That was something I never thought I’d be doing, not after everything that had happened between us.
In keeping with the outside, the inside was clean and tidy and decorated with a clear focus on function rather than aesthetics. A sofa, a couple of chairs, and a few side tables and lamps made up the living room. From what I could see of the kitchen, a basic wooden table surrounded by four chairs was all there was to it. There were a few pictures staggered around the walls and tables, mainly ones of him and his sister from when they’d been kids, and one that looked to have been an old senior photo of his mom.
“If you want to make a truce, I’ll brave coming out into the open to grab you the lemonade I promised,” Boone shouted from inside the room he’d disappeared into.
I lifted my eyes to the ceiling. “Truce.”
He stuck out his head, studying me to gauge if I could be trusted not to fire my half-eaten tomato at his face. Tempting . . . but nonetheless, I lifted the tomato before backing up and slowly setting it on one of his end tables.
From the look on his face, it was like I was holding a loaded weapon and could open fire on him at any second.
“Truce,” I repeated, cocking an eyebrow.
Boone grinned, then stepped the rest of the way out of the room. “Darn.” He pulled something out from behind his back. “I was really hoping you were going to go the other way with that.” He tossed the tomato into his other hand. “Because my tomato’s bigger.”
“You men and size. Even when it comes to your produce.”
Boone tossed me his tomato when he walked by. I caught it, but barely. “You say this like you’re surprised.”
“Not really,” I replied, setting his tomato beside mine while he headed into the kitchen. “Just restating the obvious.”
He laughed as he opened the fridge. “Make yourself at home . . . or at least make yourself comfortable.”
“Need any help?” I started for the kitchen. Like the rest of the house so far, the walls were painted white.
“I think I can manage a couple glasses of lemonade. You know, growing up without an army of maids and all.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but he was still half buried in the fridge, riffling through it. “Watch it.”
Another laugh followed me as I wandered down the hall. The first door I came to was the bathroom. Small, practical, and again, the walls were white. It was just as tidy as the rest of the place, not so much as a water spot dotting the mirror or a dirty washcloth stuffed into the corner.
I kept going. The next room I came to was his bedroom. I didn’t wander in or give it more than a cursory look—for a lot of reasons; the main one being I didn’t want him to feel like I was sneaking around what was generally considered the most private room in a person’s house.
There was only one more room left, and it was directly across from Boone’s bedroom. The door wasn’t open, but it wasn’t quite closed either. So I let myself in.
I studied the walls, trying to figure out why they were painted a soothing shade of seafoam when it had not a single piece of furniture to give any indication of its purpose. There was a nice picture window on the opposite wall, and a set of white sheer curtains had been hung, though they seemed just dusty enough to hint at Boone not frequenting this room.
On the wall to my right was a closet. Moving toward it, I slid the door open, expecting to find it empty.
It was not.
My hand went to my mouth as I stared, feeling all of the dammed-up emotions I’d held back for years pushing against my walls, threatening to break through. I couldn’t stop staring at what was inside the closet, not even long enough to blink. My heart felt as if it had stopped beating, and I was fairly certain the burning I felt in my eyes was from my efforts at fending off tears.
I wasn’t sure how many times he’d called my name before Boone rounded into the room. He was in the middle of calling my name again when he broke to a stop, the last syllable of my name cut short.
This time when he said my name, there was no question mark in his tone.
“What is that, Boone?” I asked, though why I did, I wasn’t sure. I knew what it was.
He paused for only a moment. “A crib.”
My eyes stung harder. “Why is it in here? Why is it in this empty room?” My voice sounded like it was mere words away from breaking. Like it was teetering on the edge of a dagger.
He didn’t pause this time. “I bought it for the center when we first opened. Just in case we had any little ones show up and needed a spot for them. I wasn’t sure, and I thought it would be good to have on hand.” He backed up, stepping into the hall before leaning into the doorjamb. “We never used it, so when I had to close up, I packed it up and stuffed it inside the closet. I totally forgot it was in here. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.”