Margot
For a moment, I think I’m dreaming.
Boone gently shuts the bedroom door behind him, leaving Amelia and me in silence. I listen to his footsteps recede down the hallway.
How many times have I dreamed about this? Well, not this exactly—but the three of us, back together again. Boone has already proved how good he can be with Amelia—just like a real father would with his daughter.
Like we’re a real family.
But we’re not a real family, not really.
Or not yet, anyway.
I can’t help but think about the phone call with my mother. She was so determined to tell me something. But what?
The stupid cell reception dropped out, as if I needed another reminder that I’m in the middle of nowhere.
The fir trees beyond the window are beautiful, and the mountains are majestic, but they’re all terrible for technology.
I suppose that’s why Boone likes living out here so much—he’s out of the grasp of his parents. He didn’t have to live under their thumb like he did on Wall Street.
I’ll admit: it is nice to be away from everyone. To be alone in the wilderness…with Boone Masters once again. A part of me is tempted to follow him to the couch—I know that Amelia is safe here in his bed—and try to discover if Boone thinks of me the same way that I think of him.
The way he held me in his arms earlier and the flirtatious way he offered to sleep with me in his bed have to be signs that he’s still attracted to me, even after all this time. My heart flutters in my chest, begging me to go and see if any of the sparks that we had five years ago are still burning.
But I don’t.
Instead, I undress. Alone. I fold up my old clothes and pile them on the thick leather armchair in the corner of the room.
As I walk back to the flannel on the bed, that’s when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I pause, looking over my nearly-naked form in the low lighting. I don’t look bad for a woman with a four-year-old daughter—but I’m also not the same college co-ed that Boone remembers me being.
I run my hands down over my stomach, feeling the soft skin beneath my fingertips. I fill out bra a lot more than I ever used to, and these days I have more curves, my waist having only grown more accentuated over the years.
But I’m really not the same girl that Boone knew all those years ago.
Back then, I knew what I wanted—and I knew how to get it. After the night of his graduation, I knew that I wanted Boone Masters in my bed, and so I went to him.
And I had him.
Now look at me. Lost in my thoughts whilst the love of my life sleeps down the hall.
It hits me that I’m afraid.
Afraid of what others might think of me—what Boone might think of me.
I’m worried that it won’t be the right choice. I’ve never been with another man. No one has seen me naked in five years.
I wonder what Boone would think if he saw me now.
The memory of our goodnight lingers in my mind. I can feel where his eyes raked over my skin and how it felt when he looked at me.
I can’t be imagining the tension between us. Boone must feel it, too.
If I walked out there now and presented myself to him like this, I bet that he’d take me. Just how I hoped he would for the past five years. He’d probably make me come so hard that we cause another rockslide…
But I don’t.
Instead, I button up the flannel and breathe in the scent of Boone that lingers upon it. It smells like the cologne he’s used since college and the fresh mountain air from all around us, infused with pine. It’s comforting—familiar and fresh all at once.
Just like Boone.
Standing in his bedroom, I begin to realize how little I actually know about Boone. He’s a man of few trinkets and of little expression. But I know that he usually cares deeply—too deeply, in fact.
On the mantel of the fireplace sit some photographs. I tiptoe over the shag rug towards them, studying each picture to see if I recognize anyone. A few are obvious—there’s one of his parents, a picture of him and me from college, and then a framed photograph of Boone and the fire department.
I go to pick it up, and Amelia murmurs in her sleep.
I pull my hand back as though the frame was burning and turn to check on her. But she’s fine, sucking on her thumb and peacefully sleeping. So I return my attention to the photograph of Boone and the boys.
He’s smiling—a grin that shows off his teeth and exudes a golden warmth just from the image of it.
Seeing it reignites my suspicions from earlier.
Unsurprisingly, there’s no pictures of his Wall Street office and of the people who he met whilst working there. There’s no pictures of him with the college football team, either—even though he was their star quarterback. But that’s because he didn’t care about them—he was never comfortable around those types.
But the Fire Department—saving lives…that was where Boone flourished. And it looked like he found a strong band of brothers in the New York Fire Department—men he could really connect with.
Yet here he is.
Alone in the mountains, with only a rescued raccoon for company on cold winter nights.
Almost as though he’s deliberately avoiding any and all hints of civilization. But I can’t work out if Boone is protecting himself from the world—or protecting the world from him. He’s always been a hero, even if that means he sees himself as the villain.
I wonder who else Boone left behind when he moved away from the city. I’ve never been with another man, but Boone didn’t have the responsibility of a child. He could have had any woman he wanted, and I wonder if he did.
But clearly, he couldn’t have cared about any woman that much if he chose to leave and move out here.
I can’t help myself, and I continue to tiptoe around the bedroom. Opening and closing the wardrobe, checking what he keeps in his chest of drawers. Everything belongs to Boone—from the thermal socks to the ripped jeans and the beard oil in the bathroom cupboard.
There’s no trace of a woman’s touch anywhere in the cabin, really.
This puts my mind at ease as I turn off the bedside lamp and climb into Boone’s bed. The thick quilts quickly envelop me as I settle into the mattress.
Amelia shuffles closer to me. She wraps some of my hair around her child’s finger and holds it against her nose as she begins to snore lightly. Her feet begin to wiggle and twitch, and in the darkness, I watch her as she sleeps, wondering what pleasant dreams she’s lost in currently.
She’s perfect, my little angel. Boone’s flannel was far too large for me, and it completely swallows her tiny child’s form. The sleeves have been rolled up, but they still fall to her wrists, and her legs are lost beneath the red fabric. She looks cozy, comfortable, and I wish I could join her.
I lie there in the darkness, listening to Amelia’s breathing. Normally, knowing that she’s content and happy sets my mind at ease, and I can sleep without waking until morning.
And Boone’s bed is so comfortable, I feel the mattress swallow my body, cocooned in the thick blankets. My toes are kept warm by the faux fur throw over the end of the bed, as if I needed to get any warmer.
Yet I can’t sleep.
I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. Amelia reluctantly lets go of my hair so that I can move freely, from my back to my other side—and then I roll onto my back again.
I’m restless, and then I hear a creak on the floorboards down the hall, and I remember why.
I sigh and climb back out of bed.
I wrap Boone’s flannel tighter around my body and tuck Amelia in, cocooning her as much as I can in the thick blankets.
I kiss her gently on the forehead and exit the bedroom, softly padding down the hallway. My footsteps are silent, and as I approach the living room, Boone doesn’t notice me at first.
Moonlight spills in through the windows, casting a light over Boone’s muscled body as he finally turns to face me.
“Is Amelia okay?”
“Yes, yes, she’s fine… she’ll be out all night,” I say, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s me. I’m the one who can’t sleep.”