don’t even know. I don’t want Libby feeling like I inconvenienced her neighbor either. But, by the time I get my bearings, Leo is climbing in his truck, and Boone is waving goodbye.
Shit.
Boone faces me. His smile begins to slip as he takes in my face.
“What?” he asks.
“I’m not going to let your brother pay for this,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can.”
“Sure I can’t.”
His smile falters. “Jaxi, honestly, it’s no big deal. Leo had to go right by here on his way home. Besides, he had fun picking that lock. It probably reminds him of stories we don’t want to know.”
My eyes go wide. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” he deadpans. “Do you feel a kindred criminal spirit with him?”
I smack him on the arm. He grabs it and pretends to be in pain. I, on the other hand, pretend not to notice how solid his biceps are.
“Are you sure?” I ask, gripping my backpack strap again in hopes that my brain will focus on that sensation and not the contact it just made with Boone’s arm. “I don’t want to—”
“I’m sure. Conversation is over.”
The air from Libby’s house filters around us, encouraging us to come inside with its sweet scents. The longer Boone and I face each other, the thicker the silence gets between us.
I want to invite him in. It’s been a very long time since I could talk so easily with someone. While it’s probably just because he and I don’t know each other so nothing that we say matters, it’s still refreshing not to have to choose my words carefully or avoid topics altogether.
Besides, he’s interesting. His brother apparently has a recording studio and he knows a guy like Leo. People usually know one kind of person or the other.
Boone waits patiently for me to say something, and I wonder if he’s waiting on me to invite him inside. Would he come inside if I asked? What would he expect? Anything?
Suddenly, a weight filled with reality seems to drop out of the sky and land on my shoulders.
I blow out a tired, uneven breath. “I would like to pay you for Leo’s time.”
“No. Besides, he wouldn’t take money from you if you begged him.”
My stomach twists.
“Consider it a gift,” he says, trying to convince me to accept the gesture. When I don’t bend, he shifts his weight and tries again. “Consider it a gift to Libby so you don’t tear up her windowsill.”
A grin flickers on my lips. My heart skips a beat at his kindness and his insight. I loathe feeling vulnerable.
“Thank you,” I say, still not sure, but realizing I’m not going to get anywhere with him right now.
“You’re very welcome.”
My heartbeat quickens, and I try not to blush. I step through the threshold before turning around again. Boone is watching me closely as he backs down the steps.
“If you need anything, just come over,” he says. “Crawl through a window if I don’t answer …”
“Asshole.”
He laughs. “I mean it, though.”
I grip the side of the door. “I know you do. Thanks.”
He pauses for a long moment as if he anticipates me saying something else. I should, probably. It feels like I should. But I don’t.
Finally, just as the wind picks up and ruffles his perfectly coiffed hair, he grins. His hand comes up in a semi-wave before he jogs off across the lawn.
I watch him until he’s nearly at his front porch before I come to my senses and shut the door as quickly as I can.
Then I lock it too.
Maybe it’s to be safe.
Maybe it’s to keep people out.
Or maybe it’s to keep me in so I don’t go jogging after Boone Mason.
That man has probably had his fill of Jaxi Thorpe and the chaos that surrounds me for one night.
Four
Jaxi
“How are things going?” Libby asks.
I snuggle into the oversized, plush sofa in Libby’s living room. A candle flickers on the coffee table, sending a slightly spicy, semi-sweet aroma of baked apple cobbler through the room. I burrow into the softest blanket known to man.
“Nice house,” I tell her.
She laughs. “I expected you to say nice neighbor, not nice house.”
I grin both at her statement and at the thoughts of Boone that roll through my mind.
“Yeah, well, he’s not bad either,” I admit. “His house, though? He’s a mess, my friend.”
“That he is. But he’s a bachelor, so isn’t it to be expected?”
I roll my eyes at her sneaky way of imparting information to our conversation.
Libby and I are