was glad. He hadn’t insisted I stay or pressed me to tell him what I planned to do. He’d just bought me breakfast food—and lunch, and dinner, and bathroom toiletries—and told me to make myself comfortable while he went to work.
He wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but I felt welcome. Like if I told him I wanted to hide out here for the next few days—or weeks, or even longer—he’d just shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal.
The door opened, and I heard Gibson’s heavy boots on the floor. Slowly, I let my eyes drift open. He stood just inside, as if he’d paused mid-step to look at me.
God, that brow furrow was sexy.
“You okay?” he asked.
I took one last cleansing breath. “Fine. Great, actually. I was just meditating.”
“Huh. Hungry?”
“Is it lunchtime already?” I uncrossed my legs and stretched them out, wiggling my bare toes.
“Yeah.” Something dinged and he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. With a roll of his eyes, he put it back.
“Everything all right?”
“Scarlett’s just being… Scarlett.” He went into the kitchen, so I got up and followed. “It’s fine, I’ll handle her.”
“Handle her?”
He got out a loaf of bread and set it on the counter. “She saw your sandals this morning, so now she thinks I have a girlfriend I’m hiding from everyone.”
Gibson’s secret girlfriend? I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling. Why did that thought make me so giddy? God, I wasn’t a little girl anymore.
But it was still fun to imagine.
“Are you known for hiding women out here?”
He scowled down at the sandwich he was making. “No.”